Six years ago, my father died of cirrhosis of the liver due to alcohol. I was only fifteen at the time. My family tried to keep his alcoholism a secret from me, until one day at the hospital, the doctor unknowingly mentioned it in front of me. I was shocked to say the least. I knew my mother was only trying to protect me, but I was very upset. As it would turn out, she had her own alcoholism to hide.

She was understandably distraught with my father's death, but soon after, I realized she had crossed that thin line between healthy mourning and a dangerous lifestyle. She drank every day, morning and night, despite knowing her husband had died from the same thing. She told me she wanted to join him. She was afraid to be alone. She needed to be with a man, so she spent 13-14 hours a day on the Internet chatting with various men, several of whom she'd go meet.

At my urging, we went to several counseling sessions. The psychologist asked me to tell him how I felt about my parents. I remembered my father as a caring man for the most part. He taught me to believe in myself and my abilities; to be courteous to others; and to help someone when they were in need. He encouraged me to use my talents.

However, therapy brought out another side of me. I had to deal with my feelings of anger toward him as well. I was angry that he never let me express any anger toward him. It was a sign of disrespect to him. I was angry that he drank all the time. I was angry that he died, and left me alone with my mother. I was angry that they kept the drinking a secret and didn't get help. I was especially angry that I felt like I couldn't trust either of my parents and that I didn't know who they really were anymore.

While I was dealing with these feelings, my mother's therapy wasn't going so well. She was embarrassed to discuss her problems and refused to take the therapist's suggestions. After a while, she refused to go at all. She claimed she didn't need it, but I saw her slipping farther away each day. I had lost both parents essentially. Her psychiatrist had put her on Prozac for her depression and Xanax to help her sleep. She developed an addiction to these and I knew the combination of the drugs with alcohol could be fatal.

My mother and I had not been able to communicate much. I stayed away from her as much as possible because I didn't know what to say to her. I was afraid to confront her about her drinking. I was taught not to show any anger towards my parents when I was little or else I'd be punished. So I let her kill herself slowly while I stood by helplessly and guilt-ridden.

I spent my time away from the house frequently, with my boyfriend. We'd only been dating for five months when my father died. I thought for sure our relationship would end. I was depressed, I couldn't eat or sleep, I had hallucinations. I knew he would eventually get sick of it and leave. To my surprise, he stood by me and helped me through it. Unfortunately, I learned from my mom to be dependent on men. A woman couldn't survive without a man in her life. I developed an irrational fear of death and became dependent on Jay. I would sit up until midnight on a school night while he was at work. I'd make him blow his horn as he rode by my house on the way home just to make sure he was okay. He also had to call me again when he actually got home. I was terrified he would be in a fatal accident and I would be left alone to deal with my mother. Jay supported me throughout and his mom was a mother figure to me during this time.

By the time I was 16, my mom had found a real relationship with a man named Mike who lived a couple of hours away. He was a nice guy and treated her well. I was happy she'd found someone but knew she still drank and was addicted to her pills. I came home on numerous occasions and she'd be passed out. I essentially was on my own now. I played the parent role. I was the grown up. I took care of the cooking and cleaning and took care of myself while my mother was gone every weekend.

Jay continued to lend his shoulder to cry on as I watched my world crumble around me. My mother and I fought all the time. I was tired of being the parent and I figured if I was going to play the part, I might as well go ahead and accept it. I talked about getting married to Jay and even getting pregnant. I thought every time I saw a commercial for a home pregnancy test or a baby product it was a sign that this was my chance. I thought about how wonderful it would be to have a family of my own. All my friends did it, so why couldn't I? I think I was looking for a quick way out of my mom's house. Luckily, we didn't succeed.

Things continued this way until about the time I turned 18. I continued to go to therapy and was able to work through my grief and anger. I developed a healthier attitude toward my relationship with Jay as well as with my parents. I learned to eventually acknowledge my feelings. I realized that my parents weren't perfect. But that doesn't make me who I am. I can be my own person. I don't have to be dependent on men, and it's okay to be angry sometimes.

Three years ago, after I graduated high school, my mom moved four hours away to live with her boyfriend near her family. I think it's just what we needed. She's found another psychiatrist who's perfect for her. She was able to beat her addiction to the pills and also has stopped drinking to my knowledge. She's a lot happier now that she's away from our old home and her old memories. About a year ago, we finally broke the silence between us about her addictions. It was like a boulder had been lifted off my chest. I was nervous and scared, and it was awkward at first, but I now realize it was an important step in our relationship. We have learned to open up to each other more now. We talk about once a week and are closer than we've ever been.

Jay and I are still together. We were married on June 5, 1999, just before my nineteenth birthday. I have a positive attitude about life and about men. I struggled through it, but I learned how to be more independent. I know I need to take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else. I've also gained newfound spirituality. I became a born-again Christian and I feel this has helped me deal with my feelings of grief from my father's death, as well as improved my marriage. On September 29, 2001, we welcomed our first child into the world. She is the light of my life and I'm glad to finally have a family of my own. I know that I will not be a perfect parent however. I don't expect to be the parent my parents never were, nor do I want to follow in their footsteps. I can only be me, and I think that is what I want to show my daughter the most: to be herself and she can do anything she aspires to.

Christy