Childhood memories. I can barely remember mine. What I do remember is not pretty. I am an adult child of an alcoholic. I was terrified growing up. Being yelled at, cursed out, threatened, and ridiculed was the norm for me. I was the oldest out of four. I had three brothers. We all were always nervous and afraid from sun up to sun down. Every day he would drink excessively until he passed out in his favorite chair. Home life was hell, and yet I survived.
It is said that alcoholism runs in families. I have to say all three of my brothers became alcoholics. They started at a young age. Being around it all of their lives gave them a sense it was normal. I was always afraid to go to sleep at night until they all came home safe. It was a never-ending cycle. I can say though, my brothers were not mean like our dad. I loved my brothers, but I did not like the drinking. They were loving and wonderful brothers. I miss them very much.
I remember when I was a little girl, how I loved to play with my barbies. I always played in my dark closet. I felt safe in there. The peace and quiet enveloped me. It was the only place I could be that little girl.