I Drink too Much

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.

It isn’t.

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’m not.

I try.


I drink too much.

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