Continued Night Of Hell

I told you half a story when I wrote about not judging people. If you have not heard the first half, click the link in the previous sentence, because this is the second half of that story. And everything in you is going to want to ignore everything I said in that post, and trust me I understand, because sometimes it makes me waiver too. BUT again addicts do things they would never do sober, and again they don’t ask to be this way no matter how hard it is for us to understand it and see it from a different point of view. Especially when you’re in the thick of it.

So, just a recap; I had moved back in with my Dad on the promise that he wouldn’t drink and THREE days later I come home to cop cars in my driveway, my Dad bleeding from his hand, and he is piss drunk. My Dad ended up being taken to the hospital; while I was left hysterical, in shock and heartbroken. 

Luckily I had my friend with me and I had called my brother who came over to help me clean up the mess that was left behind. There was blood all over the floor and a broken lamp and I was just overwhelmed. We also had to do a thorough sweep of the house to get rid of any remaining alcohol bottles that were hidden all around. 

Dad had promised me just days before that he wouldn’t drink, but like I said before when you’re in the thick of it, it’s harder to understand.

As we were looking through the house I saw light green shavings on his filing cabinet. Slowly as I was looking at it closer I realized it was weed. So, of course, I started to look through his drawers. And what do I find? His stash of weed and his bowl. So I took it; I figured well shit I deserve to smoke after the hellish night I just had.

After cleaning I just wanted out of the house, I would come back later for Strider (our dog). I just needed to get away for a while. My friend ended up driving my car because I was still so shaken, there was no way I could drive. 

We ended up calling a friend and we all went on a blunt ride. I did not give one fuck and all I wanted was to forget it all, even if for a little while. We drove around our town for a while and I was just finally starting to calm down when I got a call on my cell. It was about 1/1:30 am; it was my Dad calling from the hospital. He wanted me to come pick him up, I could still hear the drunk in his voice.

  1. I was stoned as hell and pissed! No way did I want to pick up his coming-down-from-a-bender ass.
  2. It was super fucking late, and he needed to stay in the hospital, he had to detox.

So when I said no, my Dad LOST it on me. 

“You will come pick me up! I’m not asking.”- Dad

“No Dad you need to stay there, plus its really late I am not coming to get you!” – Me

“You bitch!….” -Dad

……Click. I hung up and immediately started to cry hysterically. 

A second call came through.

“If you don’t come pick me up right now you will have nothing! Your car? Gone! You will come to get me!”- Dad

I had no idea what to do, so I called and woke up my Mom. I felt terrible calling her that late but I could not figure out what to do. I was scared.

“Do I really need to go get him?!”

Luckily my Mom calmed me down and said “No way, leave him where he is. That is not on you. He’s not going to take anything away from you. Don’t answer the phone anymore, it’ll pass”. 

So I did just that, I let the call go to voicemail. I should have deleted it. I never should have pressed play.

At this point, I don’t even know if he knew that he was leaving ME a voicemail or what he was even saying, but nonetheless it was awful.

“Come get me! You cock sucking bitch, what the fuck…..” Then click done. 

Those words broke me. I had no idea I could hurt more than I did a few minutes earlier. How could he say that to his own daughter? How was it that I kept believing things were going to change? I so badly wanted that night to never have happened. I had been so happy to move back in, because like I said when my Dad was sober he would NEVER do/say those things.

How quickly I let him break me down, again. But I always let it happen, he was my Dad. My family. I just didn’t know what to do anymore. 

My Dad never said sorry for that night. Hell, he got to forget what happened that night, every time there was a relapse he never remembered what he did or said. As always I was left with the memories that he never recovered. I think sorry was too hard for him; it meant he would have to admit he did something wrong. That he had a major problem. Addicts rarely admit their wrongdoings because it means they would have to look into their own issues and that would be just too much.

Does it still break my heart? Of course.

Was I angry at him for a very long time? Absolutely! And because I was so young I refused to let him get away with “It’s a disease.”

I didn’t want him to have an excuse for the things he did but in the end, it’s not an excuse, it is a disease. And in the heart of it all, you don’t always have the mindset to see that. Especially if you’re already angry and bitter.

Every time he fucked up, so did I. Subconsciously I wanted him to see what it felt like, I wanted him to hurt like I hurt.

What I couldn’t see, was that he already was hurting. Every single day of his life he was hurting. I was again too young to see that though, so I showed him in my own way. My very own DUMB way which you’ll also get to hear more about later.

It was a vicious cycle for a while. You hurt me, so I’m going to go out and get stoned, drink, take Ecstasy; anything so I didn’t have to feel anymore. I could never see clearly, so I let myself hurt, and be hurt, and do dangerous things. In my head, I’d always say “This will show him!” But in the end, all I was doing was hurting myself and never fully allowing MYSELF to heal. 

I let every word, every binge, every bad moment consume me into depression, hatred, and loathing. I let it eat away at me, and in the end, I’d only end up really hurting myself. I only let myself down. There was a better road to take I was just too blind to see it. 

My dad’s roller coaster turned into my roller coaster. I let myself be steered in a direction I never really wanted. I wish I could go back in time and shake myself and yell “You can be better than this!!!!!”

But…I am who I am for what I’ve been through. I’ve come out on the other side, and not everyone is that lucky.

4 Replies to “Continued Night Of Hell”

  1. Danielle,
    Your story is amazing. Enjoy reading all of these. Superbly written and factual. You came out of this a Rock Star. Not to mention your loving mom and brother.

  2. I hope you heal with all this writing – you know I loved your dad he was special and during those sober moments we talked about all the fucked up shit — it was hard on him too — I hate alcohol – I’ve dealt with the same shit and now I have my brother living in my house – he is end stage alcoholic with wet brain — I don’t know why I put myself through it sometimes — family — 🤦🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

    1. Thank you Patti. I am glad my Dad had someone to share all of it with. I wish I could talk to him now, how differently I view everything. But I know he sees. Even with all the crap, I miss the hell out of him. My writing has helped heal me in ways I never knew it could. I am so sorry to hear about your brother, I can relate. Towards the end, dad had wet brain and was so sad to see him in that way. I do know that I would rather have him at peace than here struggling with his demons every day. I just wish there was more we could do. I think for me spreading awareness gives me peace. It also just helps me heal and leave the past in the past which was a very hard thing for me to do. Thank you so much for reading Patti. Love to you and if you ever need to talk I am always here.

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All opinions and conclusions are my own. I am not a medical professional and I am not able to provide you with personalized medical recommendations. If you need help, there are many sources of information and places to get help.