I've been thinking a lot about

      a

           d

d

i

        c

t

   i

o

          n. 

- A forbiddn word in my home.-

The broken, mess it creates.

//

My fathers addiction to alcohol has in no way made our house a home.

I wonder how it Begins, how it Grows, and why people even think about something they Know can harm their heath, harm their families and when worst comes to worst,

                             land them in jail. Alone and wondering what they did wrong.

I want to know, what makes an addiction so strong?

So strong that no loving word and no deserate plea could even but sway them in their thinking.

So strong that northing is more important -

not your spouse, not your child, not your job, 

not your parents, or siblings, or friends,

not even your own safety -

nothing is more important than the subtance, than the drink, than the smoke.

I wonder how one can be so blind, how one manages to disguise the addiction 

As one of their minor faults in life - but others must forgive because no one is perfect.

As something they just enjoy doing - but really the could stop at any time.

They say they can control it, they say they will cut back, but they never have the bravery or the sense

To turn away from it and never look back.

How can one be so selfish to place the substance, the drink, the smoke

Above everyone they love and everything they have?

But at the same time, am I, are we, being selfish in wanting them to change?

Because I am scared and tired of the broken mess?

Or because I want my father to be sober? For myself, my sibling, my mother.

There is selfishess on both sides, but I like to think mine is justfied by love.

//

I also have been thinking that there can still be hope, for the addict, for my father, for this family.

But then again, I also see a future in which the addict will never see

The problem in their life, and the urgency that those around them feel

to take the substance, the drink, the smoke away.

 

As the daughter of an addict of a drink to strong for me to even bear to smell,

I like to think he will look at me, hear my plea and know it is time to change.

But no matter how many of my tears he sees, and no matter how many "incidents" I endure

I am thinking now that nothing will change.

 

I cannot change a person. Whether it is for their good or for my own.

 

But with four little siblings, surely the hope is still alive.

I know he loves each of us with all that he is,

Surely one of us can open his eyes.

Surely one of us will be the reason he will realize that he can still be the father he was meant to be

Surely hope is still alive.

Or am I being to optimistic?

Oh if only the A word wasn't so elusive.

\\