I don’t think you ever recover from growing up with an alcoholic parent. What is interesting is how far you go to hide it.
When I was a teenager I’d rather look bad to teachers than admit there was a problem. So it was my fault that I had no PE kit, or my uniform was tatty.
It was all hidden, my mum was the classic secret drinker, the Jekyll and Hyde. What hurt most was that she loved her gin and vodka more than us, and shut herself away from us to drink – slammed doors in our faces.
I pretended I did not care about things I wanted but could not have – it’s less painful that way. I became so good at ‘coping’ that now I am not very good at making life easy for myself, because I am expert at putting up with rubbish!!!
Both me and my sister went into serious relationships very young, looking for security and unconditional love. My sister married her first ever boyfriend.
My mum now has vascular dementia and her health is failing, but my sister does everything for her and we are not going to put her in a home, we’ll do everything to make her last few years as good as possible.
I feel more sad for her than for myself, because she is the victim of a disease and she was not strong enough to conquer it.
