The trouble with drugs is that no matter how much pain and misery they put you through, they become a part of you. And you will always want to go crawling back.
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h o w s h e b e g a n
My mother gave birth to a stillborn on the 27th of August, 2002.
The brand new crib was returned, along with the bottles, the toys, and the tiny, pink socks that I bought a couple of days ago with change from my piggy bank. I was so confused when my mom told me they weren't needed anymore.
She cried for months about the daughter she lost and forgot all about the daughter she already had. Soon, my father found out why his wine bottles kept going missing. The alcohol didn't soothe her anger towards him, constantly saying that it was somehow his fault, and then the rare arguments became nightly.
They thought that if they tucked me into bed early and locked their doors, then I wouldn't be able to hear them.
One day, my dad suggested for mom to go see a therapist because she was becoming emotionally unstable. She got offended and slapped him right across his face. The sound cut through the air, and I could still hear the echoes. I could still hear the sound of my father weeping in the bathroom, door shut, hot shower running. My mom's depression festered like an open wound, eventually spreading through the entire house.
Dad stayed with us for two more years in hopes that mom would change, but she only became more vicious and nothing ever seemed to please her.
By this time, Dad was the only person that came to my piano recitals, fed me, tucked me into bed and cared for me while mom was in the garage getting wasted until she was sick. He went behind her back and filed for divorce- unfortunately, my mother won custody. She made me lie to the social workers and lie to the police. I felt terrible about it, but I only wanted to make her happy. Even if that meant staying.
"You know I will always love you, right?" dad asked me, kneeling down to my height.
Dad was squatting in front of me to meet my height. I remembered his narrow, hooked nose, friendly hazel eyes, and the high cheekbones that were always rosy.
Everything going on made Dad age quicker; he had new wrinkles as others were more defined. The dark circles underneath his once vibrant eyes caused him look pale and sickly. I could tell he wanted to give up.
"Where are you going, Papa?"
"Nevada; that's where the rest of your family is."
"Why are you leaving, Papa?" I wondered even more.
"Your mom and I can no longer live with each other." He answered with remorse.
"You don't love her anymore? What happened to the happily ever after's you told me about in my bedtime stories?"
"I do still love your mother - I will always love her; the problem is that she doesn't love me back."
"Why?" I asked. "You said that when people get married, they stay together forever!" I whined. Isn't that what happened to Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty?
