APRIL IN QUIET DESPAIR

APRIL I ANHÖRIGSVERIGE – APRIL IN QUIET DESPAIR

By Susanna Alakoski

Literary history is crowded with drinking men. The addict is in the limelight. Women are portrayed as co-dependent alcoholic wives regardless of social class. But now the children of alcoholics and other relatives step forward on the literary scene and testify to a totally unglamorous existence. We have lived without trust, with denial, fear, boundlessness and insecurity. Chaos, violence. Loss, sorrow. Shame.

All of us lived in quiet powerlessness. Some of us were forgiving, gave new chances. We supervised, supported, pleaded and begged. Some of us yo-yoed between soberness and relapses. Many of us thought that it was our fault, when injustices poisoned the water and trifles took the shape of hand grenades that were thrown through the apartments during intoxication. We found our mothers passed out on the floor. Our fathers jumped from bridges. We experienced our siblings’ hash psychosis. Most of us stopped inviting friends over. We waited for the good fairy. Some of us went speechless, others carried out sabotage. Someone thought suicide was the only way out.

How many alcoholics are there in the world? How many narcotics abusers? The number of relatives is unbearable. And yet, without minimizing the suffering inherent in growing up with substance abuse, without diminishing the struggle for survival: among the disadvantages there’re also advantages. If we, the relatives – wives, husbands, parents, grandparents, siblings and children – get the possibility to heal an ocean of capacity opens up. How many can we be, out there in the working life?

April in Quiet Despair begins where October in Swedish Deprivation ended.