My childhood, what a fucking mess. While being raised by addicts in some of my worse moments, I would ask why this was the life I was dealt. As I get older and realize more I understand this was not the life I was dealt, it was the life my parents chose to give me. I would cry to the point of pure fury and see nothing but red in rage and frustration, wondering why I was not enough for them to change. Why was it so damn hard to stop drinking, stop snorting cocaine, stop smoking crack and whatever else they were doing that was preventing them from being productive parents. When I speak of my parents I was lucky enough to have 3 addicts labeled as parents to me. My mother Robyn, my biological father Joe and my stepfather Dale. Growing up there was a lot of shit I should not have known or seen especially at certain ages. I don’t think I realized how bad it was, I mean I knew it was messed up but not all the time, it was my normal. That is until I met my husband and in the early stages of our relationship when you start to share the good, the bad and the ugly, he was taken back by some of the stuff that came out of my mouth. Even then I thought, well it’s not as bad as it sounds, right? Who knows. Then I found out I was pregnant with my first child, my daughter. It hit me like a ton of bricks, I would never expose my children to such things.