I'm a very concealed person. I don't like expressing my feelings. My father has been an alcoholic since I was 2 and now I am 17. It wasn't until last year that I finally snapped and I told my best friend. Even with this being said, I hardly told her the whole story. Just today at dinner, listening to my father stumble over words and snap at every comment I made (completely unrelated to his state). I'm sick of keeping it in. The only good thing to come out of this is my killer poker face (haven't lost a game in 2 years, but the again we play for nickles). I remember going on scavenger hunts with my little brother, trying to find the stash. That was when things weren't as bad (he'd only get drunk about 2 or 3 times a week). He'd run off to "run errands" and be gone for maybe an hour or two (my mother was usally at work). We never knew what to do with the beer when we found it. Once we threw it away and my dad just went off to a bar and got really drunk, so we never did that again. When he did it at home, at least he wouldn't go out in public where people would see him, my brother and I in tow. Further, he wouldn't drive and potentially hit someone. Needless to say, I spent a lot of my time at friends' houses. For a while my dad was okay. He'd only pass out maybe once a week, only once a month for a while. It was so far and few between I could easily ignore it. Then, during my freshman year of high school, he got laid off from work. With my mother still working and my brother and I off at school, he had the whole house to himself. After he almost hit one of my classmates picking me up from school, I told him I'd rather walk home (for the exercise). Two miles, every day, until I got my driver's license and a car. Still, I'd come home to him passed out on the couch, the porn sites still up on the computer and beer cans strewn everywhere. Once I found 20. Most of it had spilled on the floor, but still. I could usually clean it up and drag my dad's butt into the basement before I picked up my brother. I think what hurt the most was bringing him home. He's five years tounger than me, and I hate seeing him look at our dad with disgust. Yeah, he doesn't deserve our respect at this point, but to hear him at 10 call my father a bastard under his breath was probably the worst thing I've ever heard. Granted he is one, but to say it out loud at such a young age was painful. Honestly, I don't know what to do. I've tried making appointments with my counseolors at school, but once I get in there I panic and make up some college question. I've only told my best friend, and again, I didn't tell her everything. Talking to my dad is pointless, and it really scares me when he starts screaming that I should mind my own business. Please, I'm desperate for help.
