Ajay1968

My previous post (which was my first ever) was a rather rude 'helpmeiminamadbadplacerightnow' doozie of a message and probably not the best way for me to step forward. But I was in a bad spot and just urgently needed help, and I thank God I came across SR at that moment.

I thought I'd share a little more of my life now, as I spend my last night in the home of my AM and AD, both of whom are codependent, before I fly back back to Sydney tomorrow to regain some strengths and sanity in the arms of my own family.

I'm Ajay, born in Glasgow as the second child born to parents who, at that stage, were probably just heavy drinkers who were irresponsible parents to myself and my older sister (there's a difference of 4 years between us) My earliest memories are muddled - happy family days mostly and then some terrible nights when we used to sit on the stairs crying, listening to them scream at each other and physically attack each other.
We left Scotland in 1973 and moved to South Africa and things seemed to spiral out of control from there. Dad worked away for long stretches and Mum was lonely in a strange country and started to drink more, to cope, I guess. When dad got home, parties would follow for all our friends, and would normally end in blood and tears as both my parents had become violent alcoholics. Then dad started working more locally, and that's when it really hit the fan. Mum would drink most days, sometimes to drunkness, and sometimes not, but when Dad came home and sensed she'd been drinking, he'd either binge to catch up, or else start a fight, walk out and go to his local and get trollied. Either way, the end result would be that we had 2 drink parents, each blaming the other. Weekends were the absolute worst -it was no holds barred and I spent so many afternoons and evenings praying that we'd make it home alive (dad drove when he was blind drunk as well). Fights would break out in the car and sometimes Dad would reach over, open the passenger door and just push mum out on the highway. Then we'd wait for the call from the police station to come to collect her (remember , these were the days before cell phones, so she'd have to wait to be picked up) and either my sister or I would head over (I was 11, she was 15) and we'd driver her home and tend to her cuts and bruises. If we made it home without that happening, then the minute we got home, the violence would start - they would lay into each other like a couple of heavy weights, while ,y sister and I cowered in our rooms, knowing that we would be cleaning blood off the wall and floors the next day. And then the next day, we would all pretend that nothing had happened.
I was a super bright overachiever at school, but had shabby clothes and shoes. My Year 5 teacher once asked me if my parents were alcoholics and I nearly died of shame. I got very angry at her and defended my parents proudly. My best friend came from an alcoholic family as well, and she was the only person I would let in my house and I in hers. (41 years later, and we're still best of friends).
High school was just a louder version of junior school, except now parents were both having affairs as well. My sister moved out of home at age 17 to live with her boyfriend, and I followed suit at age 16 to live with a friend. I dropped out of school eventually and got a job so that I could get completely away from everyone and get my own life started. During all of this time, I maintained a loving, close relationship with both of them when they were sober but couldn't stand them when they'd been drinking. By early adulthood, mum had started attempting suicide when she got drunk and I found her unconscious in a pile of her own faeces more then once, resulting in stints in hospital. Dad during this time was working for himself (he'd gotten fired from every job over the past 115 years for being drunk on the job) and was whoring around. After initially being shocked into some sense after the first suicide attempt, he soon realised that it was also a form of control that mum was using, to try to get him to come back to her (he'd hooked up with a lady the same age as my sister at that stage), he returned to his own ways, and in 1997, he left the country completely, returning to Scotland and leaving me with a car I'd signed surety on and my mum in rented accommodation. After trying to get mum to live me (and my young family I was now married with a 4 and 2 year old) but banning booze from the equation, she overdosed again and I had her institutionalised for 9 months. By this time, she had a major depressive disorder and was anorexic as well.....but she still refused to join a treatment program for alcoholics. After she was discharged, Dad called from Scotland and asked her to go back to him, which she did.
For the next 10 years, I dealt with midnight telephone calls, Listening to him beating her, her beating him, her swallowing pills, him telling her to do it....it was all kinds of hell. I eventually started unplugging the phone at night. My sister had achieved emotional detachment years before and they never called her through all of this, only me, which says a lot about how enmeshed I am in their lives.
Over the past 8 years, I have tried to take back some control, to a greater or lesser success. Sometimes they play nice and agree no drinking when they are around me or my children (who are adults themselves now) and other times they just show me the finger and do what they want. 2 years ago, my dad went missing in Sydney when he was visiting me-got trashed and couldn't remember where I lived, and ended up getting picked up by a taxi wandering through the streets. Last year, they were both supposed to be visiting, but dad turned up on his own, after he and mum fought in the morning because of the drinking the night before and he gave her 2 black eyes and she wouldn't get in the taxi. If it wasn't so tragic, it would be funny. They're nearly in their 80's!

My children lost their innocence seeing their grandparents behave this way - I literally watched that unequivocal love disappear and be replaced with some distrust and confusion, in amongst the love that is still there. As adults themselves now, they recognise them for what they are, but I feel as though ey were robbed as much as I was.

I am nowhere in my recovery. I've read a few of the books here and but never worked through it properly, only ever dallying in it in moments of crises, and I owe it to myself to work through it all properly. I've been blessed with a wonderful marriage, 2 amazing young men as my children and that often seems enough. But then, at times like this past week, i realise that I'm still that terrified little girl, desperately trying to figure out what I have to do to get them to stop being so angry, or how good I have to be so that they don't have to drink to be happy. Until the i overcome this, I shall never be free of it.

Thanks for reading my incredibly long story (so many more where that came from!)

Ajay