Tuesday, January 14, 2020
Up early for a 6 a.m. conversation with Gwen. I was not looking forward to this conversation. I hadn't spoken with Gwen in over a year. We talked right at 6. For the first few minutes, we talked about time zones, CA and FL, Alice, and the weather. I mentioned I was playing the violin again and that it grounded me and made me happy. Listening to her voice did not warm my heart. Quite the opposite, I'm afraid. After a few minutes of superficial chit-chat, she talked about a new guy she liked. She talked about him for five minutes or so. Then there was about 30 seconds of silence. "Sounds like you have nothing to say," she said. "Quite the opposite," I responded. "I have plenty to say," and that's when I said this: "Given what you knew about drinking 12 years ago, I don't undestand why you are where you are." That set a course for the rest of our conversation, which centered on Gwen's drinking. "You don't understand the mind of the addict," she said. She explained her perspective, using the tools she's been using throughout her life. It's a certain kind of logic she employs, the kind that always explains away her choices and decisions as something outside her control. Perhaps, but perhaps not. She also likes to group everyone in the same situation she's living in. Everyone's an alcoholic. Everyone has issues similar to hers. Everyone cheats and is weak. "No," I said. "I'm not an alcoholic. And with others in the family, there are degrees. It's true though that drinking defines our family And drinking defines you." She didn't like that. She rejected the idea that drinking defined who she was. "Oh, but it does," I said. "I defines who you are, because it's now the center of your life. Drinkers protect their drinking at all costs. You told me that 12 years ago. And now look at you." Gwen didn't want to talk about her drinking, but that's all I wanted to talk about. As I continued talking, I continued growing more angry and harsh. I basically told her we had no future connection with each other if she continued drinking. If she stopped and went into a program and worked on her issues, I would support her and reconnect with her. But if she wasn't doing anything, I'd have nothing to do with her. I told her drinkers are so boring. They say the same thing and they're so limited, especially drinkers over 50. "You were a central person in my life," I said. "And I lost you to alcohol. I lost and alcohol won. Alcohol always wins in our family." She said she understood what I was saying. "I understand, really." "No, you don't," I said. "I don't think you have any idea how painful it was to lose someone like you. You had so many gifts. You really had insight. But you were always out to sabotage yourself. And you did just that." It was then that I realized I really needed to end the conversation because I had nothing positive or hopeful to say to her. So I abruptly stopped myself and ended the call. It was partly cathartic in a strange way, but also very much a game-changing conversation. A line had been drawn. It's really difficult to severe ties with a family member who's an addict, but I felt I had no other option. There is no point in maintaining any relationship with Gwen if she's drinking. I wonder how successfully she's completely removed alcohol from her life. She's good at hiding and fabricating. Drinking has never been the primary obstacle in her life. It's always been other things, an unsupportive husband, PTSD, back pain, mom, dad, someone else. Drinking has always been a problem, but never the problem. Now it's the problem. Gwen is always full of surprises and it's possible that she's give her recovery another try. Until then, I'm not engaged in her crazy.
I spent the rest of the day reflecting on our conversation and my unique perspective as the only non-drinker in a drinking family. It's a lonely place to be at times.
