Zen's Aviary...
Home of the Parrot-Loving, Slightly Neurotic,

Jewelry Designing, Enigmatic Pagan Chick!


well it's nearly 5 AM and i've not slept yet. you'd think with the dosages of morphine i am taking that morpheus would take me away to dreamland with no problems. but alas, morpheus has again deserted me in favor of other dreaming souls.

i've had insomnia since i was a little girl. i think it started because my parents fought so much at night. my father was a different person when he drank. a true jekyl and hyde.

he'd come home from work and i'd run to him; to be swept up in his arms for a huge hug. then he'd let me stand on his feet my little arms in his big hands as he walked me around the kitchen to see what wonderful smells were coming from the stove. i felt so safe, my mom cooking dinner, my brothers in the family room playing and my dad dancing me around the kitchen.

we sat down to dinner together every night as a family and that is when my dad would have his first drink. canadian lord calvert with seven-up. the first drink or so just made him relaxed and we'd all talk about our days.

each progressive drink after that seemed to make him more bitter and by the time all of us kids were in bed i'd begin to hear his voice raised as he yelled at my mom about some imagined crime she committed that day.

i'd lie in my bed surrounded by stuffed animals and put my pillow over my head to drown out his tirades; but then i'd feel like i had to listen in case my mom needed me.

some nights the shouting would be so loud i'd be terrified my little brothers would wake up, but they slept through their little selves in dreamland.

some nights my mom would be so afraid of him that she'd come in my room and sleep with me because she thought he'd stop if she was in my bed. i'd cry and tell her i wanted to keep her safe.

other nights he'd chase her around the house. it was terrifying and i've never been able to just fall asleep since.

this didn't happen every night. there were nights where his drinking was not as bad and he'd remain at the jovial level and i'd fall asleep to just the sound of television and the quiet murmurs of my parent's voices as they talked.

my father was never mean when he was sober. i learned quickly to separate the man from the alcohol and i suppose that is why i was able to so easily forgive him for the things he did while drunk.

i never doubted his love for me or his family. his alcoholism never affected his job. he was what i've heard referred to as a functioning alcoholic. he loved his family deeply and would have done anything for us; except quit drinking.

but he had a tortured soul. his childhood was horrible and he'd never learned to deal with it. i know he hated the man he was when he was drunk...but he never got help for it, and the worse he acted when drunk, the more he had to drink later to try and forget what he'd done the previous night.

i understand my father and i love him. but i hate what alcohol did to him and i hate that he was never able to reach out for help. he's still tortured by memories and by alcohol. i can't fix him; i know that now.

i had years of therapy and al-anon so i am able to forgive and to see the man that he truly is. i only wish he could see him too.

~zen - still awake 0 little birdies chirped

4:57 a.m. :: ::
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