A Demon Inside Me, Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE Sigh! Welcome to my journey and struggle with the biggest demon one could ever hope to not get, addiction. This book isn't solely about alcohol addiction but any addiction. I plan on starting at about age 14 and ending at age 44. This has been a very long road that has taken me down some very dark roads, lighted roads, and gray roads. I am not a glorious writer but I will do my best to keep you interested. Alcohol addiction is known by most persons as an addiction that you really do not want. The truth? The truth is you never realize you have gotten that demon until it's too late. Most people feel like they have control over their alcohol consumption and feel like they do not have a problem until mother nature takes over. Starting at the age of 14 I began to understand how life really works. My father was diagnosed with Chronic Progressive Multiple Sclerosis and brought challenging times to the family especially my mother. Now before I begin to tell this side of the story I must declare that I am in no way shaming my mother nor challenging her parenting skills. What is about to be told should never be wished on anyone and you can't possibly know how you would deal with this until it actually comes into your family. At first the diagnosis was just that however the grim reality of the end became to hard to handle. Let's rewind a bit, we were living in Reno, NV and we were happy. We had a business, we had a nice house, we had friends and things seemed to be just the way we were supposed to. My father began experiencing symptoms that he didn't understand and after testing and consulting the family learned of his diagnosis. The doctor began to describe what would eventually happen. I could only imagine what my mother was thinking as well as my father. I mean you're being told that M.S. Was going to end everything at some point and a new change in life was about to occur and it also involved kids. This will be my journey through addiction, change, fight, health issues, and demons as my new change in life is going to be just as scary. We proceeded to live life as normally as possible and try to have as much time of a normal life as possible all the while my mother hiding and keeping her stresses from us kids. Funny story, I remember my mother had left her purse on the counter and us being kids we looked through it and discovered that she had like $17 in there and we thought we were hitting the streets. We gathered money and came to her and offered her I think like $5 to “attempt to help” and that is when we learned about bank accounts. Anyway, the business was very successful. My parents had employees, assets, vans, clients, and more contracts then they could ever want and while my father was a very successful businessman, he struggled with the way life was inevitably going to become. My parents fought, separated from each other and couldn't get a grasp on the new way of life about to occur. My friends, this is what addiction will also do to you. In the summer of 1985 the way of life we knew fell apart and my father's condition was getting rapidly worse. We ended up moving from Reno, NV to Seattle, WA to be close to our grandparents and for a better climate. I will preface the next part of this story by saying that people with M.S. Do not do well with the heat and a lower temperature helps them manage their symptoms. As we settled into our new home, business sold, bankruptcy declared, IRS problems, and a terminally ill parent, my mother went back to what she knew, the United States Postal Service. No one ever asked for this and the way my mother handled this entire situation was impeccable and understandable now that I reflect on this. As a boy dealing with a father who couldn't be an active father it confused me. I certainly had him to talk too and I was dealing with another demon at the time that I am quite sure he wasn't going to understand, being gay. Now that I reflect on that moment and providing he was alive today that would not be the case. My father loved all of his kids unconditionally. Anyway, I was transitioning from boy to man and he was progressively getting worse. We had a few years at our Washington home before it turned bad. A man, back then at least was supposed to be prideful and earn a living for his family and I am quite sure the fact that he couldn't do just that was destroying him and separating him from us. We fought as father and son. I remember him trying to make a man out of me by introducing me to weights, sports, etc but I chose to play the clarinet and play with dolls. Yup! LOL The music; just what the family needed. My father was an incredible drummer and taught my mother everything she knows and then some. My mother has an amazing voice and together as a family we would have music night. What does this have to do with alcohol you ask? Stick around, we will get there. My father struggled daily. I remember we invested a ton of money we didn't have for a ramp that would connect the split level home from upstairs to downstairs where we put his “room”. I felt bad that he had to live downstairs but we had no room upstairs. Let's rewind a bit though, prior to being moved into the lower level we had increased the size of the doorway to the master bedroom so he could still sleep with his wife. As things got worse he had to be in a hospital bed and have more medical equipment to care for him. Anyway, he could still go upstairs and spend time with the family while he could still get into and out of the wheel chair. I recently looked at a Google street view of the home and the ramp is still there. As I watched our family fall apart by an auto-immune disease and a stressed out mother, I began to watch her turn to alcohol. My parents were no strangers to alcohol but while things were “normal” so was the consumption. We used to host parties, have friends over and all but it wasn't a daily thing. Alcohol provides a person a way out and it seems temporary at first but becomes permanent. Let's fast forward to the day I discovered he had left. We were upstairs having dinner, we had brought him his food prior to us sitting down for our meal. At the conclusion of our meal my mother instructed me to go downstairs and collect his plate and spoon and check on him. He had a special spoon that had a harness and was wrapped around his hand so he could use his arm to bring the food up to his mouth. At this point he could not move anything including his own bowels. I came downstairs to check on him and found his arm laid over the special plate/bowl and he had appeared to be sleeping and that's when I had known that the Good Lord called him home. Now, I had to go upstairs and tell my mother what I had seen. She grabbed her stethoscope and confirmed my suspicions. He had died. This is where life gets interesting. After the police, coroner and family had arrived along with all of the nosy neighbors, we began a journey that would change everything. Stay tuned for Chapter 2.