When I was 8 years old, my mom was in a car accident. She suffered some nerve damage in her hands as a result. Nothing major, but she couldn’t play the piano anymore. I know that doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it was. She was a concert pianist. And a very good one. It was her passion, her joy, her first love. Our house was always filled with music. And then it wasn’t. She fell into a depression, and started drinking. My dad tried to get her to stop. He sent her to rehab, but it didn’t stick. She tried to kill herself a few times. My dad tried to protect me, and to pick up the slack, to be the only parent I needed. But there was only so much he could do. When she was at her darkest, we lived in fear for weeks at a time that she would make another suicide attempt. By the time I was 14 it had become a shared burden. My dad had to work longer hours to keep us afloat, and I was left to tend to her, to bail her out of bars. I remember that horrible sinking feeling in my stomach when I’d hear the tab and think how she’d pissed away the money that was supposed to go to my school trip, paints, even grocery money.
She’s been clean and sober 4 1/2 years now. My doing, mostly, in the beginning. My best friend who had also struggled with substance abuse had killed himself, and in the aftermath I had fire in my veins and I made her. I was so angry that she was lost in a bottle when I needed her most.
The point of all this, is that I have a really screwed up relationship with alcohol, which is to say I don’t have one. I rarely if ever indulge, and then it’s not much, and I almost have to force myself. Being around people drinking makes me incredibly uncomfortable. But most people my age are social drinkers, so that can be hard.
But the major problem is this. I’ve been seeing a really wonderful man. Hell, let’s be honest. I’m in love with him. But he likes to drink. Not in excess at all, but he appreciates good liquor and fine wine, and he likes to get a little tipsy now and then. And intellectually I know there’s nothing wrong with that, that it shouldn’t bother me. But it does. I feel paralyzed being around him when he drinks, sick to my stomach even. And I know he notices, he’s asked me about it, even offered to refrain from doing so when he’s around me, but that doesn’t seem fair. It’s my issue, not his. I feel like I need to talk to him about it, that I owe him that, but every time he asks, I just shut down. I feel like there’s someone strangling me and I can’t get the words out. Last night when he tried to talk to me about it I just started crying. I felt so weak and ashamed. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to handle this. This relationship is so important to me, but I just don’t know what to do.
