“Are you kidding me?! You have seriously got to be kidding me!”
Ally Greystone’s friends, family, and coworkers were fully prepared for this passionate response from their loved one. No one’s ever happy to be the guest of honour at an intervention, but they all felt something had to be done to get Ally’s drinking under control.
They each read a letter they had individually prepared explaining how Ally’s drinking had affected their lives. Through an ocean of tears, her teenage daughter told her how she was embarrassed to bring anyone over to the house. Her husband compared taking care of her to taking care of a child. Her younger sister declared that she was done trying to fix Ally’s life; the former needed space to fix her own life. While her boss said that he just wanted the old Ally back, the girl who came in early, stayed late and tackled every project with gusto.
“You people are a bunch of morons,” Ally said after all of the tears had been wiped away – theirs, not hers. Ally hadn’t felt the need to cry since she started drinking six months ago. “My drinking is messing up your life? YOU’RE the reason I drink!
“Isabelle,” she said to her daughter. “I’d be embarrassed to have people over if I were you, too. Not because of my drinking, but because of the mess you make of the house. Everyday I come home and have to pick up after you. If I’m not cleaning your filth, I’m making you breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Do I get so much as a ‘thank you’? No. All I hear is, ‘Mom! Where’s my sweater?’ and ‘Mom! There’s never anything good in the fridge!’.”
This brought on a whole new episode of crying from Isabelle.
“As for you dear husband…when exactly are you ever home to take care of me? When you’re not playing poker with your buddies, you’re at the one hour motel screwing your secretary. Oh yeah, that’s right, I’ve seen your car there plenty of times.”
A part of Rob, her husband, felt that he should try to defend himself, but another part of him thought, Oh crap. I’ve been found out.
“And sis, please oh please oh please go fix your own life. I’m tired of you calling me everyday and crying about the latest guy to have dumped you, your twenty thousand dollars in credit card debt, your many many yeast infections, and how you lost your keys for the millionth time.
“I guess this just leaves you, Richard.” That would be Richard Batton, her boss.
“Maybe…just maybe if you ever actually paid me for all those times I came in early and stayed late, I’d still be doing that. Maybe…just maybe if you didn’t dump all those projects on me two days after the Board of Directors expected you to have them completed, I’d be more enthusiastic. And maybe…just maybe if my paycheque matched what those sales reps who spend half of their time on the golf course bring home, I’d be the employee you once knew and loved. God, you people act as though I’ve done something truly horrible, like gone all Breaking Bad on you, or taken up scrapbooking. I’m just saying.”
“Does this mean Mom’s not going to rehab?” Isabelle asked her father.
“No, honey, she’s not,” her dad replied.
But there was no need for Ally to go to rehab. Once she had said her piece, everyone felt guilty for the stress they had caused her and cleaned up their acts. Ally hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since.