Alcohol is one of those things that changes with age.
I don't mean the taste although that is the case for you fancy people with you aged scotch.
I'm talking about how your view of it changes.
When your younger and you have that first sip of it at New Year. You can't wait to see what all the fuss is about so you try some Bucks Fizz something you now realise is so low in alcohol content it's really not worth drinking...
but remember being five or six...
having that first sip...
and pulling that same face you pull now after having a tequila shot.
GROSS
"Why do grown up like this?!"
Now whilst I'm sure that is the only childhood view some of you have,
that and drinking blue WKD on a park bench saying you're SO DRUNK but in reality it's nothing more than a slight sugar high. Pretty much the same feeling you'd get if you had one too many haribos.
No, I'm talking about a different memory.
The one where your parent/parents/family member are drinking some kind of poison and they switch into a person that you've met a few times before and you don't like.
The tears mixed with anger and loud voices followed by the sound of things breaking and falling as they try and walk.
A monster with slurred words, half opened eyes and unsteady on there feet.
I have a few memories like this, one that haunts me now more than ever.
I don't wish to demonise the family member so I will just refer to them as "he".
It's 2am I'm woken by the sound of Charlotte's feeding machine beeping. It's a bit temperamental at times and being only 11 years of age I had no idea how to fix it.
I knocked on the next room, explained the situation and asked for some help.
He enters with some mumbling presses some buttons then returns to bed.
A few minutes go by then the machine starts to beep again.
He returns with louder mumbling which I still couldn't make out.
Charlotte by the way is still fast asleep being profoundly deaf it is very hard to wake her.
He rips the machine out of the socket and brings it to a side table to try fix it, still mumbling under his breath.
I am sat up in bed both concerned about Charlottes feeding machine and what he was saying.
"You know it's alright you" he finally spluttered.
Understandably confused by this sudden outburst all I could reply was "What?"
"You can go outside and play with your cousins, you can go whilst Charlotte has to stay inside, YOU are her sister, you should stay in with her"
I sat there stunned but it wasn't over
"Sometimes I wish, I'd of just let her die because this is cruel, what you are doing is cruel, It is your fault she's like this"
The next thing I remember is counting.
Crazy right?
I placed my hands over my ears, closed my eyes and counted out loud.
He was still shouting but I couldn't hear him.
Tears streaming down my face but I just kept counting.
I remember confronting him about it at a later date, He denies it with his life or maybe he just doesn't remember it.
I don't need acknowledgement I know it happened.
Of course I know everything that he said was wrong and of course Charlotte being ill wasn't my fault, she was born that way.
But when your 11 and a grown up tells you that, you do believe them.
It look of reassuring for me to stop.
Now ten years on and after I have drink, now and then when I start to lose control this fear hits me
"What if I turn into the monster?"
I'm sure other people feel this way, that's why I don't really like getting drunk,
I don't want to be a monster.
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Serious blog love
