Here is my edited/final copy...

Addiction can be defined as the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma. Aside from the formal definition of addiction and “trauma”, addiction is something that can destroy someone’s life and family. It not only causes physical pain, but much emotional and mental pain. It seems the addict is not the only person who is affected by their choices. Loved ones and children may be affected even more than the addict themselves.

From the time I was a little kid, addicts have played a role in my life. It first began with my father, who was an alcoholic from the day I was born. I spent 17 years worrying and wondering if he would ever get better, and he never did. To this day, I wonder how different my life would be if my father had not been an addicted alcoholic. Children of alcoholics/addicts have trouble with intimate relationships. They learned how to be emotionally reserved with a parent who could (possibly) hurt them in so many different ways. As children, they could feel loved one day, and rejected the next. As adults, they have to unlearn defense mechanisms, and learn how to let others become emotionally close to them. These words resonate with me, and it is sad to say that I can identify with every statistic and profile I read. As I continue on the path of my life, I wonder if I am destined to follow my family’s path.

Seven years after my father died I find myself repeating my childhood. I’m engaged to a wonderful man who loves me and our son. The only problem is his addiction to pain pills. Same story, different time, different man. Are all children who grow up with an addict for a parent destined for this life? Research indicates that children growing up with an alcoholic are four times as likely to become alcoholics, more likely to abuse other drugs”, and “twice as likely to marry alcoholics or addicts." Even though statistics show that history repeats itself, will I be able to make a change for the better? Is there any hope of a healthy relationship in my future?

The first memory I have of my father’s behavior is waking up early on a Saturday wanting to watch cartoons, and him drunk on the couch, still up from the night before. He was always a happy drunk, cracking jokes and acting as if everything was totally normal. That didn’t change the fact that he was drunk at nine o’clock in the morning. As I got older, my father went in and out of my life. My mother was very supportive and tried to help him through one rehab program after another, which took him away from our home. Once he would come home, it was a constant rollercoaster ride. I never felt like I could be a child, always worrying about whether or not I would need to take care of my father because he was passed out when I got home from school. It got to the point where I never invited friends over or made any plans because I didn’t know what to expect. After a while, I was being sent home from school two or three times a week because of stomach aches from worrying.

Eventually my Mother realized we couldn’t function normally with my father around, and he moved out. He shifted from one place to another, staying at treatment centers, halfway houses, with friends and family, and even jail. No matter where he went or what shape he was in, he always stayed in touch with my Mother and me. I knew he loved us more than he could ever say, and that being an addict was destroying him inside. Even though he had every motivation to stop drinking, he never did. When I was seventeen, my father died. I was sitting in class just like any other day, and I was called outside. I was taken out to the parking lot, where my mom, aunt and two cousins were waiting. My Mom stepped out of the van and said, “He’s gone.” At first, all I could think is that my Uncle Fran, who had throat cancer had died. When I looked into her eyes I knew it wasn’t him. My dad was dead. I would never see him again. At first I couldn’t even cry, and then it hit me harder than a ton of bricks. The next couple days, months, even years, were horrible. Just when I thought things were getting better I would end up feeling worse than I was to begin with. The cards were stacked against me. Not only was I dealing with his death, but I was already predisposed to anxiety and depression. Studies comparing children of alcoholics with other children have linked parental alcoholism to higher levels of mental health issues, particularly depression, and anxiety.

About a year after my father died, I started college. At first, things were great, and then I became depressed and disheartened. All I could think of was my father, and how he would never be there for me. It was so painful to think that even though he had not been there for me as much as he could during his lifetime, he wouldn’t be there in the least bit now that he was dead. Why did it hurt so much when I never expected that much out of him in the first place? I did the worst possible thing when I began feeling despair. I, myself, turned to alcohol and drugs, thinking I could make all my problems go away. After years of counseling and meetings and more therapy than a person could stomach, I was doing the exact opposite of what I had been taught. I thought what I had experienced and been taught would make me behave differently, but when it came down to it, I turned to what ruined my father’s life. Children whose parents misuse drugs or alcohol often demonstrate the negative effects of this through emotional difficulties, behavioral problems and social isolation. This can lead to depression and anxiety, or involve early drug or alcohol misuse and antisocial behavior. I continued to make bad choices, concerning drugs and alcohol, as well as men.

Eventually I dropped out of school with a loser boyfriend, thinking that was my best option. After another year of drug use and hopelessness, I got up the courage to leave him and moved back home. Things went well for a while, but the constant depression and anxiety were too much, especially living with my Mom and Step dad. It was a constant reminder that my father was not there, and my mother had replaced him. I again turned to drugs and alcohol, and during the partying found my fiancé. We spent the first six months of our relationship using drugs to escape from reality. Everything seems perfect when you keep yourselves holed up in a house using twenty four hours a day. In time, things got old and I was done. I loved Chris, but I couldn’t handle the drugs and the lifestyle anymore. We took the first chance we could to get out of town, thinking that a move would put all our problems behind us. After leaving our situation and starting over in a new town, I had no problem staying clean and sober. I had a nice place to live, a good job, and was excited about the future. My fiancé, on the other hand, was not. We were not engaged at the time, and he got deeper into drugs once we moved away. I became an enabler, paying the bills, letting him have the fun, and thinking that everything would be okay. I always used the excuse, “He just needs more time.” He had all the time in the world, and used it to do as many drugs as he could. Before I knew it, his parents and I were intervening. He got a DUI in my car and was arrested. After that, everyone knew he needed to get serious help. His family and I enrolled him in an inpatient rehabilitation program, and he was gone for the next month.

Following treatment, he came out clean and sober and ready to start fresh. Things were going great, and we became engaged shortly after he returned. Before we knew it, I was pregnant and we were moving back to Florida, closer to friends and family. For the pregnancy and the first year of my son’s life, everything went well. We got along well. We partied occasionally, and took excellent care of our son. After a while, things went south again. We were fighting all the time and separated from each other. For the first time in my life, I began seeking legal drugs. I saw a doctor and took medication to help me get out of the deep depression I had been in for years. Amazingly, the medicine I took made a huge difference in my life. The constant mood swings stopped, and I was able to function for the first time in years.

After being separated for a few months, we reconciled. When we did, I knew he was not clean and sober, but I took him back anyway. Everything in me told me it was not the right thing to do, but I could not make another choice. It was as if I had no control over my life. Why was I being so loyal to someone that could cause me so much pain? Adult children of alcoholics are also extremely loyal, even when that loyalty is obviously and painfully misplaced. Because making friends and developing relationships are so fraught for Adult Children Of Alcoholics, once the effort has been made and the liaison established, it becomes permanent, whether it is beneficial or not. ACOAs value safety in their relationships, ties that are known, predictable and offer a degree of security. Once we were back together, the drug use stopped, or so I thought.

This past Saturday, I returned from a work trip to be confronted with bad news. My fiancé came to me and told me he had been taking pain pills again. It started out as pain management for a back injury, and he was hooked all over again. Everything in me knew he was using, but I was denying what was right in front of me. How could I have been so blind? How is it that the human mind can create reasoning to keep you in these kinds of situations? Is what I’m feeling love or stupidity? I have finally come to a point in my life where I realize there is no way to control it. I have to keep going on, trying to do what is best for my son and myself, no matter what the cost. If things don’t work out this time, I am leaving for good, and never getting into a relationship with an addict. I spent the first seventeen years of my life hoping my father would change, and he never did. All I ask is that there is still some hope left in me. There is always cause for hope. We have the capacity to think, to generate positive thoughts and encouragement for ourselves, to reach out to friends, to create a healthier environment for ourselves and those who love us. We mustn't make the mistake of thinking we can heal our alcoholic/addict parent. That is up to them and them alone. If they make a choice to become sober, we can be loving and supportive, we can be encouraging, but we can't force sobriety on them. If they never find sobriety, we mustn't think that it is our fault, that we somehow failed them. This is a victory or a defeat that has to be fought out by the alcoholic/addicted person themselves. I am ending my essay with a lot of unanswered questions. I have no idea where to go from here, but I do know that I still have the chance of a fruitful, happy life for myself and my family. At this point, all I can do is hope.

I think this is great! Tiffany