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Fathers Day

It’s Father’s Day again ; every year the same Delema. I’ve just spent the last half hour looking at photos of strangers and people I know with there fathers; I would never dream of putting up a picture of Dad and I, I’m not even sure one exists. Finding a card for dad is a challenge; what to get for the the parent you have no relationship with; I can’t even pick a card. Who writes these cards ; I believe they are written by alcoholics who are using their drug induced states of euphoria to regurgitate the feelings they wished they had. I always end up picking the card thats funny; something about farting or belching ……..something that reminds me of dad , is genuine, without being truthful. This year I didn’t even get a card ; I talked to him on the phone this morning; always an accounting of some up and coming disaster…….today’s apocalypse , a storm is coming. In my mind I see the severe weather he speaks of moving from above his head to all areas around him; he loves a storm. I have one sister and we both avoid talking about dad ; usually a somber conversation where no happy feelings exist ; just a very good dark sense of humor. When we were growing up everyday was Father’s Day ; narsacists take everyday as theirs ; we were all invisible; the only people who have needs are themselves.  Father’s Day for me is about being free from being under his dark cloud and all the guilt and shame and sadness that goes with it; Happy Freedom Day!

Addicts Dream

Midlife tales

Today I’m working on my anger; unsuccessfully . My husband having just returned home from work in our home town informed me of the latest pharmaceuticals he uncovered in our home……dad’s latest score. I am almost forty-eight years old and thats as old as dads never ending hunger for alcohol and pills. In my younger days ; as the the child/parent to my parents ; when most kids were taking dance lessons and hanging out with friends ; my sister and I were parenting our parents. B ack then dads drugs of choice were Demerol and perks ; if you washed them down with six or seven beers ; it was enough to curb the inner prick. I guess some addicts get mean when they indulge mine became palatable. Dad was usually in the hospital for three months out of every year; I now refer to it as dads best…

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Addicts Dream

Today I’m working on my anger; unsuccessfully . My husband having just returned home from work in our home town informed me of the latest pharmaceuticals he uncovered in our home……dad’s latest score. I am almost forty-eight years old and thats as old as dads never ending hunger for alcohol and pills. In my younger days ; as the the child/parent to my parents ; when most kids were taking dance lessons and hanging out with friends ; my sister and I were parenting our parents. B ack then dads drugs of choice were Demerol and perks ; if you washed them down with six or seven beers ; it was enough to curb the inner prick. I guess some addicts get mean when they indulge mine became palatable. Dad was usually in the hospital for three months out of every year; I now refer to it as dads best fix. I would go in to visit him and he would be living a drug addicts dream……hooked up to his favorite infusion; drugs pumping through his veins twenty four seven. In the early years mom would go everyday; bringing him food and his favorite candies; he was really set up. Dad was a paramedic in the earlier days ; someone drug educated; he had the education to feed his addiction needs. We lived across the street from the hospital when I was a child; wonder why dad choose this house ; I’m sure if I could get my hands on his medical records detailing his numerous accidents and medical issues ; I might just uncover a treatment plan that would make any addict happy.  Flash to the future; I’m an adult now still dealing with the addict. Every visit I have with him; my attempt to awaken the inner parent in him ; no where to be seen. I need rehab ; I want to go to the addicts pow wow to burden them with my lifetime serving of shame and anger , and rejection to awaken them to the reality of their selfishness.

Maybe when I go to a meeting and listen to their stories I will bring myself a drink to help take it all in.

Fondly;
An addicts adult child

Mom

There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think about mom. I was a very sensitive child and school was a form of punishment ; leaving her every morning to go face the cold unaccepting structure of doom where kids who asked questions go to be punished……never got easier. I realize now that as a child I was sad to leave my mother because she was very fragile and I wanted to be with her; I could feel her pain and loneliness and so wanted to help her . I was always afraid she would leave me and I needed her to survive living in our home and school; I hated school. I realize now that school is a child’s first real independence and I couldn’t separate myself from her and socializing with kids my own age didn’t come naturally to me; I never had a friend until grade five. I was always behind the other kids and failed two grades ; I never caught up. I so wanted to be successful; every year at the beginning of the school year I believed would be better than the last. For someone with no success story ;I was very positive in that I believed things would get better. I would often look at the really successful kids who did well on all the tests and took dance classes and wish I was them. Invitations to birthday parties, good parent teacher meetings that ended in McDonald’s or ice cream ; I always felt it was my fault. I wasn’t smart enough; I was lazy I had done this to myself ; I deserved to have no friends. I was disorganized.It was my desk the teacher would dump out in the middle of class; the bad example. Even now if I have to clean out a cupboard ; I don’t know how to organize it…….this information is unaccessible to me. The teacher would come over and it would be a morning of humiliation and shaming; good times! My desk would stay this way for minimal time; I didn’t know how to keep up with this arrangement; it felt foreign to me. The books in my desk which were a memoir of my acquired knowledge ;I was told were such a poor example of work; not worthy of the paper they were on. Maybe besides not understanding how to organize my books ; I started to lose the desire to try; it wasn’t getting me anywhere. School was not a good place for me ; home was not a good place for me ; I started to daydream about who I wanted to be. 

Life

It is the weekend ; a wee reprieve from a busy work week. I am a Hairstylist by day, and evening. And In my spare time a mother and wife; so basically I’m always working to make others lives work better. Lately, work has been up and down; I suppose I have something to do with this. I solve crimes at home and when I go to work I listen attentively all day for what my clients are not saying. Our world is full of unhappy unfulfilled people looking to blame all their problems on their salon service. Working in the beauty industry one must develop a very skin; people sometimes have nothing good to say to you; I suppose I must have a deep desire for rejection. I love the creativity of being a hairdresser but when your a painter your canvas is quiet. It’s not always easy to drown out all the back ground noise; ( including your client ) to create a design acceptable by all. As an artist I am highly critical of everything I create; most of us are sensitive people with a great need to please; however, I have worked with the peacocks who feel it would be hard to improve on their perfection……always interesting to me. Both of us messed up in our own ways ; the same but different. When I get home at night after I attend to the needs of what ever teenager crisis is at home ; I mentally reassess all my clients of that day; Did they like it? Was it the best work I could do . If I choose not to take on a challenge due to fear ; I’m sure to let myself relive this…….talk about tiring. Is it possible to really enjoy your day without stressing and reliving each moment analytically? Maybe. 

I come from an incredibly dysfunctional family; I know many of you reading my post are feeling some competitive inspiration coming on…..but I have this one wrapped up; don’t even try. My parents met each other whilst in the hospital each one institutionalized for a major breakdown; it must have been love at first sight. In fact my sister was conceived during their stay. So; when I say my young years had their challenges ; understatement! Dad was an alcoholic; prescription drug addict; warm and fuzzy is not how I would describe him and mom was manic who had a few long vacations at a facility nearest to us starting when I was born. Did I mention she also suffered from some long struggles with depression . I was a kid that never could anticipate what was coming. Here I am today ; I pick a career of pleasing people ; many unpleasable ! My nature is to always look for threats to my survival……believe me people’s expectations are very high…..I’m in the eye of the storm on a daily basis; always holding back my reaction to avoid certain death. I am a stylist who loves the art of creating beauty for people ; I love everything about hair ,except sometimes the person beneath it. I find it very difficult ; an ongoing battle to live in the moment and not obsess about the work that i have done that day.
Wish me luck.