For years I have wondered why my dad had one child, let alone 5. Rather selfishly I wondered over the years why having children wouldn't stop him drinking. I had raging arguments with him in the hope it would open his eyes to how much his drinking affected his family. I made snarky comments whenever I could, and blocked any attempt when I turned 18 for me to buy him alcohol. Oh no. I was not going to help feed the monster.
He's done so many awful things to me over the years- to all of us. I've been called a cow, a bitch, a see you next Tuesday, and fat. When I was called fat I (me!) stopped eating for a week. My appetite left me (Christmas miracle.) Yet every time I still hung on to that tiny slither of hope that eventually he would stop drinking and that life would get better. A big warning to anyone who thinks that life with an alcoholic will get better when they sober up, you are most likely very wrong. Maybe you'll get lucky and get a wonderful person in return, but probably not. Sure, life with no alcohol in it is great, but sobriety opens up a whole new kettle of fish that you don't expect. You don't expect their already selfish behaviour to ramp up one hundred notches. You don't expect them to turn into even bigger babies than they already are. But alas, they do.
What has baffled me the most about my father over the years is if the attention isn't on him twenty four hours a day, seven days a week he cannot cope. His behaviour has become more and more attention seeking since he became sober. It's almost like he thrived on the drama of him being a complete prick and having his licence removed and finally becoming sober, that now he is sober and in it for the long haul, that he feels in the shadows.
Dads ugly, selfish, attention seeking behaviour shone like a bloody beacon last week, all because the attention wasn't on him. My PGCE offer became unconditional, so like seems to be a slight tradition in our family, I wanted to go out for dinner. We hadn't celebrated my degree either. With the family so bogged down in my dads shit, my brothers shitty behaviour and my sisters depression dissertation escapades, I just wanted to celebrate something; I'm not afraid to admit that I also- selfishly- wanted to be properly recognised for all the hard work I put into my degree and getting onto my course.
Apparently that isn't ok for my father, oh no. He comes to the meal, doesn't have anything to eat or drink (nothing to eat because he had 'just eaten' and nothing to drink because he had enough lemonade last week at my moms party) and acted like his normal childish self. He didn't want to be there because he had been in a hot classroom (doing his drivers awareness course) and just wanted a shower. He said to us all that we're selfish for not putting his needs first. So obviously the atmosphere was shit from then on, and it was merely a lets revel in my dads permanent state of misery dinner.
So we get home, and where does he go? Straight to the crisps cupboard, even though he wasn't hungry. Does he take them straight upstairs to have his much desired shower? No, he goes on the fucking computer. For the first time in years I properly lost it at him. I called him all the names under the sun, and said some horrible things to him in the argument. Even though I'm used to his shitty fucking behaviour, I felt utterly abandoned and like all of the hard work I put in had been shat on, all because he couldn't fucking pretend to be proud and happy for me and not to be the prize fucking dick of the piece once again. I said I just wanted to celebrate my hard work and he laughed in my face. My own fucking dad. I said I don't know why you're a dad and he said grow up, so obviously I shouted back at him that no, it's not me who should grow up, it's you, you 52 year old cretin.
Thankfully mom took all of us out of the house and put our feelings first before his for once, which was really nice and I was very proud of her for doing that. I don't know whether that was just the effects of her having an argument with him mid my argument though. I haven't spoken to him since.
For once I would just love a meaningful apology. An apology that isn't bought, but one where he actually realises how badly he hurt me and genuinely wants to make it up to me. I'm pretty aware that after 22 years and 11 months of putting up with his shit that its not going to happen. I don't think he would even know how to form a meaningful apology. I feel very sad for him that he is so wrapped up in himself he can't even be happy for his own daughter.
I will always be proud of him for sobering up, but I can't be proud of him or like him as a person, when his actions are so removed from what I agree with and can cope with.
Lots of Love,
Hev
xoxox
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