ℓὶƶ. (prtbleobserver) wrote in acoa,
ℓὶƶ.
prtbleobserver
acoa

Transformation.

There is a fear revolving around the idea that children will inescapably morph into their parents. We invest so much energy in trying to avoid mimicking our mother's scrutiny and our father's bodily functions, praying that we opt out of the parenting experience that we had when we were kids. But for children of alcoholics, the fear is far more specific and deep-rooted.

My mother is a recovering alcoholic. She was able to keep her habits at bay when she was younger, even through a loveless marriage and a stressful anxiety-related stay in a state hospital. In fact, her drinking wasn't even considered a problem until I'd entered my sophomore year of high school. But because her marriage to my stepfather was lacking a social/friends-based element, she found a group of ragtag groupies who went from show to show and had a hand in harnessing her addiction.

Don't get me wrong. She was never physically abusive. But as expected, her belligerence, insincerity and unloving attitude had a drastic effect on our little family unit. Despite her consciousness, she chose to selfishly destroy herself and wallow in the throes of pity. Only after extensive family fighting did she step up and find a shrinkette on which to unload her daddy issues, her insecurities and day-to-day operations.

Like most addicts, she remains in constant recovery. In fact, she still drinks, and now that she's single again, she's been bringing home a slew of guys that are on the lower end of the social strata in terms of stability and personality. She's been less demeaning and less upsetting than before, but it's still an uphill battle.

But this isn't why my gut is clenched.

I am becoming increasingly aware of my own drinking habits and they are developing at just as bad of a rate as my mother's. I didn't start drinking (or doing anything, really) until I hit college, and even then it didn't seem to be a problem since it confined itself to social situations. But upon having to return home from art school, I began drinking for a multitude of prosaic reasons: to quash social anxiety, to spur creativity, utter boredom. It later wreaked havoc on one major romantic relationship and continues to make my friendships suffer.

I have become a self-involved hermit with the arrogance of Napoleon. I have exhibited the same immaturity, the same belligerence as my mother when she was drunkenly lying on our basement floor as I was doing my Ayn Rand analyses. This realization is utterly crippling and makes for terrible self-esteem. But I am in the process of nipping it in the bud by enduring a long psychiatric process that I so desperately need to undergo.

All that said, I was just wondering if any of you have dealt with this same issue. I know the bulk of you have probably abstained from drinking altogether as a result of your tumultuous home environments, but it'd be nice to hear some input.

At the very least, I have to thank you for listening. Writing this has been a tremendous help.
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic
  • 3 comments