Fancy a Game of Darts, Anyone?

By: Olivia Humphrey

Pouring all of the liquor you can find in the house down the drain is the most fun the daughter of an alcoholic can have without attending therapy. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

Our plumbing system has never looked more diverse!
                                                                                                                                Vodka from Poland,
                                                                                              Tequila from Mexico,
And of course, the finest boxed wine that France has to offer.

Our kitchen smells like a frat house.
The liquor mixed with the
Tears of a teenage girl and
Smoke from the pizza you fell asleep before you could enjoy.
 The pizza that almost burnt the house down.
   The pizza that almost killed me.
    The pizza which is worse than the
     Hole in the wall from the time you fell down the stairs which is worse than the
      Floor to ceiling boxes of wine which is worse than the
       Screaming matches between us when we talk about your problem
Which is worse?
Not knowing you have a problem or not caring enough to fix it?

I have been a parent to my parent since I could walk and talk on my own.
I never got a childhood.
You’d be in such a deep sleep, I really thought you were dead on some nights.
I will never be able to drink, because I don’t want to end up like you.
I will never have friends who drink, because I don’t want to watch them end up like you.
Hearing slurred speech is gunshots,
Seeing wobbly legs is knife wounds,
Nausea is a fiery car crash,
Drunkenness is your head on a silver platter,
With a fine white wine to accompany it.

Alcohol is a depressant.
The only thing more depressing is watching a loved one poison themselves with it.

The one and only perk from the years of trauma:
I’m great at darts—just ask the bartenders who watched me play on my own as you talked to your friends.
Bullseye after Bullseye after Bullseye after sitting and dealing with your