As a child in an alcoholic/addict household where you can not trust adults, who do you trust?
You either trust yourself or you buy in the alcohol story.
If you buy in, you have a high probability of either becoming an addict or marrying one, depending if you prefer the enabler or the enablee role.
If you trust yourself, you develop certain senses. You pay attention to people’s emotions. You pay attention to what people FEEL, what people DO and not what people SAY. You do not care what they say: what matters is what they do. My sister said she used to walk my parent’s house during high school and try to feel the mood. Did she need to hide?
The enabler role is trying to control the other person. There are amazing variations on this. I cared for a person whose sister would not take care of herself. Every time the sister is hospitalized, the person goes and cleans tons of garbage and rotted food from the apartment.
“Stop doing that,” I say, “You are enabling her. Call Adult Protective Services to go look at it instead.”
It can be very difficult to stop and can take years. People can change.
I have noticed that the enabler role is lethal. The enablers seem to die before the enablee. Certainly in my immediate family and with many patients too.
Enablee is the person controlled. Alcohol, drugs, gambling, anger, emotions. It is very very interesting to watch. I have read parts of my mother’s diaries. She was the enabler, with my father as the enablee. However, the diaries document them fighting in the middle of the night when he is drunk. And I remember high school, putting the pillow over my ears, because they were screaming at each other.
But wait. Why would she argue with her drunk husband? Why would anyone argue with a drunk person? You have to wait until they are sober.
And slowly I realize that my mother too was an alcoholic. I remember her drinking. Best cover for an alcoholic is a worse alcoholic, right? It’s fairly horrid. But it explains some stories and my food insecurity. They would not get up in the morning to feed me. My mother told stories of me trying to feed myself: cheerios and laundry soap. If my father was hung over, ok, but, why wouldn’t my mother get up? I think they were both hung over. That or else she really did not want a child. Especially a nine month old with opinions while she was trying to get over tuberculosis. She never got to hold me after birth until 9 months. And then I did not want her. I wanted her mother.
Trusting yourself, life can be a bit complicated. You sense the emotions others are hiding. Being a physician allows me to ask about the hidden things, very gently. Sometimes they come out right away. Sometimes it takes months. Sometimes years and sometimes never. My sister and I discussed going to parties and thinking, oh, that person is the child of an addict/alcoholic. This person is in pain. This person is quite happy but hiding stuff.
I told a counselor I do not know how to turn it off. She replies, “Why do you think I am a counselor?”
I don’t see auras. I feel things: like a cloud. Like a tiger, like a bear, like a whale, singing.
I think I will go with the whale.
KO Rural Mad As Hell Blog 
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