I grew up in a family of high-functioning addicts. We looked like the perfect family, but as we all know, looks can be deceiving. No one was addicted to drugs, so that obviously meant that we had no problems. Cigarettes, alcohol, food, and work don’t count, right?
I have come to realise that what we are addicted to is nowhere near as important as the admission that we’re addicted to something. When we try to make ourselves feel better by telling ourselves that gambling or porn or beer is nowhere near as bad as crack or heroin, we are merely lying to ourselves. In the recovery movement, we call this denial.
Denial was the foundation my life was built on. We did not speak of my grandfather’s abusive behaviour and alcoholism. We did not question my grandmother’s chain-smoking habit. We did not mention my other grandfather’s drunken falls and injuries. We never tried to help my aunt who was eating anything she could get her hands on. No one questioned the countless hours my father spent working.
There were so many things we just never talked about. There were so many things that were secrets. Things I had to hide. The unspoken family rule.
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The one thing that is not covered is how to love the addict that you are married to.
I have tried, really tried and we are still living in the same house but that's about it!
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