First and foremost, let me tell you that I am a regular member of this forum. With this topic I have chosen to assume another identity, simply because the internet is not as private as one would like to believe. I fear that if I posted as myself, it could somehow find it's way to the one it concerns the most, and I haven't decided how I am going to handle this yet. Trust that your moderators know who I am and I have asked them to preserve my identity. I mean no harm to any of you, and this account has not been set up to fool or prank anyone. This is an outlet that I am choosing to use, and can only hope that I might let others in similar situations know that they are not alone, and perhaps generate debate/different viewpoints that might help myself and possibly others, come to terms.

On to the topic at hand.

Alcoholism is defined as:
~ a chronic disease characterized by dependence on alcohol and the strong urge to consume alcohol, the repeated excessive use of alcoholic beverages, the inability to stop drinking once started, withdrawl symptoms on reducing or ceasing intake, morbidity that may include cirrhosis of the liver, and decreased ability to function socially and vocationally.


This is nothing new to me. I grew up watching a parent continually choose alcohol over his family. I say choose, because the alcoholic I know doesn't have a disease, he makes the choice to drink daily. To claim it a disease would then also allow one to claim their use of narcotics and the like a disease as well. It is an addiction that allows for choices to be made.



Now, it is my turn to make a choice:


Dear Dad;
I used to be proud of you.
There was a time when you were my world, you could do nothing wrong and you were always perfect.
I never understood why my mother would cry - she did her job. She protected me. She let me believe that you were everything I thought you were and more.
It's a funny thing. I can remember some things from my childhood, but not too many of them were as happy as I led myself to believe.
Remember when I was 5 and I finally mixed your whiskey and coke right? You were so impressed that you came up with a 'code sound' just for me.
Remember Dad? Remember how you would take your empty glass and rattle the bottom of it on the table?
Remember how eager to mix your drink I was when I heard that noise?
I used to be proud of you.
When I was 7, mom and I moved away and I was so heartbroken.
But you cried and made mom proud and we moved back home.
When I was 9 I saw you for the first time.
I saw you through my mothers tears and her black eye.
But you cried and somehow again that made everything alright.
When I was 12 I won second place in the science fair and I sat in your den waiting for you to come from work so I could show you.
I wanted you to be proud of me - but when you came in, you asked me where your drink was...
You didn't want to see me unless I had one in my hand for you.
When I was 14, I sent you to jail.
I used to be proud of you.
When I was 17, I ran away.
I couldn't stand to see you cry in hopes that everything would be alright.
I never came back.
You said it was because I was the selfish one,
I was the one who knew nothing about respect.
I used to be proud of you.
A few years ago, the doctors told you that you needed most of your stomach removed,
And that you would have to stop drinking.
You had the surgery and quit drinking.
I was so proud of you.
But then a sip here and there turned into drinking all the time again.
Last year your second wife was going to leave you.
But you cried and promised - and she stayed.
Your promise lasted just over a year.
Now you are back to making the same choices you always made:
Alcohol first, everything and everyone else, second.
You now ask me to understand that it is a disease
When we both know damn well it is an addiction and a choice.
Addiction and disease are two different things.
You asked me to go to Al-Anon meetings.
I did.
They told me to have patience and understanding.
After ## years, I have had enough of patience and understanding!
Why do I have to understand that you need a drink when you get up?
That you need a drink to watch tv?
That you need a drink with dinner? That you need a drink to wind down?
That you need a drink to handle stress?
That you need a drink to go to sleep?
I showed patience and understanding by not leaving sooner.
I showed it when you didn't show up for my high school graduation.
But most of all, I show it every single time I see a drink in your hand!
And so I have concluded this:
I am not good enough in your books, to be able to sit down with you when you have nothing to drink.
No one is good enough for you without that drink.
For you, drinking brings you down to our level, where you can handle being among the 'commoners'.
And that Dad, is the sadest thing.
It's sad because I am better than you will ever know.
I am worthy of sober conversation and interaction.
I am worthy of your time and it no longer bothers me that
I used to be proud of you.
You made your choice to continue drinking and laugh at the idea of help.
And so I have made my decision to wash my hands of this entire relationship.
It's all about choices .... isn't it.
And yet, I still love you.
~Me


There you have it. I haven't decided if I am going to send this letter to my father yet, knowing the person he is anyway, he would sit down with a drink in order to read it, then probably make claims that I am being selfish yet again. All I know is that I am tired of the excuses and I am tired of others wanting me to be patient and accepting and understanding. Unless you live with an alcoholic, you don't really know what it is like. And there are many different types of alcoholics, some you wouldn't even think have a problem. But if you need at least one drink a day, there is a problem.

Myself? In college I guess you could have called me a binge alcoholic. I wouldn't know when to stop drinking and wouldn't want to stop. Now, it is a rarity to find alcohol in my hands. Everytime I look at it, all I see is everything that I ever went through with my father. Sure I can sit and have a social drink, but I can hardly stand the taste of it anymore.

Please know that I am not looking for sympathy - I am actually Mad as Hell.
Say what you will, if you have anything to say.
I appreciate the time you took to read this.

Choices  http://www.inthe00s.com/smile/14/mblah05.gif

I know you didn't ask for sympathy, but I am so sorry that you have had to deal with this all your life.  I don't know who you are, I am proud of you for telling such a painful story.  It did bring me to tears seeing that you knew how mix drinks at the age of 5 just to please your father.

You're right though, if you share this with your dad, it won't do any good.  It sounds like he is so far gone that nothing will sway him.  He doesn't want help, and there is really nothing you can do but let him go.  I do hope that you have looked into going to support groups for people who have had to deal with family members like this.

{{{HUGS}}}

Really well written letter from the heart.  I have lived with/loved an alcoholic.  It can make you pretty angry.  Especially when the person chooses the booze addiction/choice to drink over you and the family you built together.  Hopefully writing the letter made you feel a bit better.

Wow.  That was well written.  {{hugs}}

I know what you mean, Choices, alcoholism runs rampant in my family.  My father is an alcoholic, except he never had a drinking problem.  How's that?  His mother, his stepfather, and most of his relatives were raging drunks.  He grew up watching them all get soused at their chic cocktail parties.  He was disgusted.  Damned if he'd become a drunk.  What he did not realize is he learned how to be a son, a brother, a husband, a father, and a citizen from absorbing the behavior of alcholics.  That's all he knew.  They didn't have this kind of awareness in the '40s, '50s, and '60s.  By the time a greater understanding of the effects of familial alcoholism on all members of a family became popularly understood in the '70s, dad's way of being was hardwired. 

I'm still unlearning so much crap I learned from him. 

No, he did not get falling down drunk every night, but he had the emotional gearbox of a ten-year-old while I was growing up and you never knew when he'd fly into some violent rage or get his jollies teasing you into feeling ashamed of yourself.  Starting at the age of eleven, I tried the best I could to keep my friends away from my father and avoided being seen by people I knew with him in public.  I couldn't rely on the old buzzard for much, but I could always count on him being a twisted, weird clown!
::)

My ex husband was a an alcoholic in the end it cost him everything, he died at age 42. He started drinking as a young teenager. Both nhis parents were drinkers his father was the worse. His Mom was a functional alkie, she would comne home from work and get soused.
He leanede to mix drinks at a very early age.
When I met him he was 14, and drinking not heavily, we dated for a while got married a couple of years after graduation. He worked for IBM for a long time. When we were first married we would party every weekend, and that was fine. Until I got pregnant, that stopped me and my partying for good. He was the kindest most senstive man I ever knew. I watched him evolve into this mean nasty, coke addicted alkie.
We separated 20 years ago, divorced a year later. He remarried someone he didn't love, and just sunk deeper into despair.
We spoke civilly  for the first time in 15 years, 2 months later he was gone. I never fell out of love with him because I felt he was my soulmate, and still do.
I had come to pick up my son for his weekend visit( he chose to live with his Dad), and Greg motioned for me to get out of the car to talk to him.
I went up to him and looked right into his eyes, they were dead and empty. He was about to have his foot amputated from uncontrolled diabetes. I asked him for a hug he said sure, I whispered in his ear we have to get  together for coffee and talk. He agreed.
He died before we could.
I went to his funeral and cried my eyes out, the hurt was so intense. I regret all the things I never had the chance to say to him.
His wife was downstairs having smokes and laughing it up with her buddies!!! She married him cause he had a good job, and the alienated him from the people that really mattered most to him. His daughter, Mom and Brother.
It later turned out that he had committed suicide. Drugs and booze died in a pool of his own urine.
He did choose to drink genetics or not but so did I the difference was I stopped when I knew it was time to grow up and be responsible.

My Oldest son has a lot of resentment for his father, I guess try to resolve your issues with him before it it too late. Your letter is beautifully written and might serve as a wake up call.

Heres a (((((big Hug)))) for you.

If I could give karma, please know that each of you would have received it by now. ;)

Thanks you all for your kind words, and thank you for sharing some of the information about your private lives. Sometimes I find that even if another person knows or understands, it makes my heart ease a little.

I have tried support groups, most of which ask the victim to be more patient and understanding. What a crock! How can they ask that of you, when you are the one the most hurt by the alcoholic? I have no sympathy anymore for those who inflict it upon themselves. There is help available to them, it is their choice whether they seek it out or not. You cannot force someone into rehab if it isn't what they really want... and to my knowledge, my father loves to drink, and so will never get help.

I can't help but still love this man though. Even after everything I have gone through, he is my father. I talk to him almost daily as well, but as soon as I hear the slur in his voice, I bail on the conversation. I can't do it.

I think one of the biggest things that an alcoholic doesn't understand or doesn't see is how disgusted their loved ones are when it comes to seeing the drink in their hand. One drink or 10 drinks doesn't much matter. It is the same. Abusive or non-abusive, doesn't matter either. An alcoholic can be anyone, whether they want to admit it or not.

Choices

My first husband was also an alcoholic. He was going downhill and wanted to take me with him. After 6 years of hell (and 2 rehab tries), I left him. It was the hardest thing I ever did but I guess you can say that self-preservation kicked in. Some of you know what happened after-but many don't. Our divorce never went through because he literally drank himself to death. I always let people think that I was divorced-I found that it was easier that way. I was totally messed up for years after-not because I was a widow at the ripe old age of 25 but because I spent 6 years being called worthless and other choice words that my self-esteem was almost non-existence. That part of my life is in the past now but I still have the scars. I try to hide them but some of them keep showing through.


If I could give karma, please know that each of you would have received it by now. ;)


Choices



I took care of that for you.  ;)



Cat

Holy Horrors!  Much love and encouragement to you, Choices, and to those who have suffered in this way.

I can only offer this little bit of advice:  you cannot change anyone, you can only change the way you react to someone; to how much of their sh#$% you're willing to withstand.  It must be heartbreaking to remove the poison when that poison is your parent.  You must be a very special person to have witnessed all you have and still feel love for your father.  It's a testament to your character. 

Stay strong.

I had a friend who did the same thing as you,ie; cut all ties. It was hard, but she has never regreted it.




  You must be a very special person to have witnessed all you have and still feel love for your father.  It's a testament to your character. 


I agree 100% with this, it is a testament to you, be proud of yourself.

My first husband was also an alcoholic. He was going downhill and wanted to take me with him. After 6 years of hell (and 2 rehab tries), I left him. It was the hardest thing I ever did but I guess you can say that self-preservation kicked in. Some of you know what happened after-but many don't. Our divorce never went through because he literally drank himself to death. I always let people think that I was divorced-I found that it was easier that way. I was totally messed up for years after-not because I was a widow at the ripe old age of 25 but because I spent 6 years being called worthless and other choice words that my self-esteem was almost non-existence. That part of my life is in the past now but I still have the scars. I try to hide them but some of them keep showing through.


I took care of that for you.  ;)

My God Cat we Have so much in common, its scary isn't it? We have to actually meet someday. :)
I know what you mean about the scars. I blame myself for his ultimate downfall, even though I know its illogical, and you can't save someone unless they want to save themselves.



Cat

I know what you mean, Choices, alcoholism runs rampant in my family.  My father is an alcoholic, except he never had a drinking problem.  How's that?  His mother, his stepmother, and most of his relatives were raging drunks.  He grew up watching them all get soused at their chic cocktail parties.  He was disgusted.  Damned if he'd become a drunk.  What he did not realize is he learned how to be a son, a brother, a husband, a father, and a citizen from absorbing the behavior of alcholics.  That's all he knew.  They didn't have this kind of awareness in the '40s, '50s, and '60s.  By the time a greater understanding of the effects of familial alcoholism on all members of a family became popularly understood in the '70s, dad's way of being was hardwired. 

I'm still unlearning so much crap I learned from him. 

No, he did not get falling down drunk every night, but he had the emotional gearbox of a ten-year-old while I was growing up and you never knew when he'd fly into some violent rage or get his jollies teasing you into feeling ashamed of yourself.  Starting at the age of eleven, I tried the best I could to keep my friends away from my father and avoided being seen by people I knew with him in public.  I couldn't rely on the old buzzard for much, but I could always count on him being a twisted, weird clown!
::)


Wow, I think you and I had the same family!  Perhaps you are a brother I never knew I had!

Funny/ironic that the same behavior is experienced by so many and how far-reaching it is and how it shapes your life.  Even now, as an adult, after he stopped drinking and smoking about 15 years ago...he may have changed his drinking habits but he's still the same guy I knew growing up.  What is one supposed to do?  Forgive and forget?  I can almost do the forgiving part, if he still didn't have the same bitter and mean mood swings he had back then.  *shrugs her shoulders*  I guess I should be thankful that it taught me how I did not want to live my life.  I mean, I have my own problems for sure, but drinking and shouting or being pushy and sarcastic and having to have my way all the time isn't some of the problems I have.  So...thanks dad for that.

It's always been amazing to me how practical strangers in "real life" can and do bond online with shared experiences and they say that you can't pick your family...however...I think I have in the way that the members of my various online communities that I frequently haunt have become my pseudo-family and I love them (or they frustrate me) just like my own "real" family.

To the original poster:
Thank you for being brave and posting this.  I think I know who you are anyway, you've mentioned your alcoholic father before (although I could and am probably wrong).  As I said in the above paragraph, we are all "chosen" family and to get support from one another is the best part of being online for me.
So consider yourself hugged (for what that is worth.)

Minor correction it was my father's stepfather...he didn't have a stepmother.  My paternal grandfather ate a shotgun when my dad was three.  He had what we now call bipolar disorder; however, there was no effective treatment for it in the 1940s.  My grandmother then married pops, who was genteel, dashing, and witty...and used to fly into blind rages and beat holy hell out of my dad.  Pops died of cancer when I was five, so I barely remember him.  What I always resented was dad using his misfortune as an excuse to be a sonofabitch.  When dad would smash the crockery and smack us around, my mother would tell us about what a hard childhood he had and how he still feels like nobody loves him.  That made me mad at her too!!!  I saw him hit you with a canoe paddle, and now you're asking me to feel sorry for him?  Uh-uh, homey don't play dat! 
http://www.inthe00s.com/smile/14/nono.gif

The problem is, at nine years old I couldn't just pack up and leave.  I mean, if dad was going berzerk, I'd haul ass out of there on my bike if I could.  Maybe I could spend the night at a friend's house...but I always had to go back and deal with him!
http://www.inthe00s.com/smile/12/help.gif

Minor correction it was my father's stepfather...he didn't have a stepmother.  My paternal grandfather ate a shotgun when my dad was three.  He had what we now call bipolar disorder; however, there was no effective treatment for it in the 1940s.  My grandmother then married pops, who was genteel, dashing, and witty...and used to fly into blind rages and beat holy hell out of my dad.  Pops died of cancer when I was five, so I barely remember him.  What I always resented was dad using his misfortune as an excuse to be a sonofabitch.  When dad would smash the crockery and smack us around, my mother would tell us about what a hard childhood he had and how he still feels like nobody loves him.  That made me mad at her too!!!  I saw him hit you with a canoe paddle, and now you're asking me to feel sorry for him?  Uh-uh, homey don't play dat! 
http://www.inthe00s.com/smile/14/nono.gif

The problem is, at nine years old I couldn't just pack up and leave.  I mean, if dad was going berzerk, I'd haul ass out of there on my bike if I could.  Maybe I could spend the night at a friend's house...but I always had to go back and deal with him!
http://www.inthe00s.com/smile/12/help.gif




My biological father was a sadistic fu*k. He would beat me,Mom  and my brothers for no reason.  And he didn't drink!!! She finally got the courage to leave him in 1965. He left our lives for good about 6 months later. He didn't die he just took off. But he left us so emotionally scarred, I was afraid of men for the longest time.
She later meant and married my stepfather a wonderful loving man, who doted on us, but unfortunately died at 48 while at work. I consider him my father, and named my youngest son after him. Sadly he died 3 months before becoming a Grandfather, but my kids all know him as Grandpa Joe. He was raised in an orphanage, we were his only family.

My God Cat we Have so much in common, its scary isn't it? We have to actually meet someday.  :)
I know what you mean about the scars. I blame myself for his ultimate downfall, even though I know its illogical, and you can't save someone unless they want to save themselves.



Are you my evil twin? Or am I your evil twin?  :D ;D ;D ;D


I don't blame myself. I did everything I possibly could. But, it is a shame that he made such a mess of his life. He had everything and blew it.


One saying that got through during the toughest times: That which does not break you, makes you stronger. And I am much stronger today because of what I went through.



Cat

Are you my evil twin? Or am I your evil twin?  :D ;D ;D ;D


I don't blame myself. I did everything I possibly could. But, it is a shame that he made such a mess of his life. He had everything and blew it.


One saying that got through during the toughest times: That which does not break you, makes you stronger. And I am much stronger today because of what I went through.



Cat



Separates at birth?  :D :D :D :D Yes
It has made me stronger and has really made rhe bond between me and my oldest son very strong.
He does hate his father, in spite of himself. I think deep down inside he dosen"t but outwardly he projects that image.
Kat, my daughter and I wenr ro central park and scattered some of her Dads ashes. I want my son to do the same maqybe it will give him some kind of closure. My oldest son is different, he is an extraordinary artisit. He won best in state in high school. He works as a butcher by day, and works on video projects/and art projects at night. He has the biggest heart, is very sensitive, but at the same time there is a hardness around his heart and few can penetrate it. I rhinlk he needs to fin
d a woman to bring out the best in him.
He a cutie, not dorky or weird looking, just very picky. She can't smoke or drink, and has to understand his sense of humor which at times can be somewhat dark. His favorite comedian was Bill Hicks.

My biological father was a sadistic fu*k. He would beat me,Mom  and my brothers for no reason.  And he didn't drink!!! She finally got the courage to leave him in 1965. He left our lives for good about 6 months later. He didn't die he just took off. But he left us so emotionally scarred, I was afraid of men for the longest time.
She later meant and married my stepfather a wonderful loving man, who doted on us, but unfortunately died at 48 while at work. I consider him my father, and named my youngest son after him. Sadly he died 3 months before becoming a Grandfather, but my kids all know him as Grandpa Joe. He was raised in an orphanage, we were his only family.


What was still more painful for me about a wantonly dysfunctional family is not the pain or privations, but the shame and the secrets.

My sister was in a terrible marriage for 20 years. After her crazy hubbie finally took off, she rekindled an interest in a man she liked in her youth, married the guy and he was a wonderful husband and stepfather...but he died of cancer also at 48.  That was last May.  
:\'(

It says something when your grandchildren call the other three a rhythmic Grandma, Grandpa, and Nana..and you're "pops."  The hatred my dad had for pops was over things pops did to him in his childhood.    Dad was smarter than pops and by the time dad was seven, he understood:
a. Pops is an antiques-brokering fashion plate who doesn't care one whit about me or my sister.
b. Pops can't hold his liquor.
c. Pops is stupider than I and I'm seven.
d. Pops traits b. and c. equal easily provocable.
e. Pops pays no attention to me until he's drunk and mad.
Yet even when I child seems to be crafty, he's trying to supplement something he's not getting.  Dad was trying to supplement the absence of pops' love with pops' rage.  My grandma was just cold and controlling.  "Harold and Maude" minus Maude reminds me of my dad and my grandmother's relationship.
::)

What was still more painful for me about a wantonly dysfunctional family is not the pain or privations, but the shame and the secrets.

My sister was in a terrible marriage for 20 years. After her crazy hubbie finally took off, she rekindled an interest in a man she liked in her youth, married the guy and he was a wonderful husband and stepfather...but he died of cancer also at 48.  That was last May. 
:\'(

It says something when your grandchildren call the other three a rhythmic Grandma, Grandpa, and Nana..and you're "pops."  The hatred my dad had for pops was over things pops did to him in his childhood.    Dad was smarter than pops and by the time dad was seven, he understood:
a. Pops is an antiques-brokering fashion plate who doesn't care one whit about me or my sister.
b. Pops can't hold his liquor.
c. Pops is stupider than I and I'm seven.
d. Pops traits b. and c. equal easily provocable.
e. Pops pays no attention to me until he's drunk and mad.
Yet even when I child seems to be crafty, he's trying to supplement something he's not getting.  Dad was trying to supplement the absence of pops' love with pops' rage.  My grandma was just cold and controlling.  "Harold and Maude" minus Maude reminds me of my dad and my grandmother's relationship.
::)


Its a wonder any of us survived our childhood and came out semi normal or to put it a better way able to function in society.
For me my refuge was drinking and drugs Nothing hard just weed and the occasional Quaalude. But like I said earlier once I became a parent all that stopped. I guess I realized it was time to stop blaming my past for things and to put it behind me and raise ,my kids to be happy well adjusted adults. Like Meatloaf said 2 ouuta 3 ain't bad. But my youngest is 18 so he may become well adjusted some day.

I must clarify what I am saying in my original post.
I know not every case is the same, and I don't want it to sound as if I am generalizing every drinker as being a drunk who doesn't know how to make choices. This is solely who I find my father to be. Nor am I slamming everyone who drinks. I have several good friends on these boards who drink, and I hold no grudge against them.

MaxwellSmart - after reading your posts here, I find that I understand you a little more now. It makes sense to me who you are, and what you fight against every day. Unlearning everything you have been taught is a battle in itself, one that I believe I have made it through with hardly a nick or scratch. I can only imagine that it would be harder for a man, not only to admit what they grew up with, but to change from that to be a better person. I am proud of you too.

greenjello74 - my heart goes out to you and your children, as yours has come my way. To this day I have no idea where my mother actually found the strength to leave my father, but for that I will always be grateful. Like you, I know my mother still cares for my father, because if she didn't, she wouldn't be so bitter still. Your children will always love you for making one of the hardest decisions, as I love my mother, and I think that at some point, the ones affected the most will eventually come to terms in their own manner. Whether it is a letter like I have written, or whether they scream and yell, or just cry. At some point it will happen.

Gis - your friend is a smart woman. My heart breaks more at thinking of never talking to my father again. I love him so much when he is sober, he is the father I always wanted, but obviously as soon as he has a drink that all changes. This decision is one of the hardest I have ever had to make.

bookmistress4ever - thank you for your hug! It is definitely worth it! Forgiving and forgetting.... they are supposed to go hand in hand but how many people can say they actually forget? I completely get where you are coming from. I have forgiven my father so many times, but still in the back of my mind I keep the memories, fresh like they happened yesterday... so have I really forgiven since I haven't forgotten? Impossible to be sure.

ladybug316 - thank you for your words. I know I am a stronger person then I believe sometimes, and if it were anyone else I would think there was something wrong with them for still loving their father. But, he is just that. I can't explain why I do, I just do. Thank you for saying that it is a testament to my character, because I thought it was just a flaw.

Choices



I took care of that for you.  ;)

Cat


Thank you Cat.  ;)

(((HUGS))) to all of you for surviving what you have been through.  Choices, please allow me to add my 2 cents to that of the others.  At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I too believe it was a most moving, well written letter.  While I agree with you about the advisability of sending it and whether it would do any good, I think you need to think about what good it will do for YOU not him.  Does it help you?  Does it make you feel better about your choices?  I truly believe that you now have to focus on what helps you.  You are certainly welcome to my sympathy if you want it (I almost cried), but if not, how about my admiration?  You and the others who have posted about traumatic events/relationships have my utmost respect and admiration for coming out of those situations such wonderful individuals.  While some would have ended up carbon copies of what they experienced, you all rose above and made the choice NOT to be like what you knew.  For what it's worth, I'm proud and honored to call you my friends.  You all have shown remarkable strength of character.

I often wondered if my parents were/are alcoholics.  My mom's twin was an alcoholic.  My parents don't have to drink (I've seen them go days without), but when they do, it seems like sometimes (not always, but enough) they don't know when to stop.  With my dad, it's like a switch flips with that line crossed.  2 drinks and he is still amiable.  3 is the borderline and 4 crosses it and his personality undergoes a horrific change.  I have never seen him physically abusive, but there is a definite change.

I dated an alcoholic for a short time.  What I didn't know (we didn't live together, he picked the times we were together and he was a VERY good actor--and I was very sheltered) was that he was also a drug addict.  He was a professor at Ferris (had his Ph.D.) and was a favorite among the students.  He loved to hang out at the bars and flirt with the co-eds (of course as a single mom student I didn't know that because I didn't go to the bars).  We didn't date until I started working there a few years after I graduated (I think he was 12 yrs older than me, but can't remember exactly).  I knew he was into pot (didn't know the extent), but didn't find out til years later that he also did crack.

He underwent a personality change when he crossed that drink line, too.  I remember the time we went to Michigan's Adventure in Muskegon (just the 2 of us).  He was all loving and sweet and we were having the BEST time (or so I thought).  He went out to the car on some pretense and when he came back he was Mr. Hyde (he had hid booze in the trunk).  He started causing a scene and hit me upside the back of my head sending me hurling forward several steps.  There were several people and a security guard who witnessed him hit me, but no one did anything about it (I think they found his size intimidating).  I broke up with him, but it took several more months to get it through his head.  He would call my home phone and leave harrassing messages on my machine that escalated into threats (this was shortly after OJ trial).  I would tape record the voice mail messages and delete them off the machine so Micah wouldn't hear them.  I kept the micro recorder right by the phone so if anything did happen to me, the police wouldn't have to search hard to find out who did it.  He hit a coed in a bar and Ferris paid him off to leave town.  People made sure they told me when they found out he died (did they think I still had feelings for him? I felt sorry for his sons).  He would have only been in his 50s at the time.

Stay strong, my friends.

^Jeez!  Thank goodness you extracted yourself from that mess of a man!

Just my opinion, but I think this letter seems like it's really more for you Choices and not your father. I'm sure it was difficult but very helpful to you in remembering what your life experience was like and going over it in your mind. Exploring and expressing deep feelings like this can be very therapeutic for oneself.  I wouldn't send it to your dad if he's still drinking heavily, but if he chooses to quit or believes he has a problem and seeks help or treatment, then that may be a good time to send it. thanks for sharing something so personal and something many of us can directly relate to. you're not alone  8)

  My erstwhile father died sixteen years ago, slowly and painfully, of cirrhosis of the liver after a lifetime of heavy drinking.  He was 50 y/o...

  On a personal note I would've liked to think of my dad as a hero (dad with a small 'd' because really, he was a bastard) but circumstances conspire to deprive my poor, wasted soul of this ideal.  See dad was a miserable, wizened drug-f***ed alcoholic.  He meant well, of course, but he chopped down my emotional tree too many times.  I wanted him to be my hero, I did.  I envied my friends whose Dads were piano players in whorehouses, Mafiosi mules, political candidates.  Steve Irwin would've made a great Dad...


  Condemn us now and cast us to the waves of judgement.  I don't know what else to say, annonymous boardie, but my very best wishes are coming your way...

    :)

You may ask, Why is she bumping this old thread?

First, let me admit that I am the original author of this thread.

Second, I still maintain that alcoholism is a choice.

That being said, last night and by choice, my father died.


It seems that since his second wife left him and took my sister with her almost 3 years ago, his drinking increased and it was all downhill from there. Of course, there were moments where he would stop drinking, seek help etc. but at some point, he always returned to the bottle. At one point he was down to around 90 lbs. and so he quit drinking and started eating properly. My step-mom would make him meals and take them into him, so that she knew he was eating. Dad did good. Got back up over the 100 lb. mark. (He was a small guy to begin with).

Well, it seems that in the past 6 months, his drinking increased. He became so malnourished that walking was hard for him. Of course, he told us that he was eating and that it might be a bit of vertigo etc. With none of us living close, we didn't know for sure. (Step-mom and youngest sister were 8 hours away, middle sister 4 hours away and me... pretty much a day away.)

The middle of October, my dad quit drinking, but also quit everything else. He unplugged the house phone, shut down his computer, basically ceased all communication. A couple times my sister or Step-mom were able to get in touch with him, only after having the police go to his house to see if he was ok. According to them, he was coherent and surviving. Unbeknownst to everyone - when Dad quit drinking, he also quit eating.

He did mention to my Step-mom at one point that she should just leave him alone and let him die an old, lonely man. My dad had cried wolf like this more times than I can remember.  At any rate, I did get in touch with him last Thursday. He sounded rough. I told him he needed to be taking care of himself and eating proper meals. He said he was eating perfectly fine but that with his legs so weak, he didn't get out much to get groceries. I offered to have groceries sent to him, he declined.

I tried calling him Saturday. No answer.
I tried calling him yesterday morning. No answer.

My Step-mom was in my dad's city for work yesterday, so she stopped by his place to see how things really are. She found my dad laying on the floor, incoherent and pretty much emaciated. She called 911, and in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, my dad coded. They couldn't revive him.

Coroner weighed him. He weighed 50 lbs.

Please, at this particular time, do not send me your condolences, prayers, thoughts, hugs. Although appreciated, they are unwanted.

I am pissed right off!
He willfully made the choice to starve himself to death.
He wasn't sick. No cancers, no nothing. He was 67 years old and drank for probably 50 of those years. He had a perfect liver his last doctor's appointment (May 2013) and his blood work was fine. He CHOSE to end his life by secluding himself from everyone and starving. How could he do that??!!!!! And knowing full well that family was trying to help him??!!!!! And crying wolf and leaving the rest of us to feel like we let him down because this one time we didn't believe it to be as serious as it was??!!!

I am beyond livid! I don't even know when the actually sorrow part of my grieving will kick in. I don't know if it will. I talked to my baby sister this morning, and the sad thing is - she feels 'free'. Her words.

So this is where I am at.
I loved my dad.
But now because of his choices, I don't have him any longer.

Tam


eta:

Just a post to let you know that I've read yours, and I'll leave you deal with things the way you seem fit.

You know where to find us.

Just a post to let you know that I've read yours, and I'll leave you deal with things the way you seem fit.

You know where to find us.
Ditto

What Henk said. We are here for you when you are ready.

I can relate somewhat to how frustrating, angering and painful this experience is and kind of understand what your sister means by being free. You'll grieve when and if you're ready. I'm sorry he didn't seek help, like rehab in a environment where he wouldn't have a choice to drink while inside. When people get out, hopefully they change just enough so that they are able to live in the world and choose not to drink. Some people desperately need that kind of help. I have a younger brother in a rehab facility right now and pray and hope that he'll change for the better. I'm Sorry your dad's choices caused his life to end this way.
take it easy Tam

Here for you when you are ready.

Tam, my condolences to your family I'm sorry about the death of your Father.  :\'(

That took ballsovaries to post the first time.  Even bigger ones the second time.

Undiagnosed depression is a bitch.  Self-medication with ethanol, doubly so. 

We've got your back.

That took ballsovaries to post the first time.  Even bigger ones the second time.

Undiagnosed depression is a bitch.  Self-medication with ethanol, doubly so. 

We've got your back.


Diagnosed depression is still a bitch, believe you me.  Self-medication with pot or alcohol is the worst thing you can do...other than self-medicate with crack or heroin!
::)

I can understand your sister when you said that she said she feels "free".  Everyday living with the thoughts and fears of how your father was, what he was doing, and knowing in some way how it would all end, and now it has.  It is such a sad story all the way around, and there is nothing left to say.