Not again.. I was fearful to walk up the stairs. When he drank he was a monster. He was belligerent and emotionally abusive. He has hurt me. For so many long years, without even realizing. He made me feel as if I was a wave that couldn’t help crashing on the shore over and over again. He made me feel empty and as though I just would never be good enough and for some odd reason, all I wanted to do was be good enough for him. Why aren’t I good enough dad? Why does alcohol win?

That night. It was late and it was my three best friends and I having a normal sleepover. It was just us and my dad upstairs. As 13 year old girls, we were giggling at a corky movie and talking about which boy liked us that week. But as much as I was having a great time, reality was talking to me in my head trying to remind me that my drunken dad was upstairs. Should I go up and check on him? No, he is an adult he can handle himself. But…. actually let’s be real, he can’t. I put on that fake smile and laugh for a while longer. The last thing I wanted was for my friends to freak out about my crazy father being drunk again. They all knew. They all knew that he had demons and that he got crazy when he drank. Alcohol was satan. Everyone knew. The community, my friends, even some of my teachers. It embarrassed me to go in public. Yes me, the one that never embarrasses got concerned about going out with him. I felt like everyone was looking at me like I was just like him. But i’m not. I will never be like him.

I told them that I would be right back. I started up the stairs from the basement. Taking each step as slow as I could. Feeling my weight almost sink into each stair with anxiety and sadness awaiting what I didn’t want to see. I counted the steps as I went up. 1..2..3...4... I got to the tenth stair glancing up and gasped almost falling backwards right back down the stairs. There he was. Lying there. On the floor with the back of the bar chair under him. He had tipped back on the chair. He looked unconscious. I dropped to the platform just above the stairs onto my knees. I felt as if I couldn’t breath. Tears flood from my eyes. I finally got the courage to get up. I ran over to him, legs shaking. I shook him and yelled “DAD! Please be okay dad please.” Gasping for air between every word. I checked his pulse. He had a pulse thankfully. After using all my strength to try to get him off the floor his eyes fluttered opened. What seemed like the biggest tear fell from my eye. I hugged him with all the love in my body. He slurred his words and said a bunch of things that I didn’t understand then paused and said, “I love you babe.” I didn’t know whether to be mad or relieved.

I let him lay there for 10 minutes sitting by his side, holding his hand. When he woke up he struggled sitting up but once he did I gave him water little by little. Saying nothing at all. I had nothing to say to this man who was only my father when he was sober. It wasn’t fair that I had to deal with this, especially alone. I was 13. A new teenager. I should have been dealing with teenager shit but instead I was making sure my dad was going to be okay because he drank too much.

When I stood up to get ready to try to lead him to his bed I heard footsteps. Slow moving and quiet as if they didn’t want to be heard.. They came up the stairs wondering what was going on. I said it was fine even though that was the last thing it was. I then left my dad on the couch to figure it out for himself and hopefully imagine what it would have been like if I wasn’t there. We went back downstairs and the four of us didn’t say much for what seemed like forever. Then I suggested that we play a game and we all just acted like it was all okay when in reality, my heart was pounding out of my chest and wouldn’t stop.

I just had to accept the fact that as much as I told him to stop and begged him to do it for my brothers and I. No matter how many times he woke up on the living room floor the morning after wondering what happened, he will never change, simply just because he will never want to.