Paper Clips, Cigarettes, & Alcoholism

Dear Dad,

Do you know how much I love you? I hope you do because I love you a lot. It hurts me every time I see you and I know you know why. You are dying before my eyes because you choose to seek ill comfort in a bottle and a cigarette. Your skin is always itching and sometimes appears yellow. Your eyes are yellow and bloodshot, and it’s not because you are "tired." The ends of your nails are swollen and yellow. Your breath smells like a sweet nothing.

Your memories barely exist…

"What do you want for dinner?"

...a few minutes later…

"What do you want for dinner?" And this alone repeats forever with various topics.

There is a bottle on the floor behind the door in the office. I know it’s yours because of the contents and the look of the bottle. The distilled liquid lazily rests in a dirt and grim caked plastic water bottle. I don't think you thought anyone would find it, but I wasn't looking---

It just found me.

I found your multiple cigarette hiding spots and the yellow lighter you use. The rock in the garden bed outside isn’t covering much anymore. Your trail leads all the way up the side of the house near the AC unit. It appears as if the entire house breathes in the chemical smoke you bathe yourself in.

I know when you are going out for a smoke because you hold your hand in front of your pocket so "no one can see what’s inside." You are constantly going outside for a few minutes at a time and no one does that unless they have something they want hidden. You try to always get those beautiful and sweet dogs to go outside with you because it looks weird when you are out there alone. But they aren't dumb like you. They know your manipulative game.

***

I am your codependent.

I write stories and poems and papers about your effects on me.

I’ve prepared myself for your passing at least five times.

I have never heard from you about the foreclosure because I’m sure it embarrasses you. That was a nice, little house, but it's hard to remember what it looked like now.

I know you don’t have a job and haven’t for awhile, or if you have one, it’s probably not legal.

You disappeared off the face of the world for over a year and never bothered to contact me.

I feel like if I don’t tell you how I feel, I will regret that maybe I could have done something. That maybe we can have a relationship. That maybe you won't die.

Your disease is causing more harm than good.

You have not had only "a few beers with Timmy and the guys."

You have had gallons and gallons of a poisonous substance that only rips its victims and their codependents’ happiness and life apart.

I know that if you don’t seek rehab now, you will die, whether it’s years from now or even months.

Dad, I love you and I can’t live like this anymore. Your actions cause pain, that is what I hate. I don’t hate you, I love you. I need my father, not the shell of a man drowned in alcohol.

I have attached a paper clip to this letter. Let this paper clip symbolize you now. It's damaged, but all it needs is some time and love. Just take your hands and bend it back together. That's all you have to do. You need to help yourself before I can even try to help bend you back. It'll never be the same way again, but it's much stronger than it was before.

I wrote this letter because I need you, and I feel it’s important to tell you that

I love you.

Ann