The Life Of A Drug Addict

It all started around age 4, My fist addiction. The very first addiction I had was pretending to be okay, when I wasn't okay. You would think at that age I wouldnt have much understanding on what was going on around me, but I did. I understood that my father was an alcoholic, I also understood the pain my mother felt every time he abused her. I understood how scared I was, but my father is a good man. My daddy was an addict just like me, no matter the denial he still has to this day. I will say if it wasn't for rehab and learning that he did the best that he could I probably wouldn't think that as im typing it here and now at age 26. Due to my fathers alcoholism, his neglect and my mothers jealousy and neglect, I have endured a life time of pain. I have escaped reality my entire life, so much so I still have yet to find my identity. I have pretended to be okay when I wasn't to the point I was being whoever or whatever I had to, to ensure no one knew I was not okay. Age 5 was the first time one of my fathers friends snuck into my bedroom while my mother and him argued in his drunken stuper. What happened in that room, what happened to me and why it happened to me, I did not understand. Why this man and many others till age 11 did this to me, I did not understand. Why my older brother also went through what I did, but also began to do it to me, I still do not understand. Why do I hate myself instead of those men? Why is it so easy for me to let go of there faces and what they did, but I can not look in the mirror without being disgusted. All these years I've kept it a secret. No one knew I was not okay. No one knew at age 6 I tried committing suicide for the first time, besides the preditor I couldn't escape from, for a life time. Who knew that such a monster refused to let me die and cut me down from the rope I hung down from, who knew that two years later he would bring home his older friends from the neighborhood to do with me as they pleased. At this point I started getting old enough to try and defend myself, but even then I was still his pray. I couldn't escape, until the day I found alcohol. Age 11 I am a full blown drunk. I'd fill water bottles full of vodka and steal my dads gum from his lunch box to get me through the school day. On the weekends I would get drunk till I blacked out to try and forget everything. Alcohol was my second addiction.

At age 12 I tried telling my mother what has happened to me for the first time, My brother present. I left all the other men out and just tried to tell her what my brother did with all his friends that day, but when I got to the part about him he started talking over me, denying it, and convicing my mother and myself that it was just those boys and he had no idea what I was talking about. My mother believed him over me. My mother always favored her sons over me. She favored all men over me. In fact, her jealousy ran so deep she made my father choose between me and her, all while she told me my father didn't think I was his or want me. At this point being raped had stopped, being molested had stopped and I thought my pain was finally over. It was wishful thinking. After all the things I went through growing up, the thought of why is my father not protecting me to why does he not want me toyed with my mind and emotions. How could both my parents not know I wasn't okay. At age 13 mental illness started to seep in, I didn't know how to deal with all these emotions and alcohol just wasnt enough. Cutting myself was my third addiction.......to be continued