Obstacles

22 years old and diagnosed with OCD Manic Depression and Adjustment Disorder. There’s nothing I can do to fix it. All you can do is be there for them. A girlfriend asked me the other day what if I had a kid who had a severe mental disorder or drug problem. I just told her, I’d hold their hand a little bit tighter than the rest. As a child growing up in a house that Augusten Burroughs writes novels and flms are made about, addiction and mental problems became a major interest of mine. Having a father with a severe addictive personality kept me away from drugs and alcohol, because I had to experience everything it did first hand. Not to say I didn’t try anything out once or twice or three times. I always had the fear of becoming like my father and ruining my family. That was enough to make me stop. I couldn’t handle the thought of having a child hate me as much as I hated my parents at the time. It would ruin me. 

I hated and swore that there was no God for years and not one day ever passed where I didn’t wish that someone would come knocking at my door to tell me that I was adopted and my real parents wanted me back. No luck in that department. My only escapes when I was younger were riding my bike, reading, hiding in the closet under the stairs, or in my bedroom closet, sneaking out on my rooftop while my parents were screaming, or listening to music that my mom allowed (anything pre 69 pretty much sums it). For some reason God approved of oldies and anything after that was “Of The Devil”. God in particular loved The Beach Boys, Stevie Wonder, and Buddy Holly. Or maybe that was just me. 

It makes sense now, that I’m the complete opposite of claustrophobic. I love small spaces. I could get lost in my room for days. It’s now a flaw, because I’m 28 and still do it. A Lot. It wasn’t until 9th grade when I wanted to know everything and why my family was so fucking odd and learned the term dysfunctional why were we so weird compared to everyone else’s picket fenced lives. Thankfully by the time i was 20 I realized and still do, that pretty much everyone had a fucked up childhood and I wasn’t alone. My best friend Miranda at the time was a heroin addict amongst other narcotics she was taking. She smoked like a chimney and helped me develop my smoking habit. We used to stay up all night smoke a pack of cigarettes each while listening to whatever punk music we could get our hands on. I’ll never forget the night I first heard Black Flag DK and Descendents. It pretty much saved my life. That was the year I left home for good. 1995.

14 years ago and a lot of work and I can actually say I don’t hate them, they just made shitty parents and I got stuck in the middle of it, but we get to grow up and get past it and have the chance fix the damage. That’s where resilience comes in and I’m pretty fucking bad ass at it.  

I’ve been to every type of meeting from AA, NA, Alanon, whatever, you name it. It was never for myself though. I say I learned from experience first hand and partially for this reason: If you ever want to scare the shit out of a kid from staying away from alcohol, just let them live with an alcoholic for a few years, make them wake up when they come home stumbling through the door at 4am and give them a huge boiling pot to be at the end catching the vomit so it doesn’t get all over the hardwood floors. I’ll never look at a sterling steel pot the same way ever again.  I always went with Miranda because I wanted to be there for her and I took in as much as I could to understand everyone and their stories of their addictions. My dad always used to tell me when he was drunk, “Don’t be like me, learn from my mistakes”. His chemical make up wasnt his fault. He chose not to control it though. My mom, just thought that making dinner, going to church, spending my dads money giving it to the church, cleaning the house, and yelling a lot would fix things. They finally gave up when I was long gone living in New Orleans at 18. Some people should never be allowed to procreate.