NE21 worrier
12-05-13, 20:53
Hello everyone,
This is a difficult post to write - it is making me anxious and upset just to type it - because it is an uncomfortable family truth.
Today is, or should be, a happy day in this household as mine and my parents' beloved NUFC confirmed Premier League football for next year. To celebrate, my dad has had a few drinks. And then a few more. And then a few more again. Easily more than 10, perhaps as many as 15 or more, I don't know exactly.
Now, if this was an exceptional event, it probably would not be worthy of comment - but it's not. It happens every sodding weekend, Saturday and Sunday (as he gets the Monday off for working Saturday morning).
You see, what is perhaps quite remarkable is that my dad still functions quite well - I've never seen him physically ill off the drink and he rarely even gets a hangover. Perhaps his body is just used to it as he has been like this for years. He functions in his job as a mail sorter on the early shift (6am-2pm) without a problem and I know he works hard there because I was on the casual staff with him at one point and worked with him. It can be a tough job and I don't begrudge him a drink.
I love my dad. My dad got me into Newcastle just in time for me to appreciate Keegan's team in the 90s. My dad played football with me and helped me learn to ride a bike. My dad always encouraged me to do well at school and at university, and my dad got me to enjoy my pint.
The last one is something which I still wish to include on this list, despite the wider point of this post, because - as sad as it sounds - I doubt I would have such good friends and a good social life without having the ability to hold a few drinks myself. In many ways, I am my father's son.
My anxiety and panic problems have recently led me to reassess my relationship with alcohol, however. From being a heavy, regular drinker, I have managed to cut my intake down to one weekend session (of about 4 pints, usually) for the last six weeks, which is when I started to take 50mg of Sertraline. Even then, I often feel guilty about drinking at all, as I do so in the undoubted knowledge that I am messing with the efficacy of the meds.
In the past, I used to drink along with my dad (though never at his pace - I do get ill off the booze quite easily). We did this, especially on a Sunday while watching the football - and if the match was boring, we'd talk about anything from family to politics and generally set the world to rights.
A couple of times, when I was a mouthy teenager/student, our debate became quite heated and we have almost come to blows and threatened each other - but it is nothing which has not been sorted within a day or so. Indeed, the last of these incidents was so long ago, I can barely remember exactly when it was. I usually just don't get involved any more, and I stay in my room following the matches upstairs, leaving him to his heavy drinking on his own in the front room (my mum is usually out visiting her mum and sister).
I love my dad - he lost his dad to asthma when he was just 12 and he never seemed to have a father-figure otherwise. However, I am losing my lifelong faith and respect for him... and, for me, that's as bad as no longer loving him.
My mum does mention regularly to my dad that he is "drinking himself into an early grave" but it does not seem to register, especially as he rarely suffers the physical effects of his binges. He only drinks on weekends and he's already put this latest session down to "celebrating Newcastle staying up". Getting him to seek help seems an impossible situation but, even if he could moderate his drinking a bit, I'd feel so much better.
Apologies for writing such a long post. I'm sure I could have got the point over with much more brevity. But, as I said in the first line, that was tough to write, and I just needed to get it out of the way.
Thanks for reading,
Peter x
This is a difficult post to write - it is making me anxious and upset just to type it - because it is an uncomfortable family truth.
Today is, or should be, a happy day in this household as mine and my parents' beloved NUFC confirmed Premier League football for next year. To celebrate, my dad has had a few drinks. And then a few more. And then a few more again. Easily more than 10, perhaps as many as 15 or more, I don't know exactly.
Now, if this was an exceptional event, it probably would not be worthy of comment - but it's not. It happens every sodding weekend, Saturday and Sunday (as he gets the Monday off for working Saturday morning).
You see, what is perhaps quite remarkable is that my dad still functions quite well - I've never seen him physically ill off the drink and he rarely even gets a hangover. Perhaps his body is just used to it as he has been like this for years. He functions in his job as a mail sorter on the early shift (6am-2pm) without a problem and I know he works hard there because I was on the casual staff with him at one point and worked with him. It can be a tough job and I don't begrudge him a drink.
I love my dad. My dad got me into Newcastle just in time for me to appreciate Keegan's team in the 90s. My dad played football with me and helped me learn to ride a bike. My dad always encouraged me to do well at school and at university, and my dad got me to enjoy my pint.
The last one is something which I still wish to include on this list, despite the wider point of this post, because - as sad as it sounds - I doubt I would have such good friends and a good social life without having the ability to hold a few drinks myself. In many ways, I am my father's son.
My anxiety and panic problems have recently led me to reassess my relationship with alcohol, however. From being a heavy, regular drinker, I have managed to cut my intake down to one weekend session (of about 4 pints, usually) for the last six weeks, which is when I started to take 50mg of Sertraline. Even then, I often feel guilty about drinking at all, as I do so in the undoubted knowledge that I am messing with the efficacy of the meds.
In the past, I used to drink along with my dad (though never at his pace - I do get ill off the booze quite easily). We did this, especially on a Sunday while watching the football - and if the match was boring, we'd talk about anything from family to politics and generally set the world to rights.
A couple of times, when I was a mouthy teenager/student, our debate became quite heated and we have almost come to blows and threatened each other - but it is nothing which has not been sorted within a day or so. Indeed, the last of these incidents was so long ago, I can barely remember exactly when it was. I usually just don't get involved any more, and I stay in my room following the matches upstairs, leaving him to his heavy drinking on his own in the front room (my mum is usually out visiting her mum and sister).
I love my dad - he lost his dad to asthma when he was just 12 and he never seemed to have a father-figure otherwise. However, I am losing my lifelong faith and respect for him... and, for me, that's as bad as no longer loving him.
My mum does mention regularly to my dad that he is "drinking himself into an early grave" but it does not seem to register, especially as he rarely suffers the physical effects of his binges. He only drinks on weekends and he's already put this latest session down to "celebrating Newcastle staying up". Getting him to seek help seems an impossible situation but, even if he could moderate his drinking a bit, I'd feel so much better.
Apologies for writing such a long post. I'm sure I could have got the point over with much more brevity. But, as I said in the first line, that was tough to write, and I just needed to get it out of the way.
Thanks for reading,
Peter x