How Could You? « Sizzle Says

How Could You?

August 26, 2007 at 9:42 am | In life lessons, light bulb moments, my neurosis, processing | 21 Comments

There is probably a list of reasons why my Father was not a man of his word but the one that trumps them all was his alcoholism. I believe, despite his best intentions, he couldn’t be honest- with himself or with us. And he was sorry. He was so very sorry. I know that. But sorry doesn’t fix everything. It can’t repair the damage done to the trust of a child.

I realized just now as I broke down crying in the shower that I am still so sad about how my Dad let me down. And how it still breaks my heart how he let himself down most of all. Every time someone in my life lets me down, it is exacerbated by that old Dad wound that hasn’t yet healed. Every time I encounter a person who is lost inside themselves I see my Father and I want to help. This is not my duty and yet I have made it so much a part of who I am that it feels wrong to not give of myself in this way.

My father “hid the truth” a lot. He’d say he was going to AA meetings but instead he’d just have my Mom drop him off and then go do something else for an hour, telling her and us that he’d sat in that room and tried to heal. He’d say he wasn’t drinking but his behavior would be questionable. I used to scour the entire house looking for hidden bottles of booze and when I would find them I would be filled with a mix of righteousness and complete and total devastation.

You know that feeling when you discover something you suspected was true actually IS true? How it feels as if your heart just dropped out of your chest? You forget to breathe in that instant. The evidence of the deception is right there before your eyes and you are wishing with all your might that it isn’t true. (Please don’t be true. Please don’t be true.) But it’s right there. In front of your face. You know intrinsically that it will always feel different from this moment forward. I grieve for the loss of that trust knowing I can never get it back.

For the greater part of my growing up years, I devoted myself to being my father’s cheerleader. I wanted him to succeed. I believed in him with every bit of my naive child’s soul that he could and would get “better.” Each time he broke a promise. Each time he let me down. Each time he said he was sorry. . . a little piece of my former unflinching belief in him, flinched, and I grew more sad watching whatever trust we had between us fade away.

So when I find myself now, an adult who should probably be past all this, in a situation where all these feelings are resurfacing. Where I find myself crying out in dreams, “How could you?” I think to myself. . . There is still a lot of work to do. There is so much to unlearn. I haven’t come as far as I thought.

“I learned the hard way/That they all say things you want to hear/And my heavy heart sinks deep down under you and/Your twisted words,/Your help just hurts/You are not what I thought you were/Hello to high and dry. . .” -Love Song, Sara B.

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Powerful insights. I hope that you can work those issues out soon, for your own sake. I think you are a wonderful person, and I’m sorry that you had to grow up with that truth, but I think that in the end you will be all the better for it.

I guess you could have used a hug in the shower, but if you were having hugs in the shower I’m guessing you would not have had your moment.

Comment by g-man — August 26, 2007 #
Damn, that sounds familiar… Where I come from, most families encounter alcoholism in some for or another, and still most people I know have a problem dealing with it. Take care girl, you seem tough, I believe you’ll work it out! :D

Comment by Anna — August 26, 2007 #
Sizz, that made me tear up — especially the part about him being so very, very sorry. I know a dad like that too :-) Who once called himself “a living amend.”

And you know — and I don’t mean for this to sound…I don’t know, like I’m talking from some expert mountaintop — I think that, cliched as it sounds, realizing all this and letting yourself cry about it is HUGE. You’re learning, at your own pace, how to be your own cheerleader — and care for people with all that is Sizz — and that is going to lead to good things.

I spent an overwhelming portion of my life looking for the good beneath an imperfect surface and while I’m grateful that I have that ability, and don’t write people off too easily, I like to think I’ve gotten to the point where I realize without thinking too hard, that a jackhammer shouldn’t be needed to get to the good core. You SO deserve the best, and I think realizing that is hard.

Comment by sandra — August 26, 2007 #
Gosh, I can’t relate to where your coming from, but I can’t help but think that your constant ability to be self-aware is helping you little by little. You know why you’re wounded, you know why you feel the way you do, now you just have to find out how to heal those wounds. As with most traumatic ‘injuries’ I’m sure this will continue to take time, but I hope you have a good support system to get you though until you make it to a place where you feel better at least a majority of the time.

We’re all pulling for you. :)

Comment by Megan — August 26, 2007 #
Time heals all wounds. Or so I’ve heard. Maybe we just live long enough to forget some of them. I hope so.

It always amazes me that it’s the wounds you can’t see that seem to hurt the most and last the longest.

Bonne chance mon ami

Comment by Mad William — August 26, 2007 #
Hey girl- I am just catching up here. This has been a very powerful few days for you, blog-wise (and I’m guessing otherwise, too).
First, I do have to say, thank goodness for the breakdown moments. I know that sounds silly, like I’m celebrating a breakdown but that’s not how I mean it. I think those points just have to come. We have to find a rebuilding spot and if we uncover any mess first, we have a place to start.

Disappointment in someone we care about is never something we’re supposed to get used to. I don’t care how much we know this person, that feeling of always hoping for the best trumps all. When they disappoint us and take that feeling away, it will always hurt. And when it’s because of something like addiction, it hurts worse because we know there is so little we can do. Accepting that powerlessness is something I’ve never gotten used to.

I’m proud of you for sorting through this. You’re doing good, though it might feel otherwise.

Comment by justrun — August 26, 2007 #
It devastates me to read that you feel you haven’t come as far as you thought. These are issues, and ways of looking at our world, through which we will all trudge our entire lives. I hope you can celebrate all the beautiful work you have done so far and the growth that, although I don’t “know” you in the real world, I know has resulted.

My therapist uses a saying that always comforts me and gives me a giggle. “From the worst shit come the most beautiful flowers,” she tells me. I mean this in the best way: you are indeed a beautiful flower, Sizz.

Comment by kris — August 26, 2007 #
‘You know that feeling when you discover something you suspected was true actually IS true? How it feels as if your heart just dropped out of your chest? You forget to breathe in that instant. The evidence of the deception is right there before your eyes and you are wishing with all your might that it isn’t true. (Please don’t be true. Please don’t be true.) But it’s right there. In front of your face.’

Oh, man…do I know that feeling. Isn’t it wierd, how humans react so similarly, to certain situations? Different reasons, different peoples, same interior reatcions. –and yes, it hurts alot. and the sens eof Hurt stays with you so, so long.

I couldn;t understand for a long time why it was that my friend Lauren blowing up our friendship, why it hurt me so bad. I just couldn;t process it, couldn’t figure it out inside.Why? THAT is why, right there…that moment of incredulity, where you question what the hell reality really was. Evidence, clashing with reality, clashing with what i was being told– and my mind just spun. I was lost in lies and hurt feelings for awhile, because of that childhood feeling of disbelief and not being sure what was what.

What fixed it for me? Finding out that I WAS NOT CRAZY, and I DID NOT MAKE IT UP in my mind. When I had that reassured, simply what was real? I had instant relief, and could deal with the rest. Funny, huh? It was the LIES that I was tripping and freaking out over. Reality, I could understand and process.

Something to think about, that. *hugs*

Comment by Bully — August 26, 2007 #
My experience was with an abusive husband. There are remnants in me that resurface every once in a while. Sometimes it takes my breath away, and it hurts. For every step backwards like that, it makes me realize how far I’ve come. And that I’m still on my healing journey.

Not sure if this has anything to do with your situation, but I just wanted to say that I can sort of relate. *hug*

Comment by Alison — August 27, 2007 #
It took a long time to realize that my father, also the major addict, had no idea what he was sorry for. They apologize b/c it’s what’s expected. They see you are disappointed, so they apologize. Doesn’t mean they alter their behavior to prevent a next time, just right that moment they know they have to say it. It doesn’t count when they rationalize their behavior instead of accepting their issues and trying to get better. Which is what we really want, we don’t want words, we want a change. What they give you is an appeasement, not an apology. My father to this day says I’m a bitch b/c I won’t accept he is flawed, forgive him, and take care of him. What he leaves out is, it’s been 37 yrs., he’s still an addict, only wants me when he needs $$ or a place to stay, and he has never, ever been involved in my life. He only pops in when he is in need. Sorry, dude, I’m done. No apology will help. I accept that he’s part of my make-up, my example of how lucky I am to not be like him and how very fortunate I am that his neglect has brought so many wonderful people into my life. He was the sperm donor, they are my loves. I know you have those people around you, too. Find strength in that, as your father is gone. Looking for answers or placing blame serves no purpose. Of course, he’s part of what made you what you are, no denying that, but making sense of it all is fruitless. Those chapters of your life are over, keep writing the new ones.

Comment by mackies — August 27, 2007 #
You know I know exactly what you mean. {{{hugs}}}

Comment by sue — August 27, 2007 #
I can so relate to all of what you wrote — the betrayal, the fear of trusting. What often unnerves me is not knowing what kinds of things might trigger such a reaction of memories and hurt, and whether I’ll be able to control myself if I’m around someone else.

Comment by Becky — August 27, 2007 #
You know that feeling when you discover something you suspected was true actually IS true?
Yes.

I’m sorry about this. Although I don’t have personal experiences with alcoholism, my grandfather was/is an alcoholic and I see how much it has affected my dad, especially when talks about his childhood. My close cousin had to take care of her four siblings and her mom in high school because of it. It’s such a damaging addiction, especially when family and trust is involved..

Comment by Michelle — August 27, 2007 #
Wow. Tough stuff. I hope you are well. Just stopping by to say hello.

Comment by will — August 27, 2007 #
*hand squeeze*

Comment by question girl — August 27, 2007 #
*virtual hug*
That was heart wrenchingly painful to read, I can’t even imagine how much it must have hurt to live through it and to struggle through those memories still. I think you are brave to confront all these emotions and memories and to work through them.

Comment by Ruby — August 27, 2007 #
I can’t say I’ve ever been through anything quite like this. But if it makes you feel any better, I think quite highly of you for being able to pull through it like you have. I know you may not think that crying in the shower is dignified or a show of strength, but it is. It’s just one of the many breakdown points we all suffer through life. You’ve gotta have those times to just let it all out.

Comment by kapgar — August 28, 2007 #
i think the same things about my father and he is still alive.

and i don’t remember the last time i spoke to him though, he lives 190 miles away.

yes, life is so sweet sometimes.

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