Alcohol fueled attempted murder
My mother is a little...erratic, to say the least. I was very priviledged as a child (went to a private school, went on nice foreign vacations, got pretty much whatever I wanted, had a nice house, etc.) so I can't complain about material stuff. However, my Mum had a bit of a problem with alcohol. Actually, it was a lot of a problem with alcohol.

I was aware she had a problem pretty early on, probably from the age of about 6 or 7. When I was around 9, she wanted to go to a baseball game in Toronto, which she was planning on attending with a friend. She asked me if I wanted to go, and I said no. I told her it was because I didn't feel like it, but it was really because I was afraid of driving home from the city with her after she'd been drinking. This led to a Spanish-Inquisition-style-impromptu-court martial about why I didn't want to go, which lasted for several hours. I was too timid at the time to confront her about her alcohol abuse, so I just repeated and repeated that I didn't feel like going. Finally, she went out to get some more alcohol (in her car, naturally), but told me not to go anywhere. Well, fuck that: I'd had enough, I cut and run. When she got home, she found I wasn't home, and decided to come looking for me in her car. I was walking along the road into town (we lived in a semi-rural area) and she almost hit me with her car as she stopped at the side of the road (I had to jump out of the way into a ditch). She told me to get in the car: I refused. She screamed and cursed at me some more, but finally gave up. When I knew my dad was at home, I finally had the courage to go home again, and found her throwing every plate in the house against the front door. Needless to say, I didn't even try to get in: instead, I went and hid at the next door neighbours' house. When I finally came home, the fact that there were no plates in the house was obviously my fault. But on the plus side, I didn't go to the baseball game.

I did have the courage to confront her about her drinking, finally. When I was about 11, we had a full-blown intervention, which was the single most difficult thing I'd had to do up until that point, and still rates as one of the most difficult things I've ever done, period. And it did no good whatsoever. In fact, the intervention itself led to an incident similar to the one described above. She's still got a drink problem now, but after years of therapy (mine, not hers) and silence, I do talk to her regularly and have a relationship with her, although we're not super close. I think the relationship's been improved greatly by the fact that I can go home now if she's too drunk and/or annoying, and she knows it.

Yes, they do mess you up, your mum and dad, but I wouldn't be the same person I am today if it weren't for what happened to me in the past, and I think that would be a shame (even if I'm the only one who thinks that :) ).
(BlackArmadillo Avoided writing that article on, Mon 20 Aug 2007, 20:47, Reply)