Orange Juice

Marissa

I don't even know where to start. You could say I'm ashamed. No, thats exactly what I am. I am a fucking dead beat. My life was a mess. Is a mess. I am fucking god damn mortified.

It wasn't until I woke up face down passed out in Andy Barbers yard that I decided I needed help. I knew I had a problem, a long time ago. But I buried my head in the sand, pretended it wasn't there. But it was. Shot gunning beer's since I was 14 they all thought I was so fucking cool. But I wasn't. I was a waste of space. I am a waste of space. If it weren't for Colby, I don't know where I'd be.

I count my lucky fucking stars that all my drinking and drugs didn't damage her. Because if there was even a slight hint of fetal alcohol syndrome, I'd throw myself off a bridge. She saved me. I didn't know it at the time but her little body growing inside of me it's what must've made me stop. Finding out I was pregnant in rehab... not my finest moment. But she was a beacon of light. Mom and dad took her in, raised her while I got better. They owed me. That much they knew.

Colby is so perfect, which is really egotistical of me to say because she is my living image. The same reddish brown hair, olive eyes in the shape of almonds and a wide smile, a cheeky smile. She has my nature too, not too much of it, but theres a decent sized portion of me in her. The rest... well who knows.

I do. Thats a secret I'll never tell.

"Marissa!" I scrunch my eyes up at the sound of my moms shrill squawk. She takes no direction when it comes to personal space. If you're under her roof; personal space simply does not exist. My bedroom door flies open and the woman stands with her best dress on and a casserole dish tucked under her arm. I don't need to look at her for too long to know that she has the permanent scowl of disappointment tattooed on her face.

"Hello mother, what can I do you for?" I stare at the damp patch on the ceiling.

My aforementioned non existent personal space aka the basement, is treated like no mans land. In that no man or woman would venture near it. Its been neglected and forgotten about. So I sleep on the pull out in the centre of the dank rotting room, surrounded by dehumidifiers because my dad felt bad that I would be put at risk of infectious lung diseases. Aspergillus being the least of my worries right now. I'm just trying to get through each hour sober.

"The Barbers are having a party. It would be nice if you could show your face."

I turn on my side propping my head up on my fist, "I'd rather stick needles in my eyeballs." I say with a sarcastic smile.

"Your dad took Colby early so she could play with Jacob. We could walk together." Mom tries to convince me but honestly I can't think of anything worse right now.

I shake my head once more, "Ma, there will be booze. I don't think fresh out of rehab me should be thrust in the midst of temptation."

It was my third stint in rehab, I failed the first two. Releasing myself after 28 days and going AWOL. I broke my fathers heart, sometimes I wonder if he'll ever forgive me. But worst of all I abandoned Colby with them and attached her with the stigma of having a deadbeat for a mother. And for that I'll never forgive myself.

The mere mention of booze had my mothers face crumbling into bitter disappointment. But she knew I was right. I'm doing my fucking best to get this one to stick. It took me a 10 years. And I feel fucking awful. You know that thing people say when they stop smoking that its when all the problem's started? Thats like me with the booze, and the narcotics, mostly coke, when I stopped it,
all I developed was depression, anxiety, OCD and a number of other things that I'm still waiting on being diagnosed. I'm no better for it, not yet anyway.

I'm doing it for them.
For her.
For Colby.