Like any other 25-year-old, there's a lot jumbled in my mind after a long day. Work, friends, gossip. It'd be nice to call mom and talk it over I think to myself.
But unlike other 25-year-olds, the time I have to chat with my mom is limited to before 8pm. That's when she reaches for the bottle.
It's 8pm now, maybe I can catch her before she's drunk? Or maybe even better, she's decided not to drink at all tonight?
I call. Everything seems normal.
Then, I hear the familiar gulp.
Fifteen minutes later, the conversation starts to slide into incomprehensible sentences.
"Ugh mom, are you drinking now?" I ask, frustrated.
"Of course not darling! I go to AA every morning! I'm just in my room knitting!" she slurringly blurts.
This is my life as Alcoholism's Child.
This is not my mom and this is not my life as my mom's child.
This is my relationship with her personal demon.
As the night further progresses, phone calls start to flood in. Younger brother hysterically crying. Younger sister texting her angst. Youngest brother calling in his normal subdue tone, promising all is ok, it's just another night. She is just drunk and angry and if you hide in your room, she'll eventually pass out...
It wasn't always like this.
In 2004, my mother underwent gastric bypass surgery. At 5"2 and over 300 lbs, the doctors said it was the only choice we had left if we wanted her to see us walk down the isle.
In 2006, my parents divorced. My father stayed in the family home. My mom, siblings and step-father moved to a rich suburb outside New York City. I went to college.
In 2008, my mom had lost close to 200 lbs but could barely eat without becoming sick. In her new community, she found friends through social drinking events. She had never really drank before (expect for college - but not even that often then). After one glass of wine, she realizes she's hammered. Gastric bypass surgery will do that to you - your stomach and intestine are altered, so the alcohol goes right into the blood supply.
Over the course of four years, alcohol became her new source of comfort... substituting food.
Dramatic events start unfolding. A new normal for a family who used to have it all.
Mom's totalled the car, running straight into a brick wall. Fourteen-year-old brother is in the passenger seat. Survives, but shaken.
Mom's nearly set the house on fire, trying to cook while drunk.
Mom's hospitalized for collapsing on Christmas Eve.
Mom's kicked out of her book club for getting too sloppy.
Mom's hospitalized again for an alcohol-indused illness. She's hooked to a detox IV for four days.
Mom's second husband is threatening to leave her because she has hidden bottles everywhere.
Her demon is on the war path and nothing is going to stop her now.
We've pushed for AA. We've pushed for an outpatient program. It's in one ear, out the other.
The only thing a child can do is pray. And blog.
My aunt is a substance abuse counselor (ironic, right?) and she said the best thing is to write a diary. As a product of the internet generation, I feel diaries are selfish.
One in four children in the United States have an alcoholic parent.
My hope is to provide a space where children in similar situations can relate and find assurance in my tales of being on the other side of addiction.
And who knows, maybe this will one day become a blog documenting her recovery?
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