Raised by crackheads

I learned from part one that writing about my childhood is super therapeutic. I was a little embarrassed reading part one over again. Noticing every little mistake. But hey, it's my story right? I'm going to jump right into this one.

I do remember being in the hospital while my mom was healing. I don't remember what happened to the dude at the house or his dog…. I also didn't remember that my mom was actually pregnant…. That part really blew my mind… This grown man was beating the shit out of my mother, on top of her left & right hooking her in the face. Meanwhile she was pregnant with HIS child.

I had no relocation of my mom being pregnant whatsoever. She's a heavier set woman so I wouldn't have noticed much of a change. My mom also gave the baby up for adoption, so I don't remember an infant sibling… I do remember staying with my grandparents for a long while though….. I remember being genuinely happy. My mom didn't have a good relationship with her parents. I'm sure a lot of it had to do with the fact that my mom started doing drugs & partied with her toddler daughter right by her side. I’m sure they were not too pleased with the crackhead “friends” my mom acquired.

My mom & my grandma were always arguing. A Lot of the time about me. But I remember feeling most safe with my grandma. She always spoiled me & made me feel so loved. My grandparents' house was magical for me. I loved my family there. My 2 uncles were younger at the time & still lived in the house. They were always playing with me. I got all the attention in the world. I had every toy I could ask for. Don't even get me started on the food. My grandmother grew up in Sorona, Mexico & knew how to make all the authentic delicious food. I miss it…..

Since my mom felt judged by her family, she thought it was a good idea to leave the state without telling anybody about it. So that's what we did. Packed up & got on a bus. No goodbyes, no warnings. Left New Mexico, on our way to Rapid City, South Dakota.

Once the miserable 4 day bus ride was over, we finally made it. I quickly realized I didn't know anybody besides my mom. There was this man that kept hugging & kissing on my mom. Then there was this nice lady that kept saying to call her grandma Shirley. I loved that woman.

The next couple years are a little blurry. We went from living in a 3 bedroom apartment with 6 people to having our own house again… My mom is pregnant, I'm in elementary school. Life is pretty decent… besides the fact that I'm deathly afraid of my mom's new boyfriend. His voice is creepily deep, he's super strict & he drinks like a damn sailor. Ramon was actually a pretty decent dude. I asked to call him dad & I remember him being proud & giving me a big hug saying “Of course you can call me dad, mija.” …

I didn't realize that I had ptsd till I was grown up. But looking back I remember being so afraid every time my mom & dad would fight. He would get loud & I would lose it. I was always so afraid things would escalate & usually would get upset with him for making my mom cry or scaring us. Around this time I was six or seven. This is the age when they started to leave me home alone. It got more & more frequent being by myself.

Things changed when my first sister was born. I remember being jealous & confused. Honestly I didn't really like her. Jasmyn…. Why did my mom have to give her a prettier name than me? Who names their kid Kathryn anyway? Obviously dad is going to like her more because she’s his ‘real’ daughter…Definitely not enough attention to go around.

I didn't know it at the time but even though we were living in our own house, it was housing units. My mom worked at Mcdonalds & my dad was working at a tire shop. We had a 93’ jeep. We were a cute little family… poor, but cute. Jasmyn was barely one before my mom got pregnant again… Brooklyn. Another sister with a prettier name… I had felt left out, like the only one in the family who didn't really fit in. I knew I was a ‘stepdaughter’.

I didn't like my family. I had to help with my sisters ALL THE TIME & it seemed like the fights between my mom & dad were getting worse & worse. My parents were leaving us home alone ALL THE TIME & I felt a huge weight of responsibility. Usually without reward. I felt like Cinderella. I was responsible for not only cleaning the house, but taking care of my sisters, helping with laundry etc. I know I sound dramatic right now, like yeah of course the older siblings are supposed to help out. But I felt LEFT out.

It was around this time that my parents started to get pretty bad on methamphetamine. We were always throwing “barbecues” with our neighbors & family. The parents would stay in the basement or garage while all of the little shit kids would run around causing mayhem. My older cousin & I were the first born so we were always “in charge”. We each had 2 little sisters at the time. Then there were the neighbors.

David was definitely my first love. Yes, I was only in third grade & at the time I didn't really know I loved him. I just had such a HUGE crush on him. David's little sister, Christina, became my BEST friend. I don't think any of us knew at the time that our parents were all meth heads. We thought our life was just like any other kids. The things we did without our neglectful parents watching…. Holy moly.

The first time I started smoking cigarettes, I was in the third grade. My first kiss was in second grade. My first fight was actually in kindergarten. (This first grader kept pulling my hair, bullying me or whatever. I locked my jaws on her arm.) My mom congratulated me…… to be continued….