Born with addiction, really?? *skepticism all around*
But I have a little bit of insight. Because years ago I was a small, pudgy, blonde mess-maker, and I loved to get into the cabinets and drawers of our old house. My childhood home. It was so interesting explore the things inside. The bottle opener that looked like E.T., the weird alligator monster (that I now know removes paperclips), and a wooden ruler to smack against your little sister, possibly. Stuff like that. I can still smell some of the must that came from the old wooden spaces. In fact, I can remember the smell of the exact place I am trying to tell you about. The first cabinet of booze I ever found.
Yes, my long term memory is pretty impressive (while my short-term memory …makes me think I might have a disability). Considering the facts of my rummaging through cabinets, and not knowing what the fancy bottles were, I’d guess I was probably four years old or younger. There was this one clear bottle of clear liquid which had a picture of a palm tree paradise on the back of it, it was fascinating. I think there was a little parrot in the picture, do you know what I’m talking about? Rum. There were only one or two other bottles in there, but they were not as interesting as this one. Brown. I stared at that pretty bottle for a long time, I know because I can still see it. I would come back to this cabinet and look at my treasure every now and then, and then I decided to take a drink. The smell was pure evil, but I remember putting a little taste into my mouth anyway, and gagging. But you know what? I remember this for a reason, I liked it. It really was terrible, and I was a busy kid as most are, so I am not trying to tell you I “started drinking”, but I did go back for a swig down the road. I had no idea what I was drinking. What kind of kid would drink something that smells so rancid? I’ll tell you, the same kind of kid that would get some enjoyment out of any risky situation, the child who smiles meekly in the face of danger. Children are born with certain qualities, and these are some of the qualities which correlate with the addictive personality type.
Back to my story. After a few more years, once I was eight or so, my mom would start letting us drink a wine-cooler with her at lunch, or whenever she was having one. She meant no harm, and I’m sharing purely for purpose of explanation. I loved the wine-coolers, and I ALWAYS got every-last-drop out of them. I remember my mom, on multiple occasions, telling me to, “stop doing that”, because it made me, “seem desperate”. I was so young I pondered on the word “desperate” very hard, and still could not understand the true meaning of it. The word bothered me for years until I began to understand its meaning.
Yes ladies and gentleman, I do believe I was born an alcoholic. In middle school I began “collecting” MIXES of alcohol from under the sink, into a big old plastic water bottle. It was one of those thick jugs, it was blue and it had a white screw-on top, with a handle and spout which could be flipped upwards for a drink. Whatever would be under the sink, I’d pour a little extra into my bottle when no one was around, so that I always had a stash. And the worst part? I’d drink this mix of ‘diluted nasty’ before going to the school football games, or out with friends anywhere. One time, I barfed it up onto my wooden floor………………………………… and proceed to drink it off of the floor. I was no older than twelve, and I was alone in my bedroom.
You guys, that is so gross.
My Grandpa passed due to his alcoholism, and so did my uncle. I was born ready to crash.
Alcoholics and addicts do not crash and say “WHOOPS, better not do that again.” NO, that’s not how it works.
So if your child is predisposed to addiction, you need to take that very seriously, before they even take a drink. They need taught about the disease of addiction BEFORE they inflict themselves. It is UNACCEPTABLE that anyone who is predisposed to any disease, not be given the chance of prevention.
Thank you so much for reading,
(This is my first post! Follow for more)
My little sister and I. Here we are with our chicken, Sally. My dad had gotten a $raise$ for catching this chicken at the steel mill, where he worked. I don’t know how she got there. (Isn’t that kind of coincidental to this post?)
Have a good day. And #rememberwhatyouknow