She says, by @mammapolitico
It’s played a game with me twice. A game of deception and false hopes, but never any promises. Alcohol doesn’t let people make promises – at least not ones they can keep.
Walking up the path key ready in my hand. Heart thumping in my throat not knowing what I am going to find. Inside, scanning the hallway and listening. Listening hard, every nerve ending tense and waiting. A voice or movement from upstairs. Listening again to footsteps. Making a judgement by how quickly or slowly he comes down the stairs. Face to face now, not wanting eye contact. Scanning, assessing working out how where the battles line have been drawn. Sometimes it isn’t so easy to tell but a weird little thing would give it away – red hands. I always look at his hands.
Gut wrenching disappointment and fear. Determination takes over. Armed with all the information I need I create normality out of what isn’t really normality at all. Tv on, homework, watchful guarding of my siblings. Pretending. Covering up. Hiding the truth. That is my job isn’t it ? At least until my tired mum gets home.
Weeks of this, months of this, years of this pretending mixed up with what passed for happy families to the outside world.
Fast forward to 2013
Me: Where’s your wedding ring ?
Him: Sold it …
Me: How’d you get it of your finger?
Him: Asked my brother to cut it off. There’s what’s left of my wedding ring – over there.
On the kitchen table biggest bottle of whisky money can buy.
I took my children and left.
Alcohol – played a game with me – a painful, scary, near soul destroying game.
I played that game twice – but the second time I was the winner.
He says, by @ADadCalledSpen
Tricky subject for me this one, as I’ve seen someone destroy their health and relationships with others because of alcohol abuse and I was the only witness.
It’s a disease. As real as any other. Or so I’m often told. I find it hard to believe at times as I’ve thought that it’s purely selfish behaviour. A way of blotting out the world so that you can function and fuck everyone else.
Of course, a good night out and a few drinks with friends isn’t the same. More people can handle that than can’t and it’s part of our social landscape, so one can’t cover this subject in broad strokes.
All I know is that it has had a negative effect and influence on many lives. Including my own. And I know I’ve done it too.
I’ve been sad and thought, ‘Fuck it. Time to get pissed’ and I realise it’s wrong for me. When the hangover kicks in in the morning and the horrors of your life are still there, you realise that maybe that was a waste of time, and the best thing to do is not. Do. That.
More scary though is the feeling that I’m repeating a pattern that I saw while growing up. It’s not something I do very often as, usually, the next day I’m full of self-loathing.
But today I am sad. And I’ve thought fuck it. And while I realise it’s wrong for me, and I realise that tomorrow I will be full of self-loathing and the horrors will still be there, today I need this. Today I need to get drunk. I’m not proud of it. At all. It is what it is.
Thanks for reading and please leave your comments and thoughts in our comments hole.