CHAPTER ONE

Vignettes

“No matter what I do, it is never good enough.”

“Something bad is going to happen.”

As a boy I remember coming home from school and seeing either the living-room or the dining-room furniture thrown out in the driveway. It would startle me—actually it would blow my mind. My first thought would be to get it back in the house before anyone else would see it, and we (my mom or brothers) would get it back into the house. I would feel slightly relieved. However, for several days, or maybe a week or two, depending on the severity of the act, I would be caught up in the thought of what would happen next, such as would my dad give something of ours away to a stranger? And he did give away things we liked a lot, like a pair of skis, a rifle, and once our dog. He would tell us he hated us, or he would call us worthless so-and-sos. I would always ponder those incidents: Why did he do those things? What did I do? What did we do? What could I do to make him different? I went from a young boy to a young man with my thoughts, alone, socially and mentally. I never got to know myself, and I guess I still don’t. I am still a loner. I don’t know how to live, to have fun, or to enjoy life.

Will

“I am responsible for other people’s behavior.”

“There must be something wrong with me.”

My father is an addict. He has never admitted to that fact. He and my mom got in lots of fights when I lived at home. The six of us kids were used as pawns in their war games. I always wondered whether or not I was responsible for his using. When the fights were going on, I always retreated to my room. There I felt secure. Now, I am thirty-eight and have been married for twelve years. I have this affliction that whenever the slightest thing happens I always say I am so sorry. I am sorry when the milk is not cold, sorry that the wet towel was left in the gym bag. I just want to take the blame for everything, even things I have no control over.

Kate

“Other people’s needs are more important than my own.”

“It is not okay to ask for help.”

I am a twenty-nine-year-old woman (girl actually) who is the only child of two addicts. When I was little I was lonely and afraid most of the time. But when the rest of your friends seem normal and carefree, and your parents are into their own set of problems, to whom do you tell those things? When I used to be awakened by my parents arguing, I longed to have a sister to talk to. Somehow I always felt if I had a sister to mother, to make things all right, that I would have felt better. I never once thought about someone mothering me or making me feel better. My parents separated when I was in sixth grade, and I continued to live with my father. I was relieved when my mother left because at least then the fighting stopped. But then things kind of got turned around and I found myself being the parent and my father the child. I prided myself on the way I was brought up because I thought it made me strong, independent, and self-reliant. Now that I am older, I am so angry I feel like screaming at someone—but there is no one left to scream at. My father died when I was nineteen. I guess my mother just gave up because she just proceeded to drink herself to death. Well, now I am almost thirty and my drinking has increased; I know it and at the same time I don’t want to stop. I enjoy it. It helps me to loosen up and feel better. I started therapy last year. My therapist told me I drink to ease the pain. Maybe that is true. I never even thought about being in pain. The scary part is I seem to be emulating the very behavior and role models I shouldn’t. But where do you go to undo this life-patterning style?

Jordan