There are two things you need to know about me before I tell this story – two things that, in one way or another, dictate everything I do.
1. I can turn anything into a joke.
2. I am just as scared as you are.
My mom is an alcoholic. Those words are incredibly hard for me to type since, for 19 years, I’ve taken it upon myself to keep her secret. I’d rather tell you about the diarrhea I had earlier today or that I sometimes like to watch porn where the guy jerks off while wearing heels and stockings. And see, now, hopefully you’ll forget that my mom is an alcoholic.
But I won’t. I can’t. My mom’s alcoholism is as much a part of me as my tooth enamel. Life with an alcoholic parent is a lot like wearing sundress a during December. You’re incredibly cold but still pretending that everything is okay. And for the most part, I think, I did a decent job at pretending. If friends wanted to come over, I’d advertise my house as ‘boring’ or avoid social situations altogether. If someone did manage to make it through our well-worn, creaky screen door, I’d try to keep my mom as far away as I could. I usually failed, as she would either dominate the conversation entirely or unsuccessfully eavesdrop outside my bedroom door. Only now do I realize that while I was trying to save my mom from embarrassing herself and my friends from being embarrassed for her, the only person I wasn’t trying to save was myself.
But I did have my own coping mechanisms, I tried to stay away from the house as much as possible, since that meant fewer opportunities for conflict. Movies were a safe bet since two hours were usually ample time for her to pass out. Zoos, museums and malls also fell safely within the category of activities that afforded enough time to polish off a six pack. Unfortunately though, escaping into a Wonkian existence where I didn’t have to cope with the fact that my only comfort at home was when my dad would rub my back at night until I fell asleep, doesn’t work as well into adulthood. From the moment I left the house at 17 up until now, at 24, I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Most of them have been forged from a craving for stability and at the very least, a life where I didn’t have to go to buy beer at 8 am. I tied myself down to a guy I didn’t truly have romantic feelings for. I had what I knew was an unhealthy relationship with a married man. I spent time with people who only seemed to care about Cheetos and drinking. Given my past, I was only there for the Cheetos.
But then I met Danilo. He was kind and decent and would notice when I changed my hair even the slightest bit. He talked to me for hours, went out of his way to see me and, knowing what little he did about my past of tainted birthdays and holidays, did his absolute best to make everything special. I regret to say that many days have passed without him knowing that he is my hero – the one place where I really think I got it right.
It seems as if we packed 20 years of living in the three that we were together. We moved from Orlando to Bend and now, to San Francisco. We went to Asia, Europe and everywhere in between. We dealt with our respective ugliness and learned how hard it is to glue together the broken pieces of two former children who deserved so much more. And now, it seems, the only piece left on the board is my reluctance to deal with growing up with an alcoholic. To be clear – this is not a reluctance of skepticism, but more a reluctance of ignorance. I’m very good at making things okay for others, but when it comes to myself, I may as well be a red wine stain on white carpet. And, I speak from experience, those are impossible to deal with. So, inelegant as he can be sometimes, Danilo suggested therapy for me. I know he wants me to be happy and to finally be okay. I want that too. But my immediate response is to interpret it as an attack on my mom – the person I’ve been trying to protect for so long. Still, this is something I have to do for myself, no matter how much it hurts to know that I am in someway broken and unable to save my mom from her own demons.
As for Danilo, he will always be my hero – no matter how abrasive he can be when it comes to problem solving. I know that he just doesn’t want me to be cold anymore.
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