I drink too much. I do.
I come from a long line of alcoholics…2 grandfathers, a grandmother, a father, a brother, a sister, and two uncles.
Despite my best intentions, my daughter married an alcoholic. I love him. But he’s an alcoholic, and that worries me, because there has never been a moment of my life that wasn’t largely influenced by an alcoholic…and not in a good way.
I grew up in a home ruled by an alcoholic. We all made excuses for him. He was larger than life. He beat my brother. He molested my sister.
He ignored me.
I grew up. I vowed I would be better. I went to a great college, graduated from law school, passed the bar and started my career
30 years later, I drink too much. I always have, except for the 9 years I was sober. I’m so proud of those years. I was sober.
And then I wasn’t.
I want to be sober. I want to be clear.
But I also want to be free if the anxiety and background noise that is the soundtrack of my life. I want the world to be quiet.
So I drink. Too much. And I hope that those years of sobriety were enough to save my children from the demons that haunt me.
I hope they will be better than their flawed mother…though how they can be, with her example, seems insurmountable. God, I hope it isn’t.
Some days I don’t drink. Some days, I do.
If only I were made of stronger stuff.
If only the fiber of my being was imbued with the certitude of my youth that I would be able to surmount the intractable grip of my history.
I should be better. Dear god,I should be better.
I drink too much.