I’m doing this for Dad, and for myself.

In December 2019, I never would’ve imagined my life turning out this way. It’s hard to fathom that just a few years ago, I would’ve scoffed at the idea of sitting at home writing this blog post. At 31 years old, I have so much life ahead of me, yet here I am, reflecting on my journey.

I spent a long time trying to please others (and failed miserably at it). I lost sight of myself and what I wanted for my life. My unrelenting obsession with my alcoholic father’s well-being had ensnared me in a never-ending spiral of anxiety, and I saw no escape.

Stepping away from Dad helped my deteriorating mental state, but making that choice felt like stabbing him in the back, so I grappled with sticking to it. Most nights, the desire to call him would endlessly nag at me. Eventually, it consumed my thoughts, but every attempt I made to reach out filled me with overwhelming anxiety.

I never did make that call.

After Dad died, so much happened all at once that it was hard to process it. Sometimes, I think I went a little crazy in my grief. It took me a long time to get back to my old normal, and once I did, I found it no longer acceptable. I wanted to be happy, which I’d glimpsed before but hadn’t accepted into my life as a way of permanently being.

I finally left my longtime desk job (which involved math, of all things) to pursue writing full time. This was something that I felt I couldn’t do before my dad died, as I couldn’t afford to not have a “day job.” Over the ten years I worked there, my passion for writing had dwindled, and in my last two years there, I almost stopped writing altogether. It’s bittersweet because my dead dad funds this enterprise. That only adds to the guilt I feel for not doing enough in his last months and for taking that step back when I did.

I use all of those conflicting emotions as fuel, channeling them into my renewed passion for writing. My decade-in-the-making fantasy epic (complete with a 5′ binder full of notes) is happily on hiatus while I drive all of my efforts into this memoir about my dad, because he deserves it. While some people may think I’m shaming his memory by laying his secrets bare in a book, that’s not my intention or what I think I’m doing.

Alcoholism is one of the most misunderstood diseases in modern medicine, which is shocking given how prevalent it is in our society. I didn’t do enough research on alcohol to understand what my dad was going through before he died, and that’s because I thought I already knew everything I needed to know. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

alcohol abuse vs alcoholism

My memoir won’t be a manual on alcoholism. It won’t be filled with medical jargon either, but I do plan on using some simple terminology, unlike other memoirists who have shied away from it in the past. (Even my beloved Mary Karr.) My reasoning for this is simple.

“Universally accepted definitions do not exist in the alcoholism field… And yet, as this book makes clear, there is a firm basis of research evidence for understanding the disease. The disease itself is understandable and definable; the victim’s behavior is understandable and definable; and the recovery process is understandable and definable. Opinions must no longer be allowed to overshadow facts.”

(Milam and Ketcham)¹

I heartily recommend the 1988 book Under the Influence to anyone interested in the topic. My mom had it on her shelf for years until I finally picked it up. What I find most disheartening are these end quotes talking about prejudice and misconceptions and how, thirty-six years after the book’s publication, nothing seems to have improved. Milam and Ketcham assert we should not underestimate the power of words, as they have the potential to “promote misconception.”

For example, using the term “alcohol abuse” as a synonym for “alcoholism” is misleading, so “the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism by its very name gives support to this contradictory view of alcoholism.” The term “alcohol abuse” identifies alcoholism as a compulsion, like overeating or gambling, putting the onus on the person who allegedly abuses the substance. In layman’s terms, there’s a theory that two types of alcoholism exist: one a physical disease, and the other a compulsive, psychologically caused abuse of alcohol. (Milam and Ketcham)

Before my dad’s death, I thought alcoholism was a psychological dependence of some kind. Despite watching him struggle through rehab after rehab for years, it never occurred to me it could be anything else. I finally understood that my dad didn’t choose to be this way once I got a good look at his life behind closed doors. Nobody in their right mind would choose to live like that, especially not when they have options, like my dad did. But he wasn’t in his right mind. He hadn’t been for some time.

I have such high hopes for this memoir, and each day I rise with determination, prepared to pour my heart out. It might be egotistical to say this, but I want to give my dad’s senseless death meaning. He was a good man who didn’t deserve what happened to him, and if his story or mine can make a difference in someone else’s life, then maybe one day I’ll be able to get some sleep at night.

1. James R. Milam, and Katherine Ketcham. Under the Influence : A Guide to the Myths and Realities of Alcoholism. Toronto ; New York, Bantam Books, Printing, 1988. ↩︎

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Kinsey Keys

aspiring memoirist rummaging through my noggin, stubbornly clutching the past to my chest like it’s a newborn babe starved for mother's milk.

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