‘I Can’t Believe Alcohol Is Stronger Than Love’
The disturbing reality of growing up in an alcoholic household
She moved away from the curtain for the hundredth time that evening, having checked the driveway once again to see if my long overdue, undoubtedly drunk father had returned.
“I can’t believe alcohol is stronger than love,” was her resigned, almost-sequitur to my impassioned inquiry as to why she didn’t leave him.
“I can’t believe alcohol is stronger than love.” She repeated the statement with a righteous, yet zombie-like stubbornness that never ceased to inspire massive confusion in my child-sized heart.
At 12, I adored, and desperately needed to trust her, my mother. At 12, however, I was still sane enough not to embrace her masochistic philosophy of “love.” At 12, I still retained some degree of emotional sobriety in terms of the merry-go-round of misery that comes from living in an alcoholic home. But it was only a matter of time until the pain would wash away my frame of reference in terms of healthy living, let alone loving. Ultimately, I would become as masochistic and pain-oriented as she was.
But at 12, I just sat there, simply confused, trying hard to understand, and to help. Admittedly, part of me enjoyed both the excitement and the privilege. My…
