Growing up ACOA

This blog is dedicated to my struggles with the results of my father's alcoholism.

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Over

I knew my marriage was over when my parents told me that I had to accept my wife's flaws -all of them. When I showed the pictures of my battered face, they consoled, but reminded me that I was married to this woman. They told me that some days were worse than others. My face... I had to wear makeup for a month. When my parents told me to stay, that's when I knew I had to leave.

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Daddy issues

I had an epiphany the other day. Minus my ex-wife, every one of my long term relationships has been with a girl who has daddy issues. (Serious daddy issues, not the Beverly Hills kind. We’re talkin’ neglect, abandonment, divorce, substance abuse, violence.) Every one of them! And it makes sense at a Freudian level, right? Freud said that everyone is looking to marry the opposite sex parent that they had growing up. So if I attract girls with daddy issues, then... that makes me a spitting image of their piece of shit dad.

Again, it makes sense. I mean, my old man taught me -indirectly- how to be a piece of shit father. I know he did. And for decades, I’ve been trying to avoid that path. But what if that path is inevitable? A dog can’t be anything but a dog. A tree can’t be anything but a tree. Maybe I can’t be anything other than a piece of shit husband & father.

[acoablog]

Divorce

I don't know how to tell my family. Not like they or their opinions really matter, but, eventually, they'll need to know that my marriage failed. And they'll need to know why. They'll need to see the pictures, because they won't believe the stories. And the pictures will only create more stories... stories I'd rather not tell. I wish there was a way to fast-forward through this event... maybe 6 months later when the gossip ends, when the laughs subside, and when everyone is on the verge of forgetting.

It would be so easy if this marriage had not become a reflection of my past. And if this marriage had not become a reflection of my past, I would still be married.

It would be so easy if I had a supportive, loving family that wanted to see me succeed instead of fail. I can already feel their lies when they express the shock and disbelief that comes with stories like these. It's all an act, because it's always been an act.

It would be so easy if my pride could accept that I ended up like my mother -married to a person who didn't respect me and became violent after a couple of drinks. That's the worst part, my friends. I've been to the meetings. I've read the books. I've talked to the counselors. Every one of them told me to watch out. They told me this would happen. I spent decades tiptoeing into and out of relationships because of that fear. And then it happened. But not like I expected it at all.

I became my mother, not my father. I always assumed I'd be the drunk. I always assumed I'd abuse. I knew I had to watch myself around people, because I knew what mind my considered a default program. I never expected to become my mother. Never.

[acoablog]

From bad to worse

It would seem that if I don’t become the aggressor I become the victim. When I snapped, I realized that my father had blossomed within me. I had become him. And I took that knowledge to a psychologist and psychiatrist. After a healthy dose of meds, I found some peace. And then my wife got drunk and violent. Now I wear makeup to hide the scars. It would seem that I cannot escape my demons. Even when I’m hundreds of miles away, I can still see them clearly. There is a path for me. There is a road for me. I cannot deviate off this route. It had been predetermined, and I think I’m in hell.

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A regret

It finally happened. I became my father. Without the stench of alcohol on my breath, I screamed at my wife. I hated her, and I let her know it. All my rage and anger... released without remorse, just like my old man. I said awful things -terrible things. I want to say that she deserved at least a little of it, but no one deserves that. I just get so angry with her. She pushes me beyond control. Maybe this is how it was always going to be for me. Maybe I’m not the driver on this road. Maybe I’m going where I was always meant to be.

I have become the monster.

I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s the only father I ever had. He taught me this. And I became this. I’d apologize, but that would mean that I wouldn’t do it again. Sadly, I can’t promise that. And then it all made sense -how someone could be so angry.

[acoablog]

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Pills

Medication was only a matter of time. For 1/2 my life, I’ve lived like this. I can’t live another 1/2. I won’t make it. The Dr. has me on some pillls - little blue ones. They were working for a while, but I grew ammune without noticing. The dosage has been upped twice, and I think I’m due for another. Is this me? Is this the new me? I’m chasing a eurphoria, camouflaged as prescription. The Dr. promises this is the me without depression, but what if depression is me? What if I’m just another drug addict? What if these pills are just a replacement for the bottle? A temporary relief - a notion that’s all too familiar.