My first memory of my mum getting drunk was at a family New Years Eve party when I was 11 years old.
My mum always liked a drink, the family joke was give mum a straw in the bottle. When I was 24, I was married and just given birth to my first son. My dad rang to tell me my mum was drinking for days at a time, and my two brothers and him had decided to keep it from me, the excessive drinking had been going on for 3 years.
As soon as I found out, I went into ‘fix it’ mode, ringing every alcohol support group available. My mum didn’t think anything was wrong, she thought that she just liked a drink. She blamed everything and everyone for her drinking; in her eyes I was a bad daughter, my dad was a bad husband, and we didn’t understand, which we didn’t. My mum drove drunk all the time, I kept trying to report her to the police but at the time their policy was that unless they saw her do something wrong they could not act on it.
The years went on, my mum letting us down all the time, preferring to drink rather than be with us. She had a fit and was hospitalised, she cut the top of her ear off, broke her ankle requiring plates and pins, broke her collarbone countless times, she was sectioned, went to AA and learnt that alcohol was in hairspray, so she drank that. She went to rehab but was disgusted by a homeless man who was bought in because he was red and bloated.
I took my mum to every counselling session, I listened to her blaming me for her drinking. My two brothers shut the whole thing out, my dad was not coping as he never knew what he was coming home to. I begged my dad to leave her because he didn’t deserve the abuse, and then selfishly, we could have a ‘normal’ family life. So, every member of the family sank into their own coping method.
My mum’s drinking affected all the grandchildren, we lied to them about grandma being ‘ill’. When my grandfather died, we had to lock her in my house as we knew she would embarrass us if she came to the funeral. My mum is a binge drinker, so she would drink for 3 weeks solid and then not drink for a month. We would get our mum back and our dad got his wife back, we’d start to rely on her and include her, and just when we were starting to repair our shattered family she would get drunk again. Our lives were a roller coaster of emotions, which impacted my mental health to the point where I ended up on anti-depressants. My first husband and I divorced, as he had no idea or understanding as to why I couldn’t just walk away, and to be honest if it wasn’t for my dad, I would have.
My relationship with my dad suffered, I felt he wasn’t being strong enough by allowing her to drink. What I didn’t understand was that he was a victim of domestic abuse, she consistently verbally abused him, and maybe physically too, she had an awful temper.
When I was in my 50’s my dad came to me and said he was worried about his memory, he had the tests and was diagnosed with frontal temporal dementia. We hoped mum would pull herself together, but of course she just got drunk more frequently. My dad went downhill very fast because when my mum was in bed, he just stayed there too. She used to blame him for not remembering, berated him until he sank into himself. My dad who used to clear up after her was unable to cover up for her, so my brothers and I saw the real picture, faeces on the carpets, the house absolutely filthy.
We put dad into respite to give him a break, we had tried to have him live with us on a rota and this was too unsettling for him. She sobered up and took him out. We set up carers for dad, she sobered up and stopped them. My mum announced to social workers ‘he needs to go in a home so I can get my life back’, when she said that the hatred and anger I felt was incomprehensible. My dad went into a care home, and was abused by staff, ending up in hospital with a broken hip. He was so unhappy that it broke my brothers and me.
My dad left hospital in the November and we were told he wouldn’t make it to Christmas, but he did. He lived a further year and died the following Christmas Eve, with his whole family around him, surrounded by love. My mum announced, ‘don’t do this for me, I don’t want everyone with me when I die’.
I didn’t recognise myself or my family as carers, we were just a family muddling through. I realised I was a carer when I spoke to the Alzheimer’s society regarding my dad. From there I got support, it was too late for my dad, and my brothers still don’t recognise themselves as carers. During my life with my mum’s addiction, I have had countless episodes of depression, anger and resentment to my ‘awful selfish’ mum. If I’d had support earlier on, I would have realised my mum’s addiction is her own and put my boundaries in place to protect myself and my family. I could have encouraged my dad to get support to help him cope.
I am now 61 years old, my mum is 83 and she is still drinking, still healthy, but her body is now showing the signs of her alcohol abuse. I do what I can to support and care for my mum, but our relationship does not exist anymore due to the years of suffering. I have set my boundaries and do not cross them, I cannot let my mental health be affected by her addictions anymore. Although I am my mum’s carer, I have to look after me too.
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