Tuesday, June 24, 2003

We are getting all the windows in our house replaced tomorrow (that's a lot). So we have to prepare; take down curtains and blinds, move furniture. It's a project.

Guess what? Dad came home drunk from work.

We all went out to the mall, and we came back there was a message on the answering machine from Dad at approximately 5pm, saying that he was just leaving work. When we heard the message, it was 7:30. He came home 20 minutes later. That means it took him almost three hours to get home from work. The truth is that it take my father only 45 minutes at the very most to get home (closer to a half hour). We automatically knew that he "stopped off" somewhere. I love his lame excuses. The best is "I had to go to the bathroom." So guess where he stops? A bar. Of course.

My mom is crying. I don't know what to do. I feel sorry for her, but I'm angry that tomorrow she's going to act like everything's fine and act totally normal around him. My mother could do a lot of things, like attend AA meetings, refuse to be around him when he's drunk, or LEAVE HIM.

Monday, June 16, 2003

It's not that my dad hasn't had a drink in the past few weeks. He's had many. It's just that it didn't occur to me to write what I was feeling at those times.

My dad isn't drunk right now, but he's acting like a jerk, so I'm pissed. My dad might be bipolar (well, that's what my family thinks, we have no clinical proof because he won't get help), so his drinking seems to be sort of a subset of his general mental problems. Aside from the mood swings, one of the reasons why I think he's bipolar is that sometimes he's a complete asshole. I've known people who had relatives who were bipolar, and I've been told that it sucks because they're assholes. Not exactly proof of my father's mental illness, but it's what my gut tells me.

My mom calls my dad "Mr. Doom and Gloom." He just gets into these funks and brings everyone down with him. He is a miserable person, and I resent him greatly for it. According to my mother, her father was a miserable person too. He had six kids, a shitty job, and he lived in a tiny apartment. So he chose to spend his time at the bar. This is how he drank himself to death. He was 52 when he died, about my father's age now.

My dad bitches a lot about politics. I'm not going to go into his political views because that's not the focus of this site, but suffice it to say that they're getting more extreme by the day. He's just angry about shit, and it's like he needs to be a bully towards someone or something, even if it's just an idea. There are people in politics and the media that he relishes in shitting all over, taking cheap shots, forwarding stupid emails that have been disproved on Snopes. It's stupid and pathetic and I lose more and more respect for him all the time. What an incredible waste of one's time. Spending hours of the day, cruising websites, looking for sketchy information that will validate all the negativity that is built up within you. Instead of trying to be a good person, or trying to bring some joy into another person's life, he's life a fucking insidious disease.

I gave my dad a present for Father's Day, but that was it. I don't really talk to him. Part of it is the politics (once he gets started, it never ends), but part of it is that I guess I'm punishing him. As long as he thinks it's ok to come home drunk, stinking of wine, I don't want to have anything to do with him. Sometimes I feel guilty, because I know that I am hurting him by ignoring him. I know that he loves me. But then he'll come home totally wasted for the millionth time, and then I don't feel so guilty anymore. My mother once said that he loves alcohol more than he loves us.

I resent my mother too. She says that she would start going to Al-Anon meetings, and then she chickens out. She says that she's going to start leaving the house when he drinks (to send the message that she doesn't want to be around him when he gets drunk), but she's always “too tired,” or some other paltry excuse. I try to get her to go to the movies or something, but she's never gone out. Instead, she carefully avoids him, acting like she's ignoring him, but actually just walking on eggshells for him. She's threatened to leave him. I wish she would. But she won't do it. It would be too much effort. It would require actually doing something. It's sort of like the way Meadow hates Carmella on The Sopranos; she resents her for being such a fucking doormat. I think my life would have been different if I had a mother who would stand up for herself.

I don't know what else to write about, other than that I sometimes just really hate him. I really do. I just want to punch him the face and scream and cry, but I can't. I have to hide my feelings. I have been doing this my whole life. And I can't take it anymore.

Tuesday, April 29, 2003

My father is an alcoholic. Sometimes I can deal with it. Other times I cannot.

I started this blog for those times when I cannot deal. When I want to scream and pull my hair out. When I want to punch a hole in a wall. When I cannot accept that this is a situation that I cannot control. When I realize that I cannot change him.

I do not know how often I will be posting here. My father's behavior is erratic, so my posting frequency may be as well. I currently live with my father, but I will be moving out in the coming months. I may post even less frequently then. However, even if I go for weeks without posting, that does not mean I will never post again. I think just the existence of this blog will comfort me, even if I no longer contribute to it.

So I hope this will be a cathartic process. And if you want some carthasis of your own, by all means, post your comments.