PaxAeterna

Hello, I'm an ACOA and have been lurking here on-and-off for a while.

My mother drank herself to death during a divorce with my father. My extended family is shot through with addiction and alcoholism. I love a lot of my family, but the ones that hurt me the most, the alcoholics on my mother's side -- I can never forgive.

I'm having some rather severe problems launching myself into recovery. I don't want to admit that I need help. It feels like losing the only thing I have.

My dad sent me to a counselor when I was a kid. It felt like the worst betrayal in the world -- my mother, grandmother, and aunt were all vicious, raving, abusive witches and I was the one who was "ill" or "crazy" (my thoughts) and had to get treatment. It was another rejection. There was no justice.

So, after everything settled down and I got away from all the worthless, scheming drunks, (yes, sorry, I do not have compassion for them. They are scum. I never want to see them again.), I decided that if nothing else, I wasn't like my relatives, I wasn't an addict, I wasn't nuts -- I was sane, I was smart, I was better, I would survive. It was my way to get through life.

Well, now, I realize I've been deeply affected. Intimate relationships are impossible for me. Expressing my feelings is very difficult. I'm a perfectionist. I have problems with authority figures. I'm bitter and selfish. I can't get things done. I'm addicted to food and caffeine. I struggle at work. I'm anxious and depressed. I feel I am an intelligent person and I work with other intelligent people, and every day I see what I could have been if my childhood wasn't a trainwreck. I see other people moving forward in their lives, enjoying their success, where I'm stuck in a rut and am terrified of responsibility.

So, this is the problem -- I really don't want to admit defeat. I don't want to say "You bastards won. You tried to destroy me, and you did it. I'm an emotional cripple. Now I have to go through years of therapy and groupwork to lead some semblance of the life anyone with half-decent parenting takes for granted." It's easier to suffer than admit that all their **** got to me. Telling myself I wasn't like them and that I'd be okay once I got out of the mess is what kept me going.

I also really don't relate to the whole "touchy feely lovey dovey" aspect of recovery. It feels like a lie to me -- believe in this fantasy of compassion and love to heal yourself. Life isn't compassionate. The world isn't compassionate. I don't want to love and coddle myself -- I want to toughen myself up so I can fight and survive in this hard world.

Has anyone dealt with this? Does anyone feel the same?