Part 1 | What's your darkest experience with generational trauma #redditstory #storytime

"My family forced me to become an alcoholic from the moment I was born. I mean, that literally. My parents are the most feral people I've ever met. From the moment I turned 10, their idea of quality time was teaching me and my older brother Kyle had a handle-ar-licker-like real adults. Every Friday night was dedicated to what my dad liked to refer to as "training night." We'd sit around the kitchen table while dad poured shots of tequila and mom shared us on, timing how long we could go without making a face. If we gagged or coughed, we'd have to do push-ups until our arms gave out. The rule was simple. The family that drinks together stays together. It was the same rule their parents, grandparents, and great grandparents followed. I thought it was some BS, but my older brother Kyle took to it like a fish to water. By the time he hit 14, he was dad's favorite drinking companion. They'd stay up until 4 AM doing beer pong tournaments in our garage, and mom would brag to her friends about how her son could drink grown men under the table. When Kyle started showing up to breakfast with shaking hands, dad just laughed and poured him a beer, calling it "hair of the dog." The more Kyle drank, the more love he got. New gaming systems, concert tickets, even a motorcycle for his 16th birthday. Meanwhile, I became the family disappointment by default, not because I was failing school or getting in trouble, but because I was pulling straight A's, captain of the debate team, working part-time to save for college, all while staying sober. Mom's favorite line was, "You know what your problem is? You judge everyone instead of loosening up and having fun." But it was hard to take her seriously when she slurred her words and stumbled into the furniture. I do consider calling authorities, but I was scared, because my best friend Jessica had tried to for her own family, and as soon as the social worker left, Jessica's dad covered her in bruises. So I pretty much ruled CPS out as an option after that, but then came the day that changed everything. Kyle's 18th birthday party. He was doubled over on the porch, joking about the sharp pains in his side that had been bothering him for weeks, probably just need to build more tolerance. He laughed, his skin looking slightly yellow in the porch light. Dad's response? He brought out a bottle of $200 Scott sheep and saving, slapping Kyle on the back. It's nothing a good drink can't fix. I swear I thought he was pranking him, but that's when my mom took out her iPhone and started filming the whole thing for his future kids. That's when I realized if I wanted to survive, I had to play along. I became an actress worthy of an Oscar. Fake laughing at their hammered stories and pretending to be hammered when really I was just pouring the wine bottles into plant pots. The status part, it worked. I was finally part of the family. Everything changed when I left for Oregon State. My randomly assigned roommate was an alcohol addiction recovery, and through her, I discovered this whole world of people who had fun without poisoning themselves. I joined the campus over support group, learned about addiction science, and understood that what happened in my house wasn't normal family bonding. It was intergenerational trauma, dressed up as tradition. For the first time in my life, I felt clear-headed and genuinely happy. I even started training for marathon, something I never could have done while pretending to be hung over every weekend. And during winter break of sophomore year, I did something extremely crazy and reckless. I decided to come home for the holidays. I really thought that it could be the moment that I break the cycle, to convince my family to dump alcohol once and for all. In the days leading up to it, I did everything I could to make sure it went smoothly. I gathered photos for my sober friends gatherings, and even picked up alcohol-free beer and alcohol-free champagne. I kept telling myself not to get my hopes up, but as I packed my car, I couldn't stop fantasizing about them all of us finally getting along like a normal family. The second I walked through the door, dad shoved a beer in my hand. There's our college party girl. When I politely declined, saying I was training for a race, mom's face went dark. Oh, so you're one of those now? Too good for your own family? The night spiraled from there. When I tried to go to bed early, they followed me to my room with a bottle of tequila. You're not ruining Christmas by being a sanctimonious witch. Mom's starled. What happened next? So give me nightmares.