My aunt has been addicted to cheap pink wine fore 13 years. When I was a teenager I remember finding a giant bottle tucked away in the fridge near her bathroom. She used to say, “I just like having a glass before bed…it helps me sleep.” But even then I knew there was more to it than that.
This woman I knew as energetic, happy and fun transformed into a mean, foul being who constantly played the blame-game when she explained why she drank. “Your mother and uncle have always been awful to me…they made me this way.” I never loved my husband…he made me this way.”
Listening to her go on and on was not only angering, but utterly draining. I’d leave her house after a visit and feel exhausted by the toxic energy she spewed at me. It was in that last moment, when I pulled out of her driveway, that I decided I’d never set foot in her house again. Read More »
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