TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of domestic violence and may be triggering to some. Growing up, I learned early on how to be aware of the little things that spoke volumes.
My mom wasn’t just an ; she was also bipolar, and I never knew if I’d come home to a mom who was cheerful and loving or to one who would say hurtful things and obsess over cleaning.
I grew up in AA, surrounded by people trying to rebuild their lives. My parents were both recovering alcoholics, and while I didn’t fully understand it at the time, it made sense later in life.
The environment made it easier for me to fall into drugs. When I was fifteen, my first experience with meth came at the hands of adults who, in hindsight, should have known better.