My Beloved Mother Was An Alcoholic...

...why will my father not admit it? She always kept a bottle of "cooking Sherry" and Kahlua and a Danish cherry cordial I used to know the name of, and honeymead in the house. The honeymead was always in the living room. The rest she hid under the sink. I caught her many times taking a nip. Her rages when she was drunk (after cooking), were incredible. Yelling, screaming, growling she'd send us to the orphanage all because one of broke some china accidentally, or damaged something in her precious home. No wonder I wanted nothing to do with alcohol, really, until, as a dancer, I needed it to swallow down the 'jagged little pill' of the work. No wonder I am a relationship addict. No wonder I fell in love with a functional alcoholic and drug abuser, and have let him remain a part of my life for almost 10 AFTER we broke up. No wonder: I AM A RELATIONSHIP ADDICT. No wonder I dated a sex addict in more recent years. No wonder, with no true sense of self all those years...I allowed a Solipsistic, Narcissistic Psychopath to almost kill me the year and year after my mother died, from cancer, and with a noose around her neck and a bottle of Dad's Glen Livet.

The only fly in the ointment for healing is that the love of my life came after the Narcissist and stole my heart. How do I get it back?

And for all his drinking, he never rhapsodized about alcohol the way my parent's did...Mom talking about the pleasures of honeymead, her beloved Cherry Kirsch, and Kahlua and Cream...while Dad extolled the virtues of the best scotch: The Glen Livet. The Glen Livet she drank to make it easier to die. I did not fuck myself up alone...MY MOTHER WAS AN ALCOHOLIC. I can say that now. In 42 years, almost 43, no one in our family ever spoke those words.

And I WAS (as I disagree with AA) an alcoholic. Until 2005. I am, though, still a drug addict, in the sense that, if my body would let me, I'd smoke weed again, and a lot. I am a food addict and am addicted to chocolate. It get's better. I'm addicted to reading, to knitting and to yoga. But I am no longer addicted to alcohol. And I am no longer addicted to silence. And I can say these words out loud: My mother was an alcoholic, God bless her heart and soul. And I loved her, Jekyl and Hyde though she was until she mellowed with age like fine wine, and then died literally on the vine at the end of a rope. She was an alcoholic. But I loved her, I love her now, and I miss her.