Author: D. Anderson

I can never remember a time when my mother and father were together. Not one single time. I guess that is for the best since they may have been toxic together anyway, if I believe the stories my mother told me. According to her, my father was a drug addict who put his hands on women. Thankfully I have never witnessed this side of him. Throughout my childhood I was bounced around between my paternal grandparents and my mother. My father was mysteriously not present except for some holidays when he would come to my grandparents house. I always despised him. Mainly because he would show up with a women and sometimes with a women with children. Like really? Come here with your ready made family, the audacity. I would often be surly to him and his guest. My grandfather would say “You don’t have to like him, but you have to respect him because he is your father”. I would shrug like whatever. I can recall going to my father’s house one summer and sitting on the couch watching Little Mermaid on repeat the entire time, barely speaking to him or the other occupants of the residence. I couldn’t wait for my grandparents to come and pick me up. My relationship with my father has been tumultuous.

My mother, well she was a simple yet complicated woman. I really believe that her life would have been better if her mother were never murdered. Anyway, she was a drug addict the entire time I knew her. I can not remember any extended period when she did not use, sometimes moving back and forth between substances. Throughout my childhood she never really had stability, moving from place to place sometimes with me in tow. I can remember being stable with my grandparents, then she would come get me and take me to live in houses without electricity, gas or running water. I am grateful that I was never molested or sexually assaulted being in some of those environments. I remember school being my refuge sometimes. I was always a great student. My mother didn’t have many lasting romantic relationships that I can remember, but she was never alone if that makes sense. I had this empathy for my mother, that I did not have for my father. I thought his absence was selfish, but my mother’s was pitiful. No one ever spoke a bad word against my mother, at least not around me. She was a petite woman with a fiery attitude and loud mouth. She was entertaining and engaging. Many say I favor her, I would often deny it. There are times when I was exposed to more than my young eyes should have seen with my mother, she was too transparent sometimes. I loved her, but our relationship was not really mother daughter, more like big sister little sister. As I got older I felt more like the parent. I was responsible at a young age and had to watch over my younger sister. I didn’t want the responsibility, yet there was no one else who did.

Why do people become addicts? I have no idea and if I did I would be a wealthy woman. Now I am not going to be a victim with a feel sorry for me pity story, but what I will share is my story, my perspective and how addiction has impacted my life.

I don’t think I was born to addicted parents, but my parents both became addicts after my birth. I don’t remember that obviously, but that is my version of the story I tell myself. The story I got from my mother is that my father contributed to her becoming an addict, but I never asked my father because I fear the answer and the further devastation it would cause to our relationship.

Not really sure where my mother’s addiction started (other than her blaming my father). I am sure that the tragic murdering of her mother and sister was the start though. Anyone dealing with that type of trauma, grief and loss could be subjected to addiction if not handled in the proper way. Therapy might be a great suggestion, but not in 1981 (or maybe it was 1982). My mother was an energetic ball of fire and she lived life on her terms.

I was always aware of my mother’s addiction at a young age, but my father was a different story. I didn’t learn about his addiction until I was an adult, rather it was by accident or on purpose either way didn’t matter to me when I learned about it. I do think knowing about it sooner may have given me a better sense of understanding. In speaking with my father about his addiction, I learned that it began while he was in the military serving in Vietnam. My father went to the military right out of high school and I can only imagine the trauma he suffered there and once back home. There wasn’t much if any, help for veterans like it is today. They sent you home with a salute and the clothes on your back. PTSD, what is that?