I knew it was a while since my last post, but I am shocked that it was the 15th of December.
Well I have been musing over my latest blog for quite sometime and for me it seems to be very significant turning point in my recovery. My thoughts have been asking why I am the way I am. Considering my background and rationale to figure out how to break my cycles of bad habits and behaviour.
My mother gave birth to my mortal being 29 years ago, and we all enter this world innocent, so what factors have created my personality. I firmly believe that your youth and upbringing attributes so much to the character you have as an adult. This has given me food for thought over the festive period as everything at this time is so family orientated and being the polar opposite of this it can be a very lonely and frustrating time of year. This loneliness has created much reflection on a time before I was addicted to cigarettes, booze and overweight.
My parents were humble by nature and having raised 3 children who were almost all adults by the time I was born had gained vast experience in parenthood. Though not wealthy or middle class, they did everything for me and I never wanted for anything. I was given opportunities that my siblings weren't, possibly because they were financially independent by the time I hit my teens and I was almost growing up as an only child. My mother took retirement at 60 from her job at a school and then spent the next 3 years working 4 part time jobs to pay the fees of my public school education. My father was the victim of a stroke when I was just 11 and I, being the only male member of the family still at home had to take on all the male chores of the household while my mother took on the financial responsibilities. Never do I think I have ever thanked her for these opportunities. We had a tense relationship while I was growing up, interspersed with arguments and fall outs, we did everything we could for the house. My father and I also had a rocky relationship when I was a terrible teen. For a whole year we did not speak as I asked him to pick me up from a girlfriend's father's house on the other side of the city when I was 15. Apart from this time we were incredibly close and would often talk about things from politics and current affairs to my choice to leave home to go to university in England; something that caused numerous heated discussions with my mother.
My brothers and I had a distant relationship, even when I was living at home and they would be in the house 4 times a week. Understanding that they are 13 and 17 years older than me and I was a closeted youngster in the throes of being a well educated hedonistic teenager who like to work and play hard in the 90's; whereas their teenage years in the troubles of Belfast in the 70's and early 80's were a stark contrast. We were never close, our social outlooks were polar opposite, tastes in music and fashion, political stances, future ideals; the list is endless. I felt like the black sheep of the family because there was this ancient history amongst them that I could never be a part of so I carved my own history into our tree, without the bond they shared.
My sister, the person that I have always felt closest to in my family (apart from my father), was always more than just a sister too me. It was a frequent thought as I grew up that she may have been my mother as she was 21 years older. An illegitimate child that caused the break up of her engagement? I don't know if it was possible back in 1980 to alter birth certificates with the right kind of cash, but I have mine right here and according to it my mother and father are who they say they are. My sister treated me as her own though and always spoiled me rotten, taking me on days out, getting me little treats and whatnot. The fact that she could be my mother is not intangible, and at times she has seemed like more of a mother than my own.
This background detail should help you understand that I had a good childhood. I never went short, we always had manners and endured discipline if they ever fell short. But, was I a happy child? Looking back now I have Jekyll & Hyde memories from my youth, especially around Christmas.
When I was around 7 or 8, I distinctly remember a Christmas Eve that had a particular malevolence to it. So much so, that I wrote another letter to Father Christmas and pinned it to the outside of my bedroom door. It read:
'Dear Father Christmas,
This year I don't want any fancy toys but for my daddy not to shout any more. I want us all to laugh for Christmas.'
I don't remember any specifics that lead to the writing of this note, but I do remember the next day when I was filled with excitement at the dinner table, my father grabbed hold of my arm to calm me down and said 'You don't want Santa to take away your present and have me shout?'. I was filled with fear of my father and couldn't bear the embarrassment of the whole family knowing about the letter (even though they all did), so I spent the rest of Christmas Day in silence unless spoken to.
I also recall the day that he beat me black and blue because I lost the house keys and lied, again when I was about 8. My father had to tell the school why I was off school, an experience which I think humbled him. My mother and sister were in the next room and could hear my cries, yet never came to my aid. Did we all live in suspended terror of my father? I guess so.
He has never apologised for either of these incidents and neither would I expect him to.
These tales are not displayed here for sympathy or to conjure up images of a beast of a man that avoided like the plague, but rather to understand his nature and why he was that way. I now know in hindsight and my incredible ability to add 2 + 2 and come up with 4, my father was an alcoholic.
Now this is not in the self destructive, I'm going to drink my life away and live on the streets, for that is not what happens for the majority of alcoholics. Most function normally and life carries on regardless, unless they face the fact or are forced to change their habits.
A cousin came to visit one weekend from England, one that all of my family knew except me. My father being English, took our family on holidays in the 70's to see my aunts, uncles and grandparents. Something to this day that I have never done, odd considering I am the one who lives closest to them now. However I digress, this cousin came and he was like a beacon to me, strange accent, charming and very well dressed. I know what you are thinking but no he is not gay and I knew this at the time. My father and he regaled stories all night before I was sent to bed around 10pm. The next morning I was watching TV in the living room and I remember my mother making a comment about how my father and my cousin drank a 10 glass bottle (a Northern Irish term for a 70cl bottle) of whiskey in a shocked tone. My mind recorded this as to not be normal, yet not unheard of.
Other times I have noticed that my father consumed a bottle of spirits, a couple of bottles of wine or combinations of drinks; at barbecues, weddings, Christmas, as well as his weekly ritual on a Friday night. There was also his change in temperament at this time as well and on more than one occasion was witness to acts of aggression. Did I see these as normal rites of being a man? Is it possible that somewhere in my childhood mind I stored the ideal 'You're not a man until you're a drinker'? I have no idea and I am not using it as an excuse. However it is something that I know I don't want to be a part of again through my own life.
I believe that if you have children or are considering having them you must think:
'Would I accept my behaviour, if my child was behaving in such a manner?'
On another note, I had my last cigarette on the 22nd of December and apart from a 1/2 a glass of champagne on New Year's Eve, I have not had a drink since Christmas Day. This is the beginning of a new dawn. 2010 and beyond will not be plagued by my shortcomings of addictions and bad behaviour.
