It feels as though a giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I never thought I would see the day that my dad would willingly check himself into a hospital, and yet yesterday, it happened. It feels amazing to know that now he finally recognizes that he is an addict (though I don't think even he sees the full extent of his addiction, and all of the underlying issues that surround it). But I also am not too naive, and I am wary because I know he can change his mind and check himself out at any time. But I know I need to take it one day at a time, day by day, and just see what happens. The only person I can control is myself, and that is who I ultimately need to focus on. I know that if he doesn't hold up his end of the bargain in this relationship, I do not have to hold up my end either.
It's been years, and yesterday, I was finally able to say to my therapist, very bluntly, "My father is an addict." I almost began to cry just saying the words. Every time she had asked me in the past, I had skirted around the issue (much like my father always has) and would either deny it, or say "maybe", or say "well, not really, though I do agree he has a problem." But I was never able to get the words "My father is an addict" to come out of my mouth. It was as if by admitting that, I had admitted some sort of communal failure that involved myself as well. But now knowing what I know, I can't believe I was so in denial, just like my father, the addict.
Growing up, I always thought my father's use of alcohol was rather unusual and probably not what every other dad did. But back then, I was too young to put together the pieces. He quit drinking almost 12 years ago, cold turkey, after getting too trashed to come home one night, the day before Mother's Day. I do remember that day though, though admittedly, back then, I was still unable to put together the puzzle. But I do remember seeing my mom crying in her room, and knowing something was wrong. That was almost 12 years ago, when I was only 10 years old. And yet, it's something that still stays with me today.
It wasn't until about 4 years ago when a new friend (who is now a good friend) said to me one day, "Do you have a history of alcoholism in your family?". I replied with "Yes, I think my dad had a drinking problem, but he's been sober for awhile now." How did she know? Apparently, I was a typical Al-Anon. "Cookie cutter", is how she described it. She provided me with some information, and even a checklist of behaviors/symptoms of people that had been affected by alcoholism. How could this be? Me? I have a problem too!? I'd always known that growing up I was pretty miserable, and I'm not exactly Little Miss Sunshine today, though I have become much more self aware. I still have miles to go though. I've attended maybe a dozen Al-Anon meetings in the past four years or so, and I know that I NEED to attend many more, on a much more regular basis. I think part of the problem is admitting that I too, play a role in this, and need to work on myself in order to become fully better. It's scary. The thought of committing to something that is going to dig up even more overwhelming feelings from my past is terrifying.
And since then, even more has changed. My dad has gone through two back surgeries, and an open heart surgery in the past 10 years. And since then, he has become addicted to prescription pills. painkillers, and Klonopin. He started receiving medication for his anxiety, which seemed like a blessing at first, because he was a much calmer man that I had never known. But it didn't take long for this new miracle medication to become a nightmare for my family. His latest medications to deal with his anxiety, depression, and trouble sleeping included a mixture of Klonopin, Lexapro, Ambien, Seroquel, and others. He was on painkillers as well for his back and knee pain from surgeries and working his body to death in the construction business for my whole life. There had been several times in the past few years where my mom and I had discovered that he had been sneaking around and going into our medication for even more anxiety pills like Lorazepam. And just this week, he admitted that he's been buying pills of various kinds on the side from someone, whom I found out yesterday is our neighbor. My father's addiction was worse than I ever knew or could imagine. Just like he was denying that there was a problem, it seems as though I was as well.
There were countless nights (more often than not) where he would be completely vacant and would be almost impossible to have a conversation with because he would be stuttering and slurring and barely awake from all of the medication he was on. Having a conversation with my dad past 6pm on most nights was pointless, because it was like talking to a walking zombie. And that has been going on for a few years now. It gets worse though, as this summer it finally all began to unravel for him. There were two incidents this summer where something seemed very wrong, but he never admitted what it was. The first was when he was down at the local coffee shop and some of his friends were worried because he was just sitting there, barely able to talk or focus on them. Undoubtedly, probably still hungover from whatever prescription cocktail he had made himself the night before. They called an ambulance and he was taken to the hospital. The second incident this summer is when my mother and I got a call from the local police because several people had dialed 911 and reported a man that was swerving all over the road, and looked to be driving drunk. It was my father. We had to go downtown and pick him up because the police officer did not want him driving home (and rightfully so). After that, he had countless medical tests done, saw neurologists, and we thought something might be medically wrong with him. In hindsight, we now know that it was the fact that he was popping too many pills for one person to function on. It was scary. It was everything I had never imagined myself dealing with. There were so many days of frustration, anger, bitterness, sadness, anxiety, and every other negative emotion and reaction that you can imagine.
But now that my dad has taken a big step, I suppose it is time for me to take a big one as well. A leap of faith, that this will all turn out okay, whatever ends up happening. I need to trust that even if my dad ends up NOT getting better, that I can take care of myself, and get better. Even if he chooses to stay an active addict for the rest of his life, it does not mean I need to be involved. I need to take care of myself, and that mean making some hard decisions that arise along the way.
It will be okay. It always turns out okay.
