I think there’s a stage of alcoholism where you just retreat completely. My mom got there first. My dad kept a low profile as an alcoholic. He’s what you’d call a ‘high functioning’ addict. Not so much mom. After my parents separated and we lost our home, she moved into an apartment. It was a nice apartment, when she moved in, at least. She had always been a really social person – she connected and bonded so well with other people. As she lost herself more and more to cheap wine, cigarettes and diet pills – she lost her ability to connect with people.
She hated running errands. She had so much anxiety about going to the grocery store – so she’d self-medicate with booze just to get through those trips. It took me a long time to understand this – and most other things, surrounding her addiction. It dawned on me what had been causing her so much anxiety when she told me that her fear was completely built around the possibility she’d run into someone she’d know.
Why? Because she knew if she saw a familiar face, the first question they’d ask her is ‘How are you doing?‘ What a loaded question. This question is insanely uncomfortable to someone who has lost everything to their addiction. To someone who is just barely hanging on. To someone that is still frantically trying to clutch to their pride and hide the empty shooters of wine in their purse. This question is enough to put a suffering person over the edge.
No one you come across in the grocery store actually wants to know how you’re REALLY doing, if your suffering is all encompassing. That’s just not a question you answer in the produce aisle. So how do you answer? You smile, lie through your teeth – if you can – and try to get out of that conversation as quickly as possible. Then you retreat to the bathroom and break down. You didn’t need milk, anyway. You pay for your booze and cigarettes and high-tail it back to your cab – sans groceries. And you try to not leave your apartment again, until your alcohol supply dries up and you’re forced to.
Loving an Addict 