Life With an Abusive Alcoholic

December 13, 2018
By Anonymous

Up until recently, my father has been a shadow and a force, putting me in only what I can describe as a dark corner of fear and hopelessness. My father was addicted to alcohol for as long as I can remember. Although he is sober now, I spend every day in fear that one day I’ll be treated differently because of what I went through. I share my story in hopes that it will provide a light of hope to those in similar circumstances. I know I’m not the only person to stand up and say “I’m a survivor of abuse”, and I know I’m not the last. What I’ve learned is that each and every human being has worth even when you’re told otherwise.

Before my father was sober, I never knew what to expect. I would come home to broken plates, shattered bottles and a few stray cans.

Sometimes I had dreams where a voice would yell and scream at me and it always seemed to get louder as if I was falling into the mouth of a beast until it echoed away. I would get yelled at. The details are what haunts me most of all.

After being asked why he drank alcohol instead of being with us, my father simply said that he’d choose alcohol over family any day of the week. When I was in second grade when my father “forgot” to pick me up from school. All I could think of was if it was my fault and in some twisted way I was able to convince myself that it was.

After being diagnosed with anxiety at the age of ten, I learned about what it was. Looking back, I showed signs of anxiety since kindergarten, when I could never fall asleep at night and when my breathing felt short and restricted. After starting court-mandated visitation with my father we went through two reconciliation counselors before deciding that we’d simply stay put with our plan. Reconciliation counselor A sided with my dad on everything and pushed us through our parenting plan, phase after phase until it stopped. We got a new counselor, counselor B who was scared of my father and left me defenseless against what lied ahead.

My father and my anxiety had taken quite the toll on my school life. I was able to manage to keep all my grades at A’s and A-‘s which didn’t feel like much then but I’m proud of it now. I was harsh on myself to not talk about my past to get special treatment but I had a few breakdowns here and there. Few of my teachers know about what happened to me and for once I don’t feel stressed about it. I think after going through so much, there are not many things that can get in my way.

When the visitations were every other weekend all weekend, my anxiety began taking control of my everyday life. I had experienced several panic attacks when with my father. Although I had been working with a personal counselor for about 1 year, my anxiety took the best of me. As an eleven-year-old, I was almost put on medication. I felt hopeless and alone.

After what seemed like an eternity, my father agreed to a lesser visitation plan. Slowly but surely I regained control over my life and my anxiety. I told myself each day that I wouldn’t go down without a fight. Although I’m still triggered by some of the things that happen to me, I live a relatively normal life. I’m proud of my story and I hope that other people can feel inspired to speak out for themselves and others. Although I’m still young, I hope to do something incredible with my life.


The author's comments:

I wrote this piece after overcoming an abusive parent and a battle with anxiety.


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This article has 3 comments.


Skybigwings said...
on Jan. 7 at 2:35 pm
Skybigwings, Olympia, Washington
0 articles 0 photos 1 comment
Good job girl! I'm so proud of you! Keep up the amazing work. Love ya!

berenk BRONZE said...
on Jan. 7 at 3:16 am
berenk BRONZE, Tirana, Other
2 articles 0 photos 5 comments
omg yass gg girl hope u and ur daddy get better

thefoxrises said...
on Jan. 2 at 11:39 pm
thefoxrises, Olympia, Washington
0 articles 0 photos 1 comment
Good job getting through this. Your writing is a great way to reach out and let others in the situation know they can get through it too.


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