The thing about addictions is that no matter how much you try to quench your need, it's never enough.
~
Ever since I was a child, the effects of addiction and abuse had haunted me.
My mother, being an ex-alcoholic, had continuously warned me about the consequences of having too much of one thing, and liking the effect it had on you.
I had always called my mum by her first name, Lorrie. Mainly because I never wanted to give her the satisfaction of being a mother.
I was conceived when she just 16 years of age. When she realised she was pregnant, my biological father had run off.
Unfortunately, Lorries parents kicked her out when she told them about me.
Lorrie, however, went on with the pregnancy, and continued to live a healthy life.
The person I call my dad met Lorrie a week before I was born.
It must have been love at first sight for him to take me and Lorrie under his wing like he did.
He housed us both, and refused to let Lorrie get a job to pay the rent.
But they were in love. And I knew at a young age, nothing would come between them.
Well that's what I had hoped, anyway.
But the world works in strange ways.
When I was three, Lorries parent both died in a car accident, which brought up many forgotten memories of the brother she once had.
She and her brother were best friends, and when he had died, Lorrie completely lost it. She changed from being the placid little well behaved girl into a teenager with no boundaries or care for consequences.
Loosing her parents was hard. She quickly found herself falling back into a dark depression.
The only way she could think to drown her sorrows was through alcohol.
I thought it would all get better, eventually.
I was seven years of age, my mother still an alcoholic, and my Dad working his butt off to feed and house us both, he too, quickly became depressed and took much of the stress out on me... Or not out on me. Anyway, he would just ignore my existence. Unintentionally, of course.
My world was full of sadness at that point. At such a young age, I found myself constantly thinking of death. My dad hardly talked to me, and my mother was constantly screaming and hitting me.
When my dad finally hit rock bottom, I watched him blast a bullet through his head.
I was scared.
Knowing Lorrie, she was just going to get worse.
But something clicked that day.
She knew she had to be a proper parent.
I never would have gotten so far if it wasn't for her, but I still hate her guts. For treating me the way she did, and causing the death of a man I loved dearly.
My mother did stop drinking altogether.
But that was just the start of my addiction.
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