As a result of my father's rapid downward spiral from the time I was about 17, I was somewhat prematurely thrust into adulthood. I was still in high school, but my dad on a whim decided to quit his nearly 30-year gig as a successful film editor in Hollywood, much to my mother's chagrin (my father was, obviously, the primary bread-winner of the family). He said he quit for the sake of his mental health -- looking back, I guess I will never know if that decision helped him or hurt him more in the end. At the time, I whole-heartedly supported his decision; he was working 18-hour days, almost 7 days a week, and was never home with his family. He was very nearly killing himself for the television series he was on at the time, as most people in the film industry do. It is a dark and grueling life, quite opposite from the glitz and glamour the general public has come to view Hollywood as. Your life belongs to Hollywood -- those part of it quite literally give their blood, sweat, and tears to that life. A career in the film industry, I have learned from experience, is not often conducive to a solid, successful marriage and family life; that is the harsh reality of that world (that is why we all-too-often witness the demise of celebrity marriages). When it comes to a career in the film industry, it seems, it is difficult to have it all -- a successful career and a happy, stable marriage. My father was having to rely on substances just to survive the excruciating nature of his work and schedule. He always said it was no secret that many people in the industry rely on alcohol and drugs to keep them going and to keep their mind at ease -- he was no exception to this (if you doubt my allegations of substance abuse in correlation with the entertainment industry, consider Lindsay Lohan). It is a hard and lonely life.
Anyway, maybe it was the best decision for my dad at that point and time in his life (I guess he was thinking, 'YOLO!'). However, while maybe a good decision for his own mental health, it arguably did not make our family life any better. What was supposed to be a mental health-related temporary hiatus pretty much evolved into premature retirement, a retirement for which neither of my parents were financially or emotionally ready. My dad, believing fully in his well-deserved break, began living as though he was on a very extended vacation. He was spending money frivolously and with no regard (at that time we still had quite a bit of it), partying with his friends, and living a life of leisure. My mother continuously inquired as to when he planned on returning to work, to which he always responded with a vague and acquiescing response. As the months passed by, it became clear his intention to go back to work was decreasing -- albeit his substance use was not.
My parents had always forced a sense of financial independence upon my sister and me growing up, although now it was becoming more crucial. My mom was maintaining her full-time job to keep up with my dad's hiatus and spending habits, I took on a part-time job at a grocery store, and even my younger sister had a job at an arts and crafts store. We were all working, with the exception of Dad (that seems odd, right?). And so, after school, as all my friends would head off to either sports practice or to relax at home, I would head to work to bag groceries and push shopping carts for the rest of the evening -- my weekends were now devoted to work, as well. It had been made clear to me by my parents that if I wanted to do or buy anything, I was to pay for it myself. Additionally, I was required to pay for my cell phone, gas, and car insurance. While I don't contest the legitimacy of this request by my parents (I believe in bestowing some responsiblity on children, financial and otherwise), I will say that a lot of my friends had it easier. However, I did not necessarily mind working -- I somewhat enjoyed the sense of responsibility (and the extra spending money didn't hurt, either). I will say, though, that my dad was very generous with the cash handouts back when he first went into 'retirement' -- as I said, he still had a lot of money stashed away from all those years of making six figures (another lesson learned: money doesn't last forever when you spend it like it's going out of style, no matter how much you made previously).
My last couple years of high school continued, my father showed no signs of improvement, no intentions of getting a job, and my parents' marriage seemed to worsen by the day. After the infamous 18th-birthday-party-overdose (which he later confessed was a suicide attempt -- really, you couldn't have picked another day on which to try to kill yourself?), it finally reached the point where my mom had to kick him out of the house, I guess in order to shield my sister and me from his all-night party/drinking/drug binges (even though I think the damage had already been done). As I witnessed the deterioration of my life as I knew it before my very eyes, I did not falter. I kept telling myself that things would get better -- that they had to get better, because how could they get worse? Hope is sometimes the only light that guides us on an otherwise darkened path -- so that is what I did. I hoped, because that is all I had. To say that hope alone is enough to sustain us through troubled times is not an understatement -- I have lived it; I know its power and beauty.
No comments:
Post a Comment