A sore-assed bear Christmas December 25, 2007Posted by Administrator in Family, Idiots.
Where to begin on this Feast of the Nativity?
For so many people, this time of the year is the pinnacle; time to both give and receive gifts, with both verbs leading to their own unique blessings. This year was no exception in that department. Our tree was LOADED with gifties, and it was a delight to watch my children take turns handing out and opening their own gifts. My wife and I were up till 2 and 1:30 AM, respectively, putting the last touches in order, and that too was more fun than it has been in some time.
Left just to ourselves, our family Christmas could go down as one of the best.
Sadly, there are other family members, and one of them has her head jammed so far up her ass she can’t hope to see straight. By itself, that might not be a problem, but -whether she means to or not- her chronic idiocy impacts others, including my wife. And after having watched this ordure for close on 20 years, culminating in what is quite possibly the most sad and absurd chapter yet in this tragicomic opera of untrammeled foolishness, I am now at the point of acting as a bear with a sore ass, and it’s time for me to unload. Even if it IS Christmas. Or maybe even BECAUSE it is Christmas.
This family member is a woman. Aunt, sister, mother, you try and figure it out. She has a penchant for being concerned about what other people think about her -sometimes, mostly all the WRONG times-, so I will take this minimal step of not identifying her exact role in the family, save to say this; she is NOT my wife, nor either of my daughters. Further, deponent sayeth not.
This fool woman has had a penchant for the complex-carbon molecules known as alcohol for many years. And like with so many people who allow themselves to get enslaved to something, it has gotten out-of-control in the past few years.
My wife, who is very devoted to this hapless dingbat, has tried various methods over the past 20 years to assist said dingbat in pulling her head out of her nether regions. A major intervention in 1987 was met with assurances that she had things under control and would cut back her drinking. Like all loving relatives, my wife and the others involved took this woman at her word. At the time, I am sure she was sincere. And like all addicts, that promise wasn’t worth the water used in exhaling the words to make it.
Her drinking got steadily worse over the years, until finally she checked herself into rehab after nearly killing herself with drink.
That held for three years. She was finally the relative for my wife that she had always longed for; lucid, coherent, thoughtful and intelligent.
There was one fly in the ointment; this woman, finally sober, was too damned proud to attend after-care meetings (AA, in other words).
Then, when her son, he of the twice-daily swillings of martinis- came to visit, she crammed her head back full up her ass, convinced herself that she was OK to drink just a little bit, and fell off that fabled wagon with a crash.
10 months later, she is at a family wedding and making a COMPLEAT ASS of herself. My wife and another family member intervene, extracting yet another heartfelt yet totally useless promise from her to control herself.
How we are undone by the softness and charity within our hearts. Instead of agreeing with her promises, a more hard-assed stance along the lines of; “Get into treatment NOW, or you will have to find your own way home on your own dime,” would probably have worked wonders. But instead, she was allowed another 7 months to fool herself, in the process almost singehandedly destroying a family vacation we took collectively this past summer. That was so ridiculously bad that we put her on a plane for treatment at the end of it.
But somewhere along the way, she had fried the synapses of her brain to a point where she either could not remember that she needed to stay sober, or she simply stopped caring.
The end result is that she immediately began telling herself that it was OK for her to drink again almost upon leaving the treatment room door.
So, we look at visiting their place at Thanksgiving, as this hapless woman likes to be around my children.
I then call this woman, and tell her point blank that she had damned well better not be drinking. If she is and I catch wind of it, she can kiss off seeing my children.
Her husband then called and chewed on my WIFE (not me. . ), saying that we were claiming that the woman was an out-of-control wino. I never said that, simply that if she wanted to see my KIDS, she needed to dry up now.
In the end, she did. For the last time, it seems.
They were scheduled to come out for Christmas, first on Saturday. Well, it seems she is sick, “stomach flu”.
Wait a day. Now the weather is bad.
Wait another day. She in effect now refuses to go, as her husband is (FINALLY) cutting her off. But she is detoxing and getting screaming violent about it.
He finally caves, buys her some wine.. . .and I am getting sick of this story. The short story is that she drank herself insensate last night, passed out beyond being awoken on the kitchen floor, and this poor man (a good man, though sadly co-dependent) had to take her to the hospital at 4Am Christmas morning.
If you can, spare a moment in prayer for this pathetic woman and her suffering husband, and for my wife, who has done everything possible and then some the past 20 years to help this idiot, but to no avail.
I know of no more pathetic creature than the addict. They love to wallow in their own filth, and rationalize the most self-destructive behaviors as perfectly acceptable and healthy.
I’m simply sick to death of it.