As a teenager, I lived with a parent who drank for several years. The only thing that helped me survive in the storm of his moods and his dependence on them was the understanding that it would end soon.

At first, I vaguely felt a pattern, then I began to observe it more closely: to build graphs in which I marked the days of sobriety and binge drinking, calm and dangerous days. The schedules were repeated up to the day. This gave me the opportunity to predict my father’s behavior and leave on time for an overnight stay with a friend. 

Helplessness and lack of support were my constant companions of that time.  

I see that this is not just my story. A large number of people have experienced and are experiencing similar experiences. I feel that the experience of pain makes me able to empathize with others.

The experience of helplessness gives me the ability to see my limits of possibilities more clearly and takes care of those beds that are in my garden.  Even if all the troubles were avoided in my private life, observing the lives of other people shows the impossibility of removing pain from experience. Perhaps it is in this experience that humanity is born. 

And there is never much of it.