Alcoholism: My Family Secrets and Well of Sorrows

By Patrick J. Leach

This is the story of my family disease of alcoholism and how it affected us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick J. Leach
• Release date: Apr 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370822881

Patrick J. Leach

Patrick J. Leach lives in Portland, Oregon. An artist and a writer, Leach has written professionally for companies and universities. He is co-author with Frances Price Cook of a biography, The life and Art of C.S. Price.In 1995 he abandoned the corporate life, focusing on painting and poetry while earning money caring for neighborhood yards and homes.Leach has published over 16 books of poetry and art, available in print and eBook formats. Watch for more of his books combining his unique blend of poetry and art.Leach studied creative writing (poetry) at Cornell University (B.S. General Studies, 1972), and holds two Masters degrees from Washington State University (Sociology, Education). "I've always considered myself a writer. I've taken many paths, tried a variety of occupations, always returning to writing and art."

Book preview

My Secrets

I grew up in an alcoholic family. It was terrifying! There were times when I was a child I feared for my life and the life of my mother and brother. The three of us were afraid to tell anyone outside the family about the insane things our alcoholic father did to himself and to us. We intuitively knew we were to keep these things secret and not ask any outsiders for help.

Later in my life I became a practicing alcoholic, which was terrifying. And I continued the family tradition to not ask for help. I did most of my drinking in private and tried to hide it from the world as much as possible.

This book is my opportunity to share with you my secrets in hopes it will help set me free of them and may be helpful in dealing with yours.

Secrets

This breeze flowing over us cannot stop

It slowly takes our breath away

Makes it white when it comes out of us hot

We love each other, it is plain to see

But we each hold our doubts, hidden inside,

Murky, hot tea we sip in the evening

Hoping it will not interfere with our sleep.

Men and women keep secrets

We wake with them in the morning

Push them down when we kiss and hug each other

Make love silently afraid to make noise others may hear

But our secrets make war inside

Push against our hearts

Some we are afraid to let out

To anyone, even to those we trust

They nibble away at our insides

These secrets are mine

I am telling them here to set me free

Those Were Tortured Years

Forced to sit and listen to my father

In his drunken rage and stupor

Watching him drink beer and whiskey

Chain smoke cigarettes

Sitting in his boxer shorts

Slurring his words

Telling me I was stupid and ugly

That no one would ever love me

Demanding I listen and stay in my place

Or the hitting would start again

Repeating over and over again how smart

Talented, handsome, strong and respected

He was by everyone

And this went on and on, night after night, eyes

Stinging from the cigarettes, having the same

Ugly words, malicious, mean spirited, how every

One else was less than my father

Until many years later I became big enough

To fight back, and drunk myself one night confronted

I put him down hard, and he never bothered me

Again, but alas, by that time the damage had been done

My Father and Mother

My father and mother argued a lot. I don’t think they loved each other. I know my mother feared my father. I watched him threaten us, throw things, throw us out of the house and nail the back door shut. That day he went on a rampage and threw her clothes and dishes out the back door, screaming and yelling for us to stay away or he’d make us regret we were ever born. The neighbor’s must have heard everything, but no one came outside to offer us help. My mother drove us to his parent’s house.

He called her ugly, profane names in front of us children, his parents, and people in the neighborhood. I watched him hit my mother, throw her down, throw lamp shades and plates at her.

I was afraid of him. I begged her to take us away and never come back.

And sometimes we’d leave when it got bad enough, but we never had money