Addiction scares me. Growing up, it loomed over my family like a dark cloud, shaping our lives in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. As a child, I vividly remember the men in my family struggling with various forms of addiction, whether it was smoking or alcoholism.
Several memories stand out starkly. Most of these revolve around him consuming staggering amounts of alcohol, often coming home with large cases. The unsettling sight of him, intoxicated and belligerent, is etched into my mind. On particularly chaotic nights, he would blast music from his car, the bass reverberating through the neighborhood as he screamed about his paranoid hallucinations. His schizophrenia added another layer to his unpredictable behavior, creating a volatile mix that left my family on edge.
In those moments of rage and fear, no one could calm him down—except, on occasion, my grandma, if she was lucky. But even she had her limits. There were times when his fear escalated to the point where he would call the police, convinced that something terrible was about to happen. I still think about those memories often, even as an adult now.
In my family, the topic of drinking looms large, especially among the women. Many of my aunts developed a notorious habit of going out late into the night to indulge in alcohol. I vividly remember when my twin brother and I would sit wide awake with our mom and grandma, anxiously waiting for their return. I can still picture my grandma’s anxious face, her eyes filled with worry and fatigue as she cried, desperately trying to reach them on the phone. During those nights, she would stay up until 2 a.m., only to be met with silence and unanswered calls, which deepened her distress.
Even now, as an adult, I feel the weight of family expectations bearing down on me. So many of the older relatives assume that I will follow the same path, often joking about handing me a beer before I’m even of legal age. One comment came from a 60-year-old cousin on my grandma’s side, teasingly offering me a drink as if it were completely normal. The thought repulses me, and I can’t shake the anxiety that when I finally turn 21, they’ll somehow pressure me to drink. Part of me believes they won’t truly push me, yet their constant remarks about it make me uneasy.
I’m aware that addiction runs through our family history, and this realization scares me. It's a trait that makes me worry about my future. What if I find myself in a difficult situation later in life and, in a moment of weakness, I give in and start drinking? I’m unsure how I’ll be able to break the cycle, and I don’t know if I truly will. My twin brother and I have made a conscious effort to set strong boundaries regarding comments about substance use. We have repeatedly communicated our unwillingness to drink or smoke to our family. I hope we have conveyed how serious we are about our attitudes toward alcohol and cigarettes. I’ve done my best to be aware of my behaviors and possible inclinations in therapy, and I hope to maintain my principles in both my thoughts and actions.