Alcoholism is like dominoes.

Alcohol knocks down the alcoholic,

and the alcoholic knocks down everyone else close to them.

                                                              ~nine-year-old son of alcoholic

I worked as a family therapist at a private neuro-psychiatric hospital with the significant others of alcoholics, addicts, compulsive gamblers, and dual diagnosis patients. Between presenting educational lectures, group therapy, and individual counseling sessions, I went to the nurse’s station to check my messages.

The names and phone numbers of the callers were different, but their circumstances and questions were always similar:

“My husband’s drinking and gambling is destroying our marriage. How can I make him stop?”

“I found marihuana in my fourteen-year-old daughter’s bedroom. When I confronted her, she was so angry that I went through her things, I was scared she was going to hit me. What can I do to help her?”

“Our son is in jail for possession of heroin. He’s begging us to bail him out. Should we help him?”

After listening to their tale of woe, my response was always the same:

“The very best way you can help your loved one, is to get help for yourself.”

Often, my words were perceived as a slap in the face:

“Me? I don’t need help. I don’t even drink.”

“Why should I get help? I’ve never taken drugs in my like.”

“I’m the one that’s held our family together. I’m not the one with the problem.”

If you love a practicing alcoholic or addict, chances are real good you have a problem.

Alcoholics and addicts become addicted to alcohol and drugs.

The people who love them become addicted to them.

They do all the wrong things, but for the right reasons.

How meth madness can play out:

Friday afternoon at 3:30 PM Mark sits at his desk in his office staring at unfinished reports due for a Monday morning meeting. It’s payday, and he gets off work at 5 PM. He pensively watches the clock, and thinks of excuses to leave early so he can hit the ATM, beat rush hour traffic, and hook up with his dealer.

Mark’s wife Sandy works as a receptionist at a hair and nail salon. She barely makes above minimum wage, her take home pay is half of Mark’s. The salon is a flurry of activity with women wanting manicures, pedicures, and their hair styled for the weekend. Usually outgoing and friendly, Sandy is irritated by the chatter about celebrity gossip in the waiting area near her desk. She is preoccupied with Mark, and what he will do when he gets off work. Will he come home broke Sunday evening like he did two weeks ago when he got paid?

If he does, she can pay the late notices on the power and phone bills to avoid termination, buy a few groceries, and put gas in her car for work next week, but she can’t pay their late mortgage payment.

She thinks of excuses to leave work early, beat Mark to the ATM, and pay their house payment before he spends the money on drugs.

She wonders if she dared, when Mark found out, would he hit her. Again.

Mark and Sandy’s children, Jason and Jessie, are eleven and nine, and attend an after-school program. When Sandy drove them to school in the morning, she told them to be standing by the door with their backpacks and ready to go at 5:30 when she’d pick them up.

“And don’t upset your dad this weekend, or you’ll be sorry. For once, you better behave.”

Jason and Jessie don’t know it’s payday, or the power and phone bills and mortgage are behind. They don’t know their father is a weekend warrior meth binger or their mother is scared, really scared her family is falling apart, wonders what she does wrong to make Mark use drugs, and takes 20 milligrams of Lexapro (the maximum dose) every morning to chase away the “falling apart” feeling that accompanies her anxiety and depression.

But they know something is wrong. They hear the fights. They see the tears their mother tries to hide when she prepares dinner at the stove.

Jason’s grades are above average, yet he is an aggressive bully on the playground. When he can sneak them, he smokes his dad’s cigarettes and drinks his beer. He told his mother, “The next time he hits you, I’m going to stop him. I’ll protect you mom.”

Jessie is a quiet wallflower. She prefers drawing and reading over socializing with other girls. She has never had a friend spend the night or gone to a slept-over because she’s a bed-wetter. Sandy has taken her to two urologists. Neither found a physical explanation for her nocturnal enuresis.

Sandy’s mother Shirley is 67, lives alone on a fixed income, has emphysema, and is on oxygen. Two weeks ago Sandy called her at 2 AM and asked her to watch the kids while she went to look for Mark.

“Look for Mark? Is everything OK?”

“Mom, I can’t talk about it in front of the kids. They are up and getting dressed. Will you watch them or not?”

“Of course I will. Bring them over.”

Shirley knows Sandy wouldn’t open up and be honest with her, even if they were alone in a sound-proof room.
Sandy, who was once close with her mother, now isolates herself, carrying her burdens as sacred secrets.

Shirley knows something is wrong, seriously wrong, with her daughter’s marriage. She can only speculate about the specifics. She suspects Mark is having an affair.

Mark’s parents retired four states away in Florida last year. They call every Sunday afternoon. Sandy updates them on their grandchildren, and explains why Mark is too busy to talk with them.

In the past six months, he had Sandy call his parents four times on Monday mornings to borrow money to pay their monthly bills. He has yet to begin repaying his parents. When they call him on his cell phone or at his office, he says he’s late for a meeting or his phone needs charged and will call them back.

He never does.

The deeper Mark progresses in meth addiction, the farther he moves away from his family. When he’s home, he either watches television or dozes in his recliner while his family talks in hushed tones and tip-toes around him.

Sandy has not only lost her best friend, companion, and partner, she’s left with the responsibility of being both mom and dad to Jason and Jessie. Mark no longer teaches Jason to pitch ball in the back yard on Saturday afternoons, or attends his games. Jessie no longer draws her dad pictures or asks him to read to her.

Mark thinks what he does is his business. He tells himself he’s not hurting anyone, not even himself, even though recently when high he’s progressed from bug-eyed and bouncy, to hallucinating. He believed his itchy arms were infested with roaches. He scratched and scratched, until his arms were raw, trying the free the bugs.

Monday morning, Mark sits at his desk exhausted, irritable, depressed, and dehydrated. He considered telling Sandy to call his boss and tell him he had the flu, but he’s already missed five Mondays in the past six months. He has no appetite, has lost weight loss and risks malnutrition.

He wishes it was payday and wonders what he can sell to get money for more meth.

If Mark continues to use, he risks renal insufficiency, lung disorders, brain damage, liver damage, permanent psychological problems, violent and aggressive behavior, behavior resembling paranoid schizophrenia, dental decay, lowered resistance to illnesses, heart problems, stroke, and the inevitable, incarceration, institutionalization, or death.

Mark thinks those things might happen to other people, but they won’t to him.

But some of them will, if he continues to use. It’s predictable, though there is no way to determine which consequences he might experience.

I attended a workshop by Dr. Claudia Black who worked as a counselor with children who had a parent in treatment for alcoholism or drug addiction. Inspired by her clients, she wrote a workbook titled My Dad Loves Me, My Dad Has a Disease.

During her presentation, she quoted at nine-year-old boy who said:

Alcoholism is like dominoes. Alcohol knocks down the alcoholic, and the alcoholic knocks down everyone else close to them.

Drug addiction is also like dominoes.

Sandy doesn’t know it yet, but unless Mark’s meth use is interrupted, she’s going to be knocked down.

So is Jason and Jessie.

And Sandy’s mother.

And Mark’s parents.

Mark’s family needs help.

Based on my clinical experiences, if Sandy called the facility I worked at and asked how could she help her husband, and my response was, “The very best way you can help Mark is to get help for yourself,” chances are, she’d wouldn’t want to hear it.

Not yet, anyway.

What is Nar-Anon?

Nar-Anon members are relatives and friends who are concerned about the addiction or drug problem of another. Nar-Anon’s program of recovery is adapted from Narcotics Anonymous and uses Nar-Anon’s Twelve Steps, Twelve Traditions, and Twelve Concepts.

How will Al-Anon help me if my loved one has a drinking problem?

Many who come to Al-Anon/Alateen are in despair, feeling hopeless, unable to believe that things can ever change. We want our lives to be different, but nothing we have done has brought about change. We all come to Al-Anon because we want and need help.

In Al-Anon and Alateen, members share their own experience, strength, and hope with each other. You will meet others who share your feelings and frustrations, if not your exact situation. We come together to learn a better way of life, to find happiness whether the alcoholic is still drinking or not.

If you need help, please get it.

You are invited to share your experience, strength, and hope by leaving a comment on the Recovery Wall.

Recovery Rocks!

Roxie

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