Steve O's Mom Fed Him Alcohol

March 20, 2008 By:
Steve O's Mom Fed Him Alcohol

Steve O wrote a Myspace blog again addressing his current mental state. He basically wrote a realllly long blog about being fed alcohol as an infant.

Read the full blog below:

You Should All Know I Am In Rehab


1) Mom was very alcoholic, and I feel that is a gross
understatement. I’d love to say that I first took to
alcohol out of affection for my mother (there was
never any shortage of that for me) but I think the
truth is that I was always powerless over it. I know I
was always powerless over alcoholism, because it had
such a grip on Mom’s adulthood and my childhood, and I
never chose to fight it. Until now. Dad was a
corporate executive whose job required the family to
travel the world fairly extensively and both Mom and
Dad were quite self conscious of how they were
perceived by others. We were frequently on airplanes
and, before Mom and Dad would find themselves in the
embarrassing position of being caught by other
passengers with a crying baby, I was fed alcohol.
Obviously I don’t have recollections from the time
when I was a baby, so this account is pieced together
from vague memories of being told stories that are
similar or exactly the same. Mom’s alcoholism truly
reared its ugly head when I was eight and nine years
old, it was in 1983 that she lied to the family about
having lymph node cancer so that she would have an
explanation for staying in bed drunk at all hours. I
forgave my Mom very easily for her act of dishonesty,
my love for her was unconditional. At this point in my
life I find myself hoping that I will be able to
forgive myself for similarly selfish acts that my own
addiction led me to commit. I can’t believe I just
called out my own dead Mom for what’s surely the worst
lie she ever told. I also can’t believe I ever picked
up my first drink on my own after the way alcohol
ruined her life. God, I miss my Mom. I think I was
eight years old when I was introduced to the family
tradition of children partaking in an alcoholic
beverage of their choice, just one, only on New Year’s
Eve, each year. I think it was right away that I knew
I wasn’t interested in beer, rather that I wanted
scotch whiskey. I can’t really remember, after all,
what alcoholic remembers the first drink they picked
up. The first time I vomited from truly drinking "too
much" alcohol, I was twelve years old, that I’m quite
sure of. I’m also quite sure that everything I
remember taking interest in from childhood, and
onwards, I poured myself into with an unhealthy
"excessive/compulsive’ attitude about it. Baseball.
Heavy metal music. Skateboarding. Drinking. Drugs. Oh
yeah, and the video camera...

2) I didn’t first try marijuana (it was actually hash
the first time) because I randomly bumped into it. I
tried it because I had made a decision to find it. I
tried it again the day after that, as I recall, and, I
believe the next day as well. Overnight, when I had
just turned sixteen years old, I became a
"stoner/druggie." Shortly thereafter, I was taking LSD
on a regular basis. It was my prerogative to try just
about any drug I could get my hands on. It is not my
intention to glorify my history as a drug abuser with
elaborate stories about having sex in lavatories on
airplanes after snorting amphetamines off the toilet
at the tender age of seventeen. I will simply say that
when I was interviewed about it all upon checking into
this rehab facility, it became frighteningly clear to
me how lucky I am to still have any chance whatsoever
at leading a happy, fulfilling, and meaningful life. I
am so lucky, there is no doubt in my mind that I have
a Higher Power that is incredibly interested in me


1) The first time I made an effort to stop drinking,
because I was an alcoholic, I was eighteen years old.
I recall looking up Alcoholics Anonymous, but not
making it to any meetings, and after, perhaps (I can’t
remember exactly), nineteen days of not drinking, back
to back, doing the same number of vodka shots back to
back. Mom forced me into a rehab facility when I was
twenty years old (she was sober at the time, I was in
jail, and going to rehab was my only chance to see
sunlight before court). Sobriety lasted for two and a
half months after the sun’s rays met my face, and it
ended as brutally as it had when I was eighteen.

To read the rest of the blog click here.