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My older brother was also an alcoholic & drug addict & he died as a result at the age of 37 when I was 28.
My mum past away 4 years ago, shortly before my fortieth birthday.
I have been lucky though & found a wonderful counsellor this time.
I struggle particularly with thoughts of my Mum, as I feel I never knew the real her.
That was around the same time that he lost his job as a toolmaker, and began relying too much on alcohol. I had friends, but our relationship was stifled by my religion, by the barriers that disability presents (especially as a parent), and by the fact that my home was not a happy place to go to for most of my childhood.
There are lots of personal stories in the followings sections.We were also Jehovah’s Witnesses when I was growing up.I can’t talk ill of a religion that so many millions willingly prescribe to, but I can say from experience that growing up not celebrating your birthday, or Christmas, or Easter, being removed from class at any celebration or religious education lesson, and spending four of the seven days of a week in church or knocking on peoples doors does not make for an especially happy childhood in and of itself.My father died nine years ago, in 2008, when I was fifteen.My grief for his passing, and my experiences since, are compounded by the fact that he caused so much pain in his life. The strained tense in that sentence is the very epitome of the difficulty in talking about my childhood. My dad was deaf not because he is no longer deaf, but because he is dead. I often feel a pang of remorse that the only way to explain that in a grammatically correct way suggests somewhat that my mum is no longer around.
It is sometimes hard not to do that; it is hard not to over-psychoanalyse, and make assumptions that my behaviour is entirely indicative of my upbringing.