By that I mean, I came home from the ‘joy’ of reporting into the nearest unemployment bureau to ‘Hey, it took a lot of hunting but I found your liquor library.’
The thing is, with a Real Alcoholic / Junkie, you can never ‘win.’ I do not hide my booze to control his actions. I hide it because I can’t bloody well afford the money he’ll guzzle and then run into a 16 year old girl who’s sitting at a red light. In other words, it has happened before and the girl ended up ‘okay’ — but
I nearly had a mental breakdown over that. Brother got away with it, to make the story very brief but I learnt a lot of things through the ensuing therapy and accredited group support from a couple of years of serious work on that…
I drink and I drink a lot sometimes. The anti-seizure meds I went on in 2014 means I cannot drink as much. By cannot drink, I mean that I will simply pass out.
Only for a couple of hours but when I wake up, I’m well-aware that I hit the wall! I hit the wall a lot quicker, too. I’ve read where people say it’s like drinking 10 times the amount you used to when you’re on the anti-seizure meds but I’m here to say, in my personal metabolism, it’s more like double. Well, and I used to just keep stumbling around if I drank that much and now I actually just slump over.
Brother still does the family thing of drinking and drinking and drinking til you maybe stop drinking. Sometimes he sleeps a bit but then he’s up at it again. This is rather the family norm, is what I’m saying. However, most family do this at home and don’t go out into the world like that. -or if we’re ‘out,’ it’s somebody else driving
Brother’s one of the ‘bad ones.’ Uncle Doc was, too. They won’t be happy til they’ve killed somebody. I don’t mean to be particularly negative but I’m saying, man. It’s a train wreck in slo-mo and you cannot divert it or control any single part. That’s not therapy-head, that’s years of watching it play out. And ya know, group therapy.
Back to tearing the house apart:
I cannot afford — even when I was employed — to keep him in booze. It’s a bottomless pit. My stash was in my bedroom and hidden so well that I’d forgotten what was in there. I mean, obviously, whatever I’m hitting gets pulled out but there are some things I find now and then that surprise me. Recently, I found a half bottle of Triple Sec that had been gathering dust for at least 2 years. AT LEAST.
God knows, I drink. Sometimes it’s 2 ounces. Sometimes it’s 6 pints. Sometimes it’s absolutely nothing.
But I mostly don’t like that he a) went into my bedroom and b) DUG — I mean, that shite was VERY well-hidden c) lied about it.
When he confessed, my reaction was a sort of non-reaction. I was stunned and then immediately felt like an idiot. Of course, when I wasn’t here, he tore apart my apartment looking for booze. Of course.
All I said was, ‘Look, man. I don’t have the funds to replace that, so–‘
‘Oh! I didn’t take anything.’
I didn’t go running to verify this because I had been gone all day, had 2 youngest girls to visit with, had the elderly toddlers to ‘settle’ and had to help in a minimalist way with why Brother was here (he’s scraping columns on the carport and going to paint — this is for money to pay for one of the kids’ braces, so it’s work and he’s probably better-paid than most independent contractors since it’s for grandkids’ teeth!).
After Brother went home and the elderly toddlers and youngest girl had gone to bed, I commenced doing my own stuff, which included digging out a hidden paper bin (behind which is the stash).
Being the OCD weirdo that I am, the bottles are meant to be in a specific placement. The whiskey was completely wrong. Now, I know, you don’t understand how ‘the penguin always points north’ I am and knowing that I drink my own booze, you might think that I’d simply sloppily moved that bottle but these past 3 months, I’ve only had vodka or rum. Plus, the X / Y grid I use for placing bottle was broken. So, all in all, he lied about drinking. I picked it up and yes, he’d had about 8oz of it, too. In addition to all the other stuff he drank. Whilst on a 2 storey ladder. Fab.
Bitch, bitch, bitch…
The thing is, I give (and GAVE) him booze before I knew any of this. It’s just so sickening to me, mostly because of the THEFT and lies. Of course, I grew up with a lot of bad behaviour around me but it still bothers me, which is my fault.
In short: I can no longer stash booze there, which is a shame as it was so well-hidden it took him 6 years to find and I am again worried about who and when he’s going to accidentally kill.