My Story – The early years.

Over the years I’ve heard many stories from other alcoholics and I’ve read the ones in the Big Book. One common thread is that each alcoholic seems to remember his/her first drink. I don’t remember my first drink. It was sometime in College, probably my Junior year.

My parents became missionaries when I was seven and we moved to a country in South America. The biggest sin we MK’s (missionary kids) committed, was to dance. When we were alone we would close the curtains, put on music and DANCE!

Other than that I was a good kid. I made excellent grades and never got into any trouble. My sister was the one that worried my parents. She was always doing something that got her a spanking from my Dad. I was never spanked, but I knew when Dad was displeased with me. I got the “look” and the silent treatment.

I wasn’t close to my father at all. I felt awkward around him and never knew what to say to him. Since I was the oldest, he was very strict with me. Through High School I never had a boyfriend. I loved romance novels and movies. I’d get lost in the romantic stories and dreamed of the day I would meet my “prince.”

I loved my mother beyond words. I worried about her a lot and lived with the fear of losing her. She was never in good health. There were many times when I had to go alone with my father to Church because she was sick. Our church was about an hour away, and that meant spending the entire day with my father. At night when we would make the long drive home I’d have images in my head of seeing an ambulance at our house and my mother dead.

That fear consumed me. Another thing that worried me was that my mother seemed so lonely. Dad never talked to her. He was always reading and many times mom would be crying softly in her room. She was incredibly beautiful and I couldn’t imagine why my dad didn’t love her. I believed that she was in an unhappy marriage and I vowed I’d never let that happen to me.

After I graduated from High School we headed back to the States for me to go to College. On the ship going home, I imagined the future…my mother was excited for me, she always told me how wonderful the U. S. was! Her excitement, however, was clouded with sadness because she knew that in one year we would have to say goodbye and my family would go back to the mission field.

Note: As a New Year’s resolution, I decided to tell my story here. I was encouraged by TDA and Screedler. I’ll try to write a little each day, along with notes on how things are going now in sobriety. I feel that by writing each day I can help myself and possibly others. I’ve learned a lot from hearing other people’s stories.