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Consequences...

  • By girly-d
  • On 06/06/2018
  • 0 comments

I'm sat in the hotseat...It's my turn to go.

My turn to read out to the world, part two of my alcohol addiction homework...or, as we referred to it back then in rehab, our "Consequences".

We all hated this bit.

The bit where we are forced to see our addiction from someone elses point of view.

Someone close to us.

Someone who clearly cares about us, having taken the time out to write about how we made them feel back then...

 And it's horrendous. Soul-destroying...and a teeny, tiny bit of a gamechanger.

Because it's every bit as excrutiating as it sounds ...

So I try to stop shaking and I take a deep breath and then eventually I start to read...

My brother wrote the letter.

I'd asked him to. He was the only one who could to be fair...my mum has dementia now, and wet brain - caused in part by her own huge alcohol addiction once upon a time  and back in the day.

And so he did what I asked him to, and he wrote me the letter, and now I just have to tell the 18 other people sat in the room exactly what it says...and given the fact that, despite me wishing for a chair sized hole to magically open up right now beneath me, the floor remains resolutely solid,  I have no choice but to speak.

He used to send me money, my brother. When I lived with the drinker guy. 

"For shopping".

More specifically for food shopping...and he would give me budget shopping lists and tell me about the 2-4-1 offers and I would nod my head at the telephone and pretend to write the stuff down...

And he would tell me again for the millionth time that the money was for food and not to be spent on beer...

And I would promise him on my life that I would only buy food as I told him I loved him and put down the phone...

And then I'd go straight to the off-licence and I would buy beer...all the while telling myself that I hadn't really broken my promise to my brother at all, given the fact that alcohol was actually my food back then...

So that was the first horror.

Especially when he wrote in the letter that he knew all along exactly what I would spend it on...but sent it to me anyway, because he loved me and knew that I needed it.

Then he wrote about the sleepless nights that he'd had...waiting for the phone to ring or the police turn up at the door to tell him I was dead.

That every time the phone did ring his heart would literally stop...

That the stress and the worry of not knowing where I was or who I was with meant that he relied on anti-depressants and sleeping tablets at times just to make it through his day...

That he honestly thought I would end up a Jane Doe ..lying dead in some hovel or in a ditch somewhere...and that he was never going to see me again...

And I read it all out and I choked back the tears because suddenly every single dangerous, reckless thing I'd ever done in my addiction was right there in front of me, in black and white...written by my baby brother. The guy who trusted me to look after us both when our mum was drunk and incapable...the guy who used to look up to me... and the guy who, by default went to hell and back with me when I got ill and lost my head for a while...in that instant I saw exactly why they called it "our consequences" ..because I  have never felt so broken or so ashamed in all of my life...