Hey. It’s me — your daughter, not your addiction. Daughter — an eight letter word. That’s all it ever meant to you, right? Eight letters and way too many diaper changes and days spent focusing on someone other than yourself. Way too many times woken up in the night to comfort me from the nightmares you caused. A human for whom is completely yours to make decisions until she is old enough to make those decisions for herself. You always had trouble deciding which one was more important to you: me or your addiction. Maybe it was that ninth letter in the word “addiction” that decided for you. After all, more is better, right?

Being a dad was more of a part-time job for you; just like being happy became only a part-time job for me. Truth be told, I was only happy when you weren’t there, and that’s because when you were, I saw everything you didn’t want when you looked at me. You never told me you were proud of me. I get it. Y were too busy getting drunk to recognize what my accomplishments were. You didn’t want the responsibility of being a dad. I have good news for you, bringing someone into the world makes you a father, not a dad. What makes you a dad is being there and taking care of your kids and being there and supporting your wife. Congratulations, you’re officially not a dad.

I know you want me back in your life and you’re not asking me to sacrifice anything for it — except that you are. You’re asking me to sacrifice my beliefs that what you are doing is wrong by not changing. You aren't even offering to change. Here’s the thing, dad, one cannot ask for forgiveness and be granted it unless they mean the apology being given. One thing I learned pretty quickly is that people who won’t even admit to their mistakes cannot have accepted their mistakes.

Acceptance is the first step to recovery. You say you are no longer an alcoholic, but you never say that you are in recovery. I can’t just say “I don’t have anxiety anymore,” and get rid of my anxiety. If you proved to me that you would put me first instead of alcohol, I would consider letting you back in my life. You won’t even hear me when I try to explain that to you, so here I am, writing a letter to you that I know you will never read because it doesn’t matter to you. My words don’t matter to you. Nothing matters to you except that feeling that only comes when you open another can of beer.

If you were anyone else I would say “Get back to your roots.” Your feet are rooted in alcoholism and have been since you were a kid when your parents introduced alcohol and alcoholism to you. They taught you what it looked like to be absent in a child’s life. Maybe I shouldn’t blame you so much for being how you are; maybe it’s all you know. Here’s my advice to you: stay far, far away from your roots, and I will do the same.

To you, “recovery” is just an eight letter word. To me, recovery is a lifestyle. You are avoiding it. There are two ways out: die sick or find recovery.

Which will you do?

From,

Your daughter