There is no such thing as a child of an alcoholic. There are children, and then there are alcoholics. One will never harmonize with the other.
Because alcoholics are never parents. They are shells, empty casings of love mixed with a burning taste of whiskey.
They are echoes of slurred, “Goodnight, I love you.” and “See you in the morning.” Each word filled with love, but blinded by the haze of liquor, so strong it fills your eyes with tears.
But most importantly, a child of an alcoholic will never be a child. No matter their age, they have gained the experience of those five times their age. They have watched life end with each tip of the bottle, but begin again when the sun breaks through their window.
I read stories about children who spend their days without a care in the world. And as a child, I wanted nothing more than that for myself. I wanted the carelessness, not the impossible burden of responsibility and secrecy that I held, hand in hand with resentment and hatred for the people who raised me.
There is no such thing as a child of an alcoholic. It’s not that we don’t exist— we do. But a child will never be a child when their parents can never be a parent.
She’s not beautiful,
She’s not nice,
Just like art.
When you read this...
Remember you're loved.
You're here for a reason.
Talk to someone you haven't in a month or two.
Take them out to dinner.
Tell them something you never shared with them.
Let them know you care about them.
when you're feeling down
they might just be there for you too.
I am not born to be a second choice
For I was born to be the best choice.
I am not raised to be an option,
I am raised to be the priority
No one deserves to be an option. You deserve to be love wholly.
I like it when
You leave a trail of kisses
On my shoulder
And my cheek
And my forehead
And of course
(you know this for certain)
I wish I could map together
The constellations you have drawn
For I am sure they are beautiful
Like those sparkling in your eyes