What part of I love you is unclear???

So an update on my mother: a few months back my mother expressed interest in getting into a program to get her life back on track. After giving her the number of a place close to me I didn't hear from her for about two months. The last few weeks we have talked on the phone a few times. During the conversations, however, we never talked about her getting treatment. This evening though she brought it up. Oh did she bring it up.

I got a message from her on Facebook. She was writing to tell me that she had sent a friend request to my sister. Now my mother and sister have never met. My mother gave my sister up when my sister was a month old. I didn't meet my sister until she was about 20. At the time I told my mother to let my sister make the first move towards communication. My sister spent her childhood not knowing she was adopted. When I met her she was still struggling to understand. I am very protective of my siblings so I really didn't want my mother upsetting my sister. However, I never wanted to stand in the way of them meeting or talking. In my mother's message to me on Facebook she pretty much of accuses me of trying to keep her from my sister.

My mother then goes on to tell me that I should accept her for who she is and not have stipulations about treatment programs. She went on to say that she gave us up so we could have better lives and that she saved us from hell. She demanded respect because she gave birth to us and loves unconditionally, unlike her children. She brought up how bad her childhood was and that because of her bad childhood she is the way she is. Long story short, she believes everything that happened isn't her fault and she is a good mom.
I haven't replied to her message yet and I don't think I will. I get the feeling she was either drunk, high or some combination of both when she wrote me the message. I have told my mother many times that I have forgiven her and that I love her so very much in spite of the way she lives. How many times must I tell her this?? I could try to explain to her that the reason for wanting her to go to treatment is for my own safety and the safety of my family. When she is using she is a monster. Maybe if she wasn't a violent drinker I wouldn't be too concerned about a rehab program. I don't know how to explain all this to her. I wish I could talk to her face to face so she could see the love I have for her. I wish I could hug her and hold her close so she can feel my love. But I can't do those things until she is clean. I'm really at a loss as to how to continue a relationship with her. Part of me wants to just stop talking to her. But another part of me can't let her go. Maybe she is my addiction...

Forever Marked

I was just checking my personal Facebook feed when I noticed a friend has posted a video. He was sure to let people know it was hard to watch so I read the title to the video. My stomach dropped. Apparently this video is of a mother giving her baby boy a tattoo. Now I didn't watch the video so I have no idea if the child truly was a baby or if that is just what they called the boy. I know there are videos floating around the Internet of parents abusing their children and it truly makes me sick. How awful for these children to be abused by a parent and then to have it posted on the Internet. As strange as it may sound I am glad my abuse took place before there were camera phones and digital cameras. I am more shocked that a these videos exist on the Internet than I am of the abuse occurring. Yes it is shocking that a mother would tattoo her child but only in the "normal" world. In the world of abuse and addiction tattooing a child is not that far fetched. I was a tattooed child.

I got my first tattoo when I was 10 years old. My mother and some of her friends had built a tattoo gun out of whatever they could find. For a good three months that was all my kitchen was used for, tattooing. My mother got really into it and was putting tattoos on all her friends. Being 10 years old I actually thought it was kind of cool. Plus it kept my mother happy. At school I started drawing on my hands and forearms. Not so much because I wanted to look like I had tattoos but because I was bored in school. I drew on myself instead of paper because we couldn't afford to replace paper. It used to drive my mother nuts when I came home covered in pen ink. She told me if I kept it up she would give me a real tattoo. I didn't believe her. She was always threatening me with stuff like that. If she wanted to do damage she wouldn't threaten, she would act. So I continued with my doodling.

I should also explain that I had a horrible habit of not coming home right after school. I would wonder through the streets or just play on the playground at school. Anything to keep from going home too soon. I knew I would be in trouble but I was so terrified of my mother I had to work up courage to go home. My mother would try to scare me with stories of little girls being kidnapped and murdered. None of it worked. As my brother got older I started to spend more time at home.

One day, I came home from school way too late and on the wrong day. My mother was manic and probably high. She screamed at me for being late. Tried to convince me that she had been worried when in reality she was wanting to leave for the night and couldn't until I got home. During the screaming she started to hit me. I put my hands up and she noticed my doodling. Something seemed to calm her. She quit hitting and screaming. As calm as can be she told me to go to the kitchen. She and her boyfriend had been doing some tattooing earlier in the day. The boyfriend was at the kitchen table and didn't bat an eye when my mother told him what she wanted to do. He just started to get everything ready. My mother then explained to me that I was getting a tattoo for two reasons: I keep drawing on myself and she wanted a way to identify me if I was ever beyond facial recognition. I was floored. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't fight her. I knew she would hold me down if I tried. So I put a smile on my face and sat down. As the child of an addict you learn that sometimes it is better to go along with the crazy.

I'm not entirely sure what happened next. I know I got a tattoo but I can't remember who gave it too me. Part of me says it was my mother because I can see her bent over my ankle with the tattoo gun in her hand. However, her boyfriend my have done it because I can see her holding me while it is done. No matter who did it the fact remains that I had a quarter inch cross the outside of my left ankle. I remember my mother stressing to me not to tell anyone. If I did she could get in a lot of trouble. Even then I knew that if you can't tell anyone then something was wrong. But I kept the secret. Well kind of. When I started a new school I would show a select few in an attempt to make friends. It never worked out well. I never worried about those kids telling their parents. Honestly, who would believe a mother would tattoo her child? I was never asked my a teacher or school administrator about it so I'm sure no one reported it to anyone.

After my tattoo was done my little brother wanted one. He was about four at the time and thought everything my mother did was right. He didn't know any better. Our mother was his whole world until he was six. When my brother asked for his tattoo my mother agreed. She didn't put any ink on the needle though and my brother freaked when it touched his skin. He did have a faint line for a while. The needle in the gun had been changed before I got mine but she didn't change it for my brother. Luckily both my brother and I are free of blood diseases.

While I have a permanent reminder of abuse I choose to look at it a different way. When I look down at that tattoo and look at my daughter I am can't help but be grateful for how far I have come. I'm grateful that I have a reminder of what addiction can do to a child and to make sure I don't go down that path. I have gotten a few more tattoos as an adult and I love them. I have always found tattoos beautiful. I would never tattoo or let my child be tattooed. I won't even pierce her ears until she is old enough to ask and to take care of them. This is just my personal standing. But having been permanently marked against my will can you blame me??

Taya

Too Many Trips to the Doctor

What a crazy April I have been having. School, work and family have been taking up most of my time. While none of this is out of the ordinary April has brought us some obstacles that I never saw coming.

It all started when my daughter got pink eye. The pink eye cleared up with drops and we thought that would be the end of it. Man were we wrong. A few days after her eyes cleared she started coughing. Nothing serious at first but it was enough to concern me. Took her to the doctor and he told us she had a cold. Not even 24 hours later her cough was worse and she had a temperature of 103. My husband and I took her to the ER where they told us again that she only had a cold. While my mother's instinct told me something more was wrong I went ahead and took the doctor's word. Two days later my daughter still has a fever and can't stop coughing. All she wanted to do was snuggle with me or her daddy. She wasn't herself at all. I took her back to the doctor and they found that she had a double ear infection. I also asked the doctor to test her for RSV which came back positive. RSV can lead to pneumonia and other lung issues. I was told that all she needed was antibiotics for the ear infection. So we went home and started our medication regiment. After two more days she wasn't getting any better so it was back to the doctor. I was at my wit's end. I told my husband that the doctor better do more for her because I would freak out on someone if they told me she was fine. Thankfully the doctor took one look at her and knew that something more serious was wrong. He tested her oxygen level and it was at 83. Normally your oxygen levels are in the high 90s and if they dip down below 94 you are put in the hospital. The doctor sent us to the hospital where my baby stayed for two nights. Those two nights were the worse of my life. While I was grateful that my daughter was getting all the help and care she needed I was terrified that something else might happen or that she wouldn't recover.

Thankfully my daughter pounced back fast and we were able to take her home. We had to do a few days of breathing treatments at home but she is in perfect health now. I hope I never have to take my daughter to the hospital again. It broke my heart to see her with an IV and oxygen tubing. She was so miserable the whole time we were there. I have never been more thankful that my daughter is generally in good health and doesn't normally get sick.

The whole ordeal with the hospital made me think about my mother. I mostly wondered how could a mother walk away from her children. My husband and I took turns going home and showering while our daughter was ill. If I didn't have my husband though I would never have left the hospital. It kills me to leave my daughter so I can go to school or work. What if she gets hurt while I'm gone?? Or what if she does something new and I miss it?? I cannot understand how my mother was able to trust someone she didn't know to raise her kids. Thankfully my brother and I didn't have any major health problems. My brother did break his arm once but he didn't spend any time in the hospital. My mother missed my prom and graduation. She didn't wipe my tears the first time my heart was broken or when the kids at school were mean. My mother missed and continues to miss everything. She hasn't met my husband or my daughter. Both of her children are married and starting their adult lives. I cannot grasp how my mother could miss so much.

I understand that addiction is all consuming and that in the deepest parts of addiction you don't care about anyone or anything other than your drug of choice. What baffles me though is why someone wouldn't want to get better for the sake of her children. My mother has expressed on numerous occasions that she wishes she hadn't missed as much as she did. But if she really felt that way why did she continue to miss important milestones?? Why did she continue in her addiction?? 

I have no answers to these questions. What I do know is that I will there for my daughter when she needs me. If that means she needs a cheerleader, a protector or any of the other many things that a mother is I will be there. I can't even imagine not putting my daughter first. Maybe instead of focusing on the fact that my mother wasn't there for me I should focus on what that taught me. I learned how much it hurt to not have my mother there and I will never cause my daughter that type of pain.

Taya

I Am Crystal Meth by Alicia VanDavis

I saw this poem floating around Facebook and thought it was eerily beautiful.


Hello.
You may or may not know me.
I destroy homes.
I tear families apart,
I’ll take your children and that is just the start.
I’m more precious the diamonds, more valued then gold.
The sorrows I bring are a sight to behold.
If you need me I’m easily found
I’m all around you in every city and every town.
I live with the rich I live with the poor.
I live down the street even next door.
I’m made in a lab just not the kind you think,
I can be made under the kitchen sink.
I can be made in the closet or in the woods.
If this doesn’t scare you to death it certainly should.
I have many names but one you’d know best
My name is Crystal meth.
My powers are awesome just try me and see.
Try me twice and your soul will belong to me.
Once I possess you, you’ll steal and you’ll lie
You’ll do what it takes just to get high.
The crimes you’ll commit for the high and fame
Will be worth millions once I get in your veins.
You’ll lie to your mom and steal from you dad,
When you see their tears you won’t even be sad.
You’ll forget your morals and how you were raised,
Once I teach you my worthless ways.
I’ll take your friends, your control, your pride,
But I’ll always be with you right by your side.
You’ll give up your friends, your family, your home,
When you run out you’ll be all alone.
I’ll take and I’ll take till there’s nothing to give,
And when I’m through you’ll be lucky to live.
You can try me for fun but I’m no game.
Giving the chance I’ll drive you insane.
I’ll give you nightmares while you lie sweating in bed.
I’ll be the evil voices inside you head.
You shouldn’t have tried me how many times were you told?
But you challenged my powers how could you have been so bold?
You couldn’t say no, and just walked away.
If you could do it all over again what would you say?
I’ll be you master you’ll be my slave.
Don’t fear being lonely I’ll walk with you to your grave.
I’ll show you more pain then your deepest betrayal
So come take my hand as I lead you to HELL.

Written by Alicia VanDavis

Homework?? What's that??

Finished another day at school. Still really enthusiastic about furthering my education and future career. Having my husband support me in this really helps. Actually I have a lot of people who are really supporting. My maternal grandmother has been proud of everything I have done. She is proud of anything I do as long as it betters my life. I am the first female to graduate from high school and to have her first child at 25. My adopted family has always encouraged me to continue my education. I work with some amazing people who have been supportive and have even help with school supplies. The support has been overwhelming.

I can't help but wonder why my mother rejected her support system. I know that even though my mother and grandmother have had a strained relationship, my grandmother would have been there for her. My grandmother and grandfather, who is my mother's stepfather, have supported my mother, brother and myself more than once. My mother had a built in support system and she rejected it. Something she taught to her children.

My mother has a weird philosophy on life. She wants to do everything on her own, yet she depends on others to take care of her. She is all about respect and putting blood family first, yet treats her mother like crap and has not seen her children in about 13 years. She likes to pretend that she had an awful childhood and tells her friends this. I had a conversation with an ex-boyfriend of hers that mentioned how rough my mother had it as a child. I told him that my mother was spoiled by her father and got whatever her heart desired. She never went without anything. It baffles me that she would portray herself this way. Then again maybe she is ashamed that she had every opportunity in life to be someone great and she turned into an addict.

I was taught from a young age nothing is more important than my family. And by family, according to my mother, that means my brother and my mother. She taught me to trust no one outside of our little trio. While my mother has had many friends over the years these were just people that she could get something from. As soon as they were no longer useful she moved on. I fell into that same sort of habit. Only for me I moved on as soon as it felt like they were getting to close. As I got older I learned that it is ok to be open to people as long as you trust them. I still feel a strong pull towards my brother. If I had my way I'd still be barking orders at him like he was five. When we were living with my mother nothing was more important to me than his well being. That's why I never really went to school. I was too worried about what would happen if he was left alone with our mother. She never really cared that I quit going to school. In her mind just translated into having a built in maid and babysitter. When I did go to school she never helped me get ready and never helped with homework. She hated going to parent's nights. She felt to out of place. I always wanted her to go so I could show off how cool my mother was for not looking like other moms. More than once I wanted to try out for a part in a school play but didn't because I knew that I wouldn't be there for the play. There were so many things I wanted to do but knew I couldn't because I didn't have my mother's support.

When my brother and I were adopted all that changed. Suddenly we had two parents that wanted, no, more like expected us to do well. It wasn't that they expected us to do well because that was how it is. They wanted us to do well because they knew we could. They expected me to do my homework and would check it every night to make sure it was done. I struggled with homework up until I graduated high school. I hated doing it. Another factor was I was taught that homework wasn't important. Not only did my adopted parents expect us to do well in school they encouraged us to get involved in sports, choir, drama and youth group. When I didn't make the school basketball team my 8th grade year, my adopted dad signed me up to play with the YMCA team for my age and even coached my team that year. Both of my adopted parents went to every game and choir concert. Sometimes my dad would miss a game due to work or my mom couldn't make it for some reason but I had at least one of them in the stands cheering for me. As I progressed through high school I dropped sports and got more interested in theatre. I can't act to save my life but I enjoyed working backstage. My parents came to some of the plays I worked on but I know that if I had even a minor role on stage they would have been there every night.

Looking back I am so grateful for my adopted parents and their encouragement. When I was a teenager I hated it. School wasn't important to me and I didn't really care for most of my extra curricular activities. They were just an excuse to get out of the house. My main goal was to turn 18, move out and start my life. I didn't want to go to college or anything like that. While my parents were disappointed they supported my decision. They may not have liked the life I was living but they supported my choice to live it. Over the years I have learned that it's ok to lean on others for support every now and then. It is a wonderful feeling to know that if I ever need help or just someone to talk to I have my parents. Even more than that now I have my husband and his family. I have my amazing bosses at work. I just have been blessed with amazing people who want to see me succeed. So instead of shunning them I am going to embrace my support system. I hope I make them proud.

Taya

School or Skool??

While living with my mother I learned how to scrape by with the least amount of effort. I never wanted to set my goals or standards to high. I kept this up for most of my life. Who did it hurt if I only got C's in school? Sure I was capable of getting straight A's but it was too much work. After I somehow managed to graduate from high school I took any entry level job I could get, even if that job had no future. I worked as a hotel maid and have many jobs in the food service industry. I knew that I could do better but I just didn't want to put the work in. I made enough money to pay for rent, power, water and food so I thought I was set. While I didn't want to put the work in to get a better job I did work my tail off at whatever job I was working. I got my share of promotions throughout my working career but I didn't stay at one job too long.

When I got pregnant I was working a seasonal job. When I got laid off it seemed silly to get a job when I would just be taking time off for the baby anyway. Luckily my husband worked a job that paid well so we were able to scrape by. After having my baby however I wanted more for her. While I will always make sure she has what she needs I also what her to be able to have some things she wants. Can't really do that when you only make enough to cover the bare essentials. I want to be able to send her to dance lessons or soccer or what ever her little heart desires. That isn't to say I want to buy my child everything under the sun. She won't be getting everything she asks for just because the kids at her school have everything. However I would like her to be able to have new school clothes and supplies when she needs them. If she decides she wants to get into a sport of some kind I want her to be able to try out and have all the equipment she needs. I want her to be able to have sleep over with lots of movies and games. Or if there is a birthday party for a school friend at a venue she has to pay to get in, I don't want to have to go through all the change in the house just to cover the charge. Essentially I want her to have everything she needs with some things that she wants.

In light of wanting to better my life for my family I have started attending community college to earn a degree. I am also working at a job that is in the making of becoming a career. My mother in law is a legal assistant and is training me to be one as well. The attorneys I work for have also been encouraging me to go to law school. I never in a million years thought that I would be considering law school but I am. If I do go I want to be a child advocate.

After finishing my first week at community college I can't help but wonder what my life had been like if my mother finished her education. She never finished high school and I only remember her holding down one job. I wonder what my life would have been like if meth had never entered it. Would my mother had finished her education? Would she have held down a job to take care of her kids? While meth destroyed my life I will make sure it won't destroy my daughter's. I can't make my mother get and stay drug free but I sure can make I do.

Taya

P.S. Please head on over to Facebook to check out the Addict's Child page. I tend to keep it updated on my blog posts.

Home is Where Your Heart is....

Last week I got a call from one of my best friends who lives in the town I grew up in. She is going through a difficult time in her life and asked me to come visit for some girl time. My husband was in agreement and was happy to stay home with our daughter so I could make the three hour trip by myself. Since I was adopted and moved I hadn't been home by myself. I had made the trip with a few of my boyfriends and my brother but never alone. I was anxious to see how I held up emotionally. Surprisingly it wasn't as hard as I thought.

The town I grew up in hasn't changed much. It's still about the same size and the people all look the same. It was interesting to see all the places from my childhood and how they changed. The grocery store I used to shop at is still there and looks exactly like I remember it. I used to shop there because it was right down the street from my house. All the cashiers knew me and would double bag my groceries so I could carry them on the handlebars of my bike. I went everywhere on my bike. I even had a employee at a local take and bake pizza place clingwrap a pizza to my handlebars once. The pizza place is no longer there. Even the old pizza arcade is gone. I only went there a handful of times for birthday parties and the like. Never had the money to play the games.

I drove by my old house on my way out of town. It's still there and looks the same except for a new paint job. I hated that house. Mostly because of the life I had there. As I drove by I noticed toys in the yard. It got me wondering about the people who live there now. Are they happy? Do they take care of their children like my mother never did? That house holds so many secrets I can't help but be glad it can't talk. The neighborhood looks the same as well. Only one new house but they all look the same. None of the neighbors are the same but I already knew that. The field I used to ride my bike through now holds a doctor's office.

The only thing that hasn't changed at all is the beach. It is still as amazing and beautiful as it ever was. It still calms my nerves and makes me feel relaxed. I only got about an hour on the beach but I could have easily lost four or five just sitting watching the waves break on the sand. Or I could have spent my time agat hunting. My mother used to take my brother and I down to the beach to hunt agats. We loved it. My mother would draw giant circles for each of us so we would have our own areas to hunt agats. We would spend the whole day at the beach. Even my mother found peace on these day trips.

The whole drive "home" I was anxious and I really felt I was driving into the past. I didn't really want to see the place where I lived in hell for so long. After spending the night and coming to peace with the town I felt so much better. I needed this trip as much as my friend needed girl time. I realized that my home is where my family is and I couldn't wait to get back to them. I may never want to live there again but I will no longer dread visiting.

Taya

What Death has Taught Me

*I am usually real names in this entry. Those who are gone still deserve to be remembered*


The last week and a half has been rough. I got some sad news on March 9th. An acquaintance of mine, Ta, died in a car accident. She was 29 years old and pregnant with her first child. Also in the car were her fiance and his two young daughters. Ta died at the scene, the children were airlifted to a major hospital 6 hours away and Ta's fiance suffered massive head injuries and is still unaware of what has happened to his family. I have known Ta for about seven years but we were never really close. She was however good friends with my best friend. While I didn't always agree with the choices Ta made in her life, she never personally caused me any anguish. In fact she was there for me through a hard time in my life. When I got the news of her death I was in shock. I hate all kinds of death but I hate shocking deaths more. I had been here before. My husband and I decided that I was going to make the 45 minute drive to my best friend's house to be some sort of emotional support. While experiencing their grief I couldn't help but reflect on the other deaths I have had to experience in my life.

My first experience with death came at the age of eleven. I was living with my mother and things were floating along okay. Life wasn't great but it wasn't the hell that was coming. My mother had found a kindred spirit in a young woman named Shelby. She was about 23 years old and moved in with us shortly after becoming friends with my mother. She had a lot personality and I could fill a whole blog post about her antics but I want to just focus on what I learned from her death. I can't trust most of what I remember of Shelby because I can hear my mother's voice in them. Shelby died in a car accident early one December morning. It was about a week before Christmas and my brother and I were really excited about it. Things in our home had been really good. My mother wasn't yelling at us as much and Shelby had turned into the cool aunt that was easy to talk to. I was at a friend's house when I found out about her death. I was crushed and everything in me hurt. This was a pain I had never felt before. I cried for a long time and when I finally calmed down I remembered my brother was at home with my mother and I was worried for him. I asked my friend to call home and explained about my brother. That's when she told me he was with his dad for the night and I was to stay the night with her and her family. I tried to call my mother but the line was busy. When I finally got through to her the call waiting kept beeping. All of my mother's and Shelby's friends were calling to see if the news was true. I could tell my mother wasn't doing well but could do nothing for her. I didn't sleep well that night and was anxious to get home. My mother didn't come get me until late afternoon. She looked like hell. I later found out she drank until she blacked out then she passed out. Apparently there were a lot of people at the house and a neighbor had to kick people out once it was apparent my mother was not waking up any time soon. It was a rough Christmas. For some reason my mother thought it was ok to take my brother and I to the wrecking yard Shelby's car was in. The car was completely totalled. After Shelby's death she became something of a saint to my mother. It's been 15 years since her young death but my mother still looks at it like it was yesterday. Things in my home went down hill quickly. It wasn't long before my brother and I were sent to live with our adopted parents. My mother let her grief consume her. She never really got over the death of Shelby. For a while I too thought of Shelby as some sort of guardian angel. And while there is nothing wrong with thinking that our loved ones who are no longer with us are watching over us, I didn't really know Shelby in her life. I was a child when we met and she was only in my life for about 7 months. I have had many people in my life that were there for about 6 months to a year and then I never talked to them again. That was just the way life was with my mother. I learned to not let my pain of Shelby's passing to control my emotions or my way of life. I am sure Shelby would want me to focus on what is and what is to come instead of dwelling on what cannot be changed.
Before the start of my junior year my adopted mother's youngest brother passed away from cancer. He was in his early forties and had only been diagnosed about a year prior to his death. I only met Mike once shortly after we were adopted. He lived in my adopted mother's home town in Southern California so we didn't see him often. My adopted mother's step brother, Marty, also died around this time. This was someone else I only met a few times but he had been fighting his cancer for a long time. My adopted mother was diagnosed with breast cancer just a few months after her brother's death. Thankfully she beat cancer's ass and is in remission. I learned that I hate cancer. It seems somewhat redundant to say I hate cancer because who says they love it? But I came to understand what cancer does not only to the person fighting but also what it does to the families and friends who fight along with them.
After graduating high school I moved to a small town to about 45 minutes away in a neighboring state. I was young and in love so I moved my whole life to another state without so much as a second thought. I worked a few different jobs while living there and it was while working at one that I met Zack. He was hired shortly after I was. He was a few years younger than me and had an attitude. After working together for a few weeks he felt comfortable enough with me to tell me he was gay. I made sure to let him know it was ok and I kinda had an idea that he was. He liked to give me grief at work about everything under the sun. It was always in a joking sort of way and I was sure to take a few jabs at him. The last time I saw him he came into my new place of employment, Taco Bell. He ordered his usual nacho bell grande and proceeded to complain about the amount of nacho cheese. I told him to suck it up and deal. We smiled at each other and said good bye. Two days later I got a call from a coworker to tell me that Zack had jumped off the highest bridge in the county. He posted a suicide note on Myspace. The only thing I remember from the note is he said he felt totally alone and felt like he had no one to turn to. I went to his memorial service and it was standing room only by the time I got there 10 minutes early. It later came out that Zack was bullied by people in town because of his sexual orientation. And even though he never really talked about it I got the impression his parents were not supportive of his choice to be who he truly was.  Zack's death was a first for me in many ways. I had never known any one to take their own life.He was a big part of my early adult life and I will never forget him. I wish I could say he is the only person I have lost to suicide but I can't.

My buddy Tyler was the kind of guy you could take home to meet your parents but you can also get into trouble with. He had a smile for every one and seemed to enjoy life. Tyler was a big boy. And by big I mean really tall. He was like 6'7" or something. I have a hard time judging height because I'm super short and the majority of the population loom over me. Tyler took advantage of my short stature. It caused him no end of amusement. He would pick me up and carry me away from class so I would end having to run across campus so I wouldn't be late to class. I'm pretty sure he put me in a trash can once. One of my favorite memories of Tyler happened after my first real boyfriend broke my heart. I was doing my best not to show my freshly broken heart when Tyler sat down next to me at lunch. He asked how I was doing to which I responed with a weak fine. He then puts his arm around me leans in close and says with a smile, "So I hear you're single now?" The whole situation made me laugh. Quite a few of my friends would have jumped at this offer but Tyler was really like the big brother I never had. The last time I saw Tyler I was a senior at a new school and Tyler was in the Air Force. He had come to my school to do some sort of recruiting. He had also just come home from a tour in Iraq and he seemed proud of his service. He looked so good in his uniform and I was so happy to see him. he had graduated two years prior and I hadn't seen him since then. I lost contact with Tyler until about four years ago. He was in the middle of a divorce and was struggling with life after active duty but I seemed to have caught him on the upswing. We talked about hanging out and made a plan to try to hang out in the following week or so. I was in the middle of moving between states again when a friend from high school called to tell me Tyler had killed himself. Once again I found myself in shock. I couldn't believe that Tyler had done something like that. After the disbelief vanished confusion took over. Why did he do this? I know that I hadn't seen or talked to him in a while but should I have sensed something?  I didn't make it to Tyler's memorial. I couldn't afford the trip and I was heart broken. Tyler and Zack both taught me to not judge things on the surface. I also learned the pain suicide leaves in it's wake. Suicide is just as bad as cancer, if not worse in some ways. At least with cancer you have time to come to terms with the inevitable(if that be the case). Suicide just rips a hole in your heart and leaves you to fend for yourself.

My adopted mother's family accepted my brother and I with open arms and that includes her mother. My grandma Joyce moved to the area when I was in high school. During my senior year I moved in with her in an attempt to act grown up. A few years after I graduated my grandma was diagnosed with skin cancer. She was a trooper. She asked me to come over to her house one day. When I got there she asked me to cut all her hair off. She figured since she lose it to chemo she might as well get rid of it now. I cut all her hair off for her while she kept reminding me not to cut her ear off. I attented one chemo session with her. It was not my idea of fun but she wanted me there so I went. A few months after Tyler died my adopted mother called me and asked me to come home and help with grandma. My grandma had decided to stop her chemo treatments and live out the rest of her days at home. She had a hospice nurse that came by twice a day but for the most part my grandpa was taking care of her. As I was making plans to come home one of my good friends called to tell me his first child was about to be born. I got town and went to see my friend. I didn't know his girlfriend well so I didn't stay. His daughter was born a few hours later. The next day I went to my grandparents' house. Grandma was now bedridden and hadn't been able to eat in a week. When I got there she perked up a bit and asked for icecream. I stayed for a week. My brother came out to visit and decided to spend the night. We were waiting for the hospice nurse to come when I sent my brother to check on grandma. I was making something to eat for grandpa so my brother went to grandma's room. He said she didn't need anything and was falling asleep when he went in there. About 20 minutes later the hospice nurse showed up. She and grandpa went to grandma's room. They were in there for about 15 minutes when the nurse came out to tell us grandma had passed. My brother was confused because she had been fine when he checked on her. I handled my grandmother's death better than the others. I had gotten to witness the life cycle at both ends. I also was there to help my grandma in her last days when she needed me most. I did the best I could to make her comfortable and I know she was happy that I was there. In her death and the birth of my friend's daughter I was able to find the beauty in life.

I never got a chance to know my husband's father, Steven. Due to a whole slew of events that happened before my husband and I started dating, he and his father were not talking. Most of what I know about him I learned after his death from his many friends and family. My husband's parents split up when he was in high school. Steve spent the next ten years with his young new girlfriend. Because of the life he chose to lead after his divorce, a distance grew between him and most of his family. He had a good relationship with his children. His sons loved him. His friends loved him. Steve may have had many problems but he was always generous and wanted everyone to have a good time. My husband and I had been dating for three months when Steve killed himself. My husband was devastated. His father was his hero. It fell on my husband's shoulders to plan a memorial and what was to be done with his father's remains. My husband and his brothers held the most beautiful memorial for their father. It was exactly what Steve would have wanted. I didn't know Steve but he did teach me not to let one person dictate my happiness and that the grass isn't always greener on the other side. It has been almost three years since his death and my husband is still struggling to make sense of what happened. It breaks his heart knowing our daughter will never know her paternal grandfather. I always remind him that she has her daddy and her uncles to teach her all about him.

Losing Ta a week and a half ago was hard. Mostly because I feel like I didn't give her enough credit. I know a lot of people who knew her wished they could have just talked to her one last time, to try to reconcile the friendship. I have decided that I will no longer take any friendship for granted. I have a few people in my life that for various reason are no longer my friends. I plan on reaching out to them if only to just say sorry even if I wasn't in the wrong. At this point it doesn't matter who is right or wrong. All that matters is that you make every effort on your part and the rest is up to them.

Taya

Spare the Rod...??

My daughter is at the age where she gets into everything. No matter how many times I tell her not to climb the back of the chair or to stay off the table she just keeps doing it. I know this is normal for children her age. She just wants to explore the world and push as many buttons as she can while doing it. However, this stage in her life opens the door to something I never really thought about as a parent: discipline. How the heck do I, the child of an addict, dicipline my child without falling prey to abuse or coddling?

My mother never practiced discipline with her children. We just kind of had to know how to behave or we got beaten. I can't ever recall a time when I did something "wrong" and was disciplined for it. I have numerous memories of making a simple mistake and suffering harshly for it. One such time is what I like to call the Sour Cream Mix-up. My mother was making dinner and discovered we had no sour cream. We lived up the street from a major grocery store so I was sent to go get sour cream. My mother told me to be quick about it or else. So I hopped on my bike and coasted down the hill as quick as I could. I ran into the store and went straight to the dairy aisle. Once there I reached for the first tub of sour cream I could find. I must have been in a real hurry because I didn't check the price like normal but I went ahead and paid for it. I hurried home thinking that my mother would be happy I went so fast and maybe tonight would be a good one. I got home and put the sour cream in the fridge while my mother was in her room. She came out, went to the fridge and asked where the sour cream was. I told her it was in there, right on the top shelf. I never saw her coming. She started screaming at me and pulling my hair to get me off the couch. I kept asking what was wrong but all she kept screaming was I was an idiot that didn't know how to read. I finally got a good look at the sour cream container and my heart sank. I didn't buy sour cream, I bought cottage cheese. I don't remember how long the screaming and hitting went but I do remember begging her to let me go back to the store to get the sour cream. She wouldn't let me and kept telling me that I ruined dinner. I never made that mistake again. Even to this day when buying sour cream I double check it.

Things like this were the norm at our house. My mother would ask me to do something without fully explaining what she wanted and I would get in trouble for not getting it right. I stood up to my mother only one time in my whole childhood because of a situation like this one. I remember screaming at her that I wasn't a mind reader and she should explain herself better. After that little outburst my mother tried to get me to hit her. Kept telling me if I was big enough to back talk her I was big enough to throw a swing. I never did but often wondered what would have happened if I had knocked her on her ass.

I want to be different with my daughter. I don't want her to ever feel like she can't ask me questions about the things I ask of her. I want to be clear on what sort of behavior is acceptable and what is not. But I don't want to control her. Children need to be free to explore but need their parents to let them safely explore. And I don't want to be one of those parents who is afraid to discipline their child. If my daughter deliberately disobeys either myself or her father she will be punished. If that means time out or a spanking I am not sure yet. I would like to say that I will never spank my child but I know that sometimes it is the only way to get a child's attention. I will never hit my daughter out of anger or use my own insecurities against her. Being a first time mother is never easy and I am finding my way. And surprisingly my mother is helping, by showing me what not to do.

There is More than One Kind of Love

As everyone knows today is Valentine's Day. I have seen 27 of these holidays and only one really sticks out in my head. This one Valentine's Day changed and saved my life and also my brother's. It was 15 years ago today that my brother and I were removed from my mother's care. In order to understand what happened you have to go back about 18 years when my mother sent us away to my grandparents. My mother was struggling with her addiction and had reached a breaking point. She was 23 years old, had two children to take care of and an addiction that wouldn't let her.

My brother and I lived with my grandparents for a year. It was during this year that I met one of my mother's stepbrothers. My grandfather is actually my mother's stepfather but he has always and will always be my grandpa. He was married before my grandmother and had two sons with his first wife. They were both younger than my mother but only by a few years. While living with my grandparents my 18 year old uncle would watch my brother and I while my grandparents worked. Because he spent a great deal of time at our house I eventually met his mother, R. She started taking me to church and would take me to do fun things like going to the lake or to lunch. My grandparents worked long hours and didn't often do those sorts of things with us and my mother never did those things with me so I really enjoyed it. This is not to say that my grandparents never spent time with us. We did a lot of things at home. My grandma is an avid reader and encouraged me in that. My grandpa loves movies and passed that love on to me.

After living with my grandparents for about a year my mother called to say she was coming to get us and take us home. She did this every few months. The first time I packed my brother and I up and sat outside all day and waited. The second time I packed just in case but went out to play with the neighbor kids. The third time I didn't even believe or care if she came. This time however, it sounded like she was really one her way. My grandma came and pulled me out of school. We went to the pizza place my grandpa was the manager of and had lunch with my uncle and his mom. After lunch we all headed to my grandparents home. Shortly there after my mother pulled into the driveway. My brother and I were so shocked and happy to see her there. It was during the loading up of our things that my mother met my grandpa's first wife R. They chatted and exchanged information so that R could keep up with what my brother and I were up too.

Things were fine for a while with my mother. She got us a place of our own. I was going to school every day and there was food in the house. Sadly all good things must come to an end. All too soon things went from good to horrifying. My mother lost herself to her addiction again. The one good thing that remained was our contact with R and her husband S. They would sometimes make the three hour trip to see us or even bring us back home with them for a three day weekend. During the summer we spent 2 weeks there. I would spend a week at youth camp and my brother would have all sorts of different things going on. It was so awesome to discover a life outside of my mother's addiction. R and S would also help us with food. They must of spent hundreds in Safeway gifts certificates and at Costco. Right before I started 6th grade R and S offered to pay for me to go to a private school. The one condition was that I went to school every day and that my mother would make sure I got there. My brother started kindergarten that year as well and went to the private school with me. I didn't really like the school. The classes were small so I couldn't fade into the background. We did ok for a few months and then things just kind of went down hill. By the time February rolled around my brother and I had missed three weeks of school. The school decided to call R and S since they couldn't get a hold of my mother. R drove three hours to see what going on. My brother and I had been staying at the neighbors for a week. Our house had no power, water or food. R came by herself and stopped by the house. I didn't know she was in town until I watched her drive away. I told my mother that I saw R drive away. I'm not sure how long it was but R came back. My mother went and told her where we were staying. I don't remember talking to R but I remember she and mother had a very long talk I couldn't be a part of.

After they were done talking R went home. My mother refused to tell my what they talked about but I was worried and kind of excited. I had a secret hope that R was someday going to see how awful things were for us and take us to live with her and S. I wanted a normal life so much. After three days, on Valentine's Day, of trying to get my mother to talk R showed back up but this time she had S with her. It was then that my mother explained that we were going to live with them for a while. It was my dream come true and yet I was crushed. My mother had known for three days that we were leaving and didn't tell us. We weren't packed or anything. I had no idea how long we were going to be seperated. My brother and I were heartbroken. Everyone assured us it was temporary and that we would be reunited in no time.

So off we went. We started a new school and tried to get used to a new normal. It was harder for me. I went from being the parent to being the child. I never got used to it. For a while my brother and I held out hope that our mother was coming home. The first year or so we saw her every few months . Then she went to a rehab place in Southern California. The plan was she would go down there, get clean, get a job and save money then come home and raise her kids. She never did. At first we held out hope and then one by one we all lost it. I'll never forget the summer I spent a week as a camp counselor at the same camp my brother went to. One night around the camp fire my brother started to cry. I rushed to him and asked what was wrong. He said he missed our mother and wished she would just come home. He was about 11 when this happened and I have not seen him shed a tear for her since.

While it sucks that my mother chose her addiction over her children at least we had a good life after all. We had two responsible adults in our life that encouraged us to be the best we could be and hold us accountable when we weren't. I will always be greatful to them for taking us in and loving us like their own. Every Valentine's Day, while the world celebrates romantic love, I celebrate a different kind of love. A love that reached out and saved two children from a dark future.

Taya

Hope and Fear Don't Mix Well

Can't sleep. Both my husband and daughter fell asleep about an hour and a half ago. I am completely wired. As much as I want to sleep I can't get my mother off my mind. We started communicating via text messaging the other day. It started out innocent enough, just small talk about the weather and what we have been up to. She apologized for her actions a few months ago and I went ahead and forgave her. This is a dance we do every other year: she gets mad at herself but takes it out on me, doesn't talk to me for months and then reaches out to me looking for forgiveness. I admit that I forgive her too easily but she is my mother and I can't stop from wanting her in my life. Which brings me to why I am not sleeping...

While talking to her today she expressed that she wanted out of the life she was living. That she was tired of it. She explained that she wasn't drinking as much or using drugs like she used to. She admitted that she was a bad parent and that she will live with that knowlege everyday. I told her that we(her family) still loved her and just wanted her to overcome her addiction. That she could still be a part of our lives. I reassured her that we all wanted her to come home. She seemed surprised that I included her mother in this statement. My mother and my grandmother have a strained relationship. My grandmother has expressed on numerous occasions that she wishes she could have done something to prevent my mother from succumbing to addiction. My grandmother suffers from her own addiction but not in the same ways as my mother. During my conversation with my mother she tried to pull my grandmother's problems into it but I chose to ignore her attempts. We were talking about her, not my grandmother. I asked my mother if she would go to treatment if I found a place here in my hometown. She didn't say yes or no but asked what kind of treatment. I honestly didn't have any idea where we would be able to send her so I said I would do some research. I was able to find a treatment center that would work with my mother on a financial plan. They offer a sliding scale depending on your income and also offer the chance to apply for grants to cover treatment.

Finding a treatment center that would work with my mother was the easy part. Now I need to figure out where she would live until a residential bed opened up. I will not let my mother live with me. I have to protect my family and she is so unpredictable. I know no one else in the family can or will take her in. I put in a call to a friend at the Salvation Army to see what low income housing was available. I'm still waiting to talk to her but I know she will have some good ideas. She was friends with my mother when they were in school and remembers me when I was a baby. Hopefully she can help me out with the housing situation. I could always take my mother to a shelter but they only allow one month stays and who knows how long it will take for a resident bed to open up.

Getting my mother here won't be a problem either. My husband and I are getting our taxes soon and will be able to cover the bus ticket. My brother even said he could chip in.

With all these things sort of falling into place I still find myself detached from the whole thing. I feel as if I am helping a friend of a friend. It's hard to describe being so happy about something yet so fearful of it at the same time. I called my brother and got some input from him. After all he has as much say in whether she is welcome or not. He was able to give me some good insight. He supports the decision to try to help our mother but also feels the same detachment I do. The idea of our mother being so close is alien to us. On Valentine's Day it will be 15 years since she gave us up. It's been almost 12 years since we have laid eyes on her. My brother and I both agree that boundries and rules need to be set up. While she is our mother she has never really acted like it. We don't want to put ourselves in a situation where are hopes are high and then they are dashed. That has happened to us one too many times. I never want to see the pain in my brother's eyes because we gave our mother another chance and she blew it. We both agree that only time will tell if she is serious. My husband also supports us in this. He knows how much it would mean to me to have my mother clean and sober but he too is cautious. He has never met my mother but has heard enough from me.

I also need to talk to my family, my grandparents and my adopted parents. They have a right to know what is going on. I feel bad that they might be reading about it here. *If you are just know I do plan on talking to you in person to expalin in greater detail.* I know my family will be just as cautious if not more so than my brother and I. My mother has done a lot of damage that won't be easily repaired but getting help for her addiction is a step in the right direction. I hope my family will get behind me on this. The more people my mother has in her support system the greater her chances will be. I don't think my mother realizes how many people she will have to help her and support her emotionally through this. I know many people in recovery who would be more than happy to help.

I have yet to tell my mother all of this. I don't want to offer this to her until all the details are hammered out. I want to have a firm list of boundries and rules for our relationship established. I'm going to stress that this opprotunity should only be taken if she is serious and wants to change her life. If she is coming up here just so she can be near us but continue her lifestyle I won't be able to have a relationship with her. I don't want my daughter exposed to the way my mother lives.

My head is such a mess right now. Hopefully I can get to sleep soon and wake up with a fresh perspective. Maybe the confusion will be gone.

Taya

My Brother, My Best Friend

My brother and I have lived through some pretty tramatic events due to our mother's addiction. We were soldiers against the world for most of his early childhood. Even to this day he is one of my best friends and I hate to think what I would turn into if I didn't have him in my life. Even with all this love our relationship didn't start out so great.

I don't exactly remember when my mother told me she was pregnant with my brother. I just kind of knew she was pregnant and was secretly hoping for a sister. At five years old I still remembered my little sister that my mother had given up for adoption. I was angry with my mother about it because I wanted my little sister. So when I learned that my mother was pregnant again I was hoping and wishing for a second chance with a new sister. I remember my disapointment when I learned that my mother was having a boy. She did her best to have me involved as much as possible. I even got to pick his name. My brother was born the day before Halloween. I remember his "father" waking me up in the middle of the night to tell me I had a new brother. I didn't care. As far as I was concerned this new brother was not going to replace the sister I wanted and I was so mad that my mother had a boy. My brother wasn't even 24 hours old when we took him trick or treating the first time. There was a harvest festival at my school that I had been looking forward to so my mother took us there.

Looking back I can honestly say I was jealous of my new brother. While I had to stay in the main house on the property, he got to stay with our mother in the apartment. I only saw my mother before and after school. She didn't put me to bed or help with homework. I felt like this new baby was taking what little time I had with my mother away. Over time though my feelings for him turned and I grew to love his chubby little face. He was such a happy and social baby. He loved being around people and making them laugh. Everyone loved him. When he was about a year old my mother and his "father" broke up. We moved a few different times but I can't make heads or tales of what those situations were like.

When my brother was two my mother got a new boyfriend. This man scared us all. He was a big, loud man prone to violent outbursts. He got my mother hooked on drugs and would beat her frequently. I will never forget the day my brother had had enough. My mother's boyfriend had her on the couch and was hitting her. I had hid with my brother in the bedroom and watched through a crack in the door. My mother must have screamed louder than normal or something because the next thing I knew the bedroom door flew open and my brother took off. I remember seeing my brother launch his little body, clad only in a diaper, off the floor at the man's face. This two year old little boy forgot he was just a toddler and was intent on ripping the man's face off for hurting our mother. I stood frozen in the doorway as I watch this man grab my brother and throw him on the other couch. At that point I ran to the couch and grabbed him. My mother at this point got very angry. It was one thing to beat on her but you didn't beat on her kids. She flew into a rage and managed to get the man out of our house. It was some time after this that my brother and I were sent to live with my mother's mom and step dad. We lived with them for about a year. During that time my brother was finally potty trained and learned how to talk.

After living with my grandparents my mother came back for us. We went back to our hometown and tried to start over. Things were good for about six months. During that time my mother was not using drugs although she did drink. I went to school and didn't have to worry about what was happening to my brother. That all changed when our mother started using meth again. I tried my best to make sure my brother came with me when I went out with friends. It was hard considering he was four years old and my friends were all older than me. I had finally had it with my mother's treatment of my brother when she decided to shelter some men who were running from the cops. They stayed at our house for about a week. One day I decided to go to the store and I left my brother with our mother. I still regret it. While I was gone the cops raided the house and my baby brother had to witness it. Guns had been drawn and put in people's faces. I will never forget the look on my brother's face when I got home. He looked so scared and he had lost some of his innocence. It was after this event that I stopped going to school. Well that was part of it. We all had really bad cases of lice that my mother never took care of. Because of that I couldn't really go to school. The nurses at school would check my head and just send me home. At 11 years old and in fifth grade I dropped out. My brother could not be left alone with my mother.

While my brother and I are closer than most siblings we still fought like all siblings. We fought over what to watch on tv, who had the most candy but mostly we fought for our mother's attention. It was no contest really. My mother didn't see me as her daughter but as her friend. My brother was her baby and she favored him as much as an addict can. While I took the brunt of the physical and verbal abuse he didn't escape it. When our mother was so lost in her addiction nothing else mattered.

My brother and I still fight but it's mostly about when I get to see him. He has his own life with a job, a wife and friends. I messed our relationship up when I moved away to follow my own addictions. No matter what though we have always tried to be supportive of one another. He is the reason for this blog. When I told him what I wanted to do he backed me 100%. He has been there for me when I needed him most even if I couldn't do the same for him. He grew up to be such a good man. He still is young and finding his way. I can't believe that I wanted a sister. I have been blessed with the most amazing brother ever.

Taya

P.S. Don't forget to like The Addict's Child on Facebook.

I'm not Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf

The other day my husband and I took our daughter to the pet store to see the animals. My daughter loves animals. Whenever she sees a dog or cat she tries to get them to come to her so she can pet them. She loves watching birds fly or fish swim around in their tanks. I wish I could get her some sort of pet but the apartment complex we live in has very strict rules about pets. While watching my daughter marvel over all the animals it got me thinking about all the pets I had over the years.

My mother liked animals as well. We had an almost constant parade of dogs through my childhood. We never had one for long due to the fact we could afford to feed ourselves let alone a pet or they would run away. One dog made more of an impact on me than the others, our dog Nick.

I met Nick when I was about 5 years old. He belonged to my mother's boyfriend. He was a big wolf and shepard mix. He looked more wolf than shepard and he scared me. Mostly because he was so big. He was kept in a huge kennel because everyone was afraid of how he would react to all the kids. He was such a beautiful animal. He loved my mother from the start. He actually peed on her when they first met. From that moment on my mother was his. He was also protective of my brother who was born shortly after my mother got together with Nick's owner. When my mother and her boyfriend broke up I only saw Nick occasionally which didn't bother me that much. Like I said he scared me.

When my brother was about 5 years old Nick came to live with us. My mother's ex could not keep him at his new place so gave him to us. When Nick came to live with us I was still mildly scared of him. I have always been afraid of large dogs. However my fears soon disappeared. Having Nick in our house was wonderful. He wasn't aggressive towards my brother or myself. We were his pups. We would cuddle on the floor or couch everynight. He was very protective of all of us. He still thought of my mother as his. So much so he peed on the couch once after my mother's new boyfriend got up. If there were men in the house he always sat on my mother. He really was amazing.

We were not allowed to have pets at our place so if there was going to be a chance the landlord would be stopping by we took him to our friend's house down the street. He hated being down there and would howl until my mother or myself went down to see him. Thankfully we didn't have to send him away all that often.

One such time sticks in my head more than others. My mother told me to walk Nick down to the neighbors because the landlord was coming over. I grabbed Nick's tether and led him down the street. I tried to reassure him along the way that I would be back for him soon. I even made a deal with him that we could cuddle on the couch if he didn't howl too much. After making sure he was secure I headed home. He of course howled and whined wanting to come home with me.The landlord came for her visit and left. I'm not sure how it happend but I ended up angering my mother. Things got physical pretty quickly and I tried my best to keep quiet. Suddenly the phone started to ring. My mother answered and after a brief conversation rushed outside. Apparently Nick had heard me screaming and broke his tether to get to me. By the time my mother was outside he was already up the street. My mother met him outside the gate yelling. She went to grab what was left of his tether and he bit her. Hearing her screaming I rushed outside. As soon as Nick saw me he came right to me. I was afraid that he was going to bite me as well but he just leaned his massive body against my legs and pushed me back into the yard. My mother tried to follow but he growled at her.  As soon as I was in the yard I tried to calm him down so my mother could come in the house and take care of her wounds. Nick was having none of it. He would not allow my mother through the gate. Everytime she touched the gate or fence he would growl at her. He knew she was angry and didn't want her anywhere near his pups. After about an hour he allowed my mother back in the yard. By this time she had calmed down. Even after letting her in the gate Nick wouldn't allow her near me. We spent most of the day in the living room with Nick sandwhiched between my brother and myself. This happened a few times and Nick always forgave my mother but I don't think he ever truly trusted her. He loved my brother and I and would do anything to keep us safe. He was my furry savior for a while. I always felt safe with him in the house. I knew my mother wouldn't want to risk being bitten again so this was a nonviolent time in our home.

Sadly after a few months the landlord found out about Nick. We were forced to give him back to my mother's ex. I begged my mother to find a new home for all of us so we could keep him. My mother's ex took Nick just down the street from us. The ex's new girlfriend's mother lived down the street. The major problem with that was no one told the old woman Nick was there. She heard him howling and thought a stray dog had been injured and wandered into her yard. Animal control came and took him away. I was under the impression that he had been picked up by the ex and taken to a new home. It wasn't until months later that my mother told me that no one came for him and that he had been put down. I was hearbroken. I still am. My poor furry best friend had been put down for no other reason than no one came to claim him. He died alone and was disposed of as if he didn't matter.

I never forgave my mother for not making it work so we could keep Nick. I was so mad that she didn't go claim him. I never realized when he was with us how much I needed him. He was my best friend and my protector. I will always think of him as my first dog. I really wish I would have been able to hold him one last time.

My life has been shaped by my relationships with other people but my life was forever altered by a fuzzy wolf named Nick. I know that if there is a doggy heaven he is still looking out for me.

The Addict's Child is an Addict

I don't think it is fair to only speak of my mother's addiction when I have struggled with my own addictions. I don't want people to sing my praises without knowing the whole truth: I am an addict. True I don't do meth or any of the other so called "hard drugs". My addiction has been a quiet struggle that surprises most people when they hear of it.

While living with my mother I knew I didn't want to be her. In my mind as long as I stayed away from meth and the like I would be fine. As a child I didn't understand you can become addicted to many things. I smoked my first cigarette at age 10, tried marijuana for the first time at 11 and had been quietly drinking with my mother for as long as I could remember. The only thing I did on a regular basis was smoke cigarettes. They were easy to steal seeing as how all my friend's parents smoked. Not to mention this was before they started putting cigarettes behind the counter. Part of the reason I started smoking was peer pressure. I wanted so much to fit in with my friends I would go along with anything. The other part was my mother didn't smoke. Always seemed strange to me that she didn't, afterall she was a drug user and an alcoholic but she refused to smoke cigarettes. She also didn't smoke pot. My mother is all about stimulants with the exception of alcohol. My smoking came to an end when my brother and I were adopted.

I managed to keep from smoking cigarettes until high school. Sadly I developed another addiction. I started cutting myself on a regular basis. It started out with me cutting when I got into some form of trouble. My new parents only used spanking when the misbehavior was severe. Most times I got a stern talking to and loss of privileges. But in my mind this wasn't enough. I had spent most of my childhood being beaten for the smallest misstep so it only made sense to me that if I got into trouble I should feel it physically. I started out cutting my legs above the knee because I hardly wore shorts. This progressed to carving images in my skin. As time went on I started cutting more and more and I didn't care where or who saw. I believe my adopted parents knew about this and they tried to get me help where they could. Along with cutting I started talking pills. For a while it was just Tylenol PM to help me sleep. Then freshman year a friend slipped me a Vicodin. I started taking those when I could. I loved taking pills. It took the edge off my pain and I could justify my habit by thinking it least it wasn't meth. Of course my parents found out and again did their best to help me through it. Sophomore year I switched from pills to marijuana and cigarettes. To me pot wasn't a big deal because everyone was doing it.

My junior year I started at a new high school. I wanted to get away from the friends at my old school and try to get my head together. During the first month of my junior year my adopted mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I fell off my little wagon. Her illness was too much for me. While they had caught the cancer early she still had to have major surgery and chemo. I often look back at this time and scold my past self. Instead of being strong for my adopted mom I shut down. I started cutting more and more. Everytime I was sad, angry or hurt I would cut. If I was at school I was sneaking off campus to get high. I refused to see my adopted mom's scars, go to chemo with her or see her without her hat or scarf. It would have made it too real for me and I was doing my best to pretend none of this was happening. It was while my adopted mom was sick that my cutting was found out. A girl at school had noticed something funny about my arm and got me to fess up. She then took me to my guidance counselor who called my adopted dad. Once again I was given help that I didn't utilize.

My addiction to pills stabilized into recreation over the next few years. I never actively went seeking for pills. I only took them if I was offered by friends. I continued to smoke pot as a way to dull the pain. Strangely I never dated someone who was a pot smoker so I often ended up fighting with my significant other about it. There was quite a bit of alcohol use in my young adult life but always at parties. I never drank just to drink.

After a particularly bad break up I decided enough was enough. I was holding on to anger and pain from my childhood. I couldn't get rid of it because I kept numbing the pain. So I decided it was time for change. I moved into a local woman's shelter where I would be on a strict schedule with no way for me to be able to participate in my normal activities. I loved living there. I was finally able to forgive my mother for my childhood and loads of other offenses that had been done to me over the years. I was doing very well while I lived at the shelter. While I was living there a friend in California confessed to me that she had tried to kill herself and felt totally alone. I decided her need was greater than mine so I left the shelter and moved out of the state. Once in California things got worse. I realized I couldn't help my friend unless she made some changes to her life. By the time I realized this it was too late. I had no job, my driver's license had been suspened due to unpaid tickets and my car had expired tags. I was stuck. I know I could have called my family for help but I seem to have inherited my mother's pride. So I stayed in California. In due time I started smoking pot again. I justified it by saying it was for recreation, that because I had my issues under control it was ok to smoke. I also started taking pills again. It started with painkillers and progressed to mood stabilzers.

The day after christmas 2008 I tried to kill myself. I don't remember being depressed or even wanting to die. The whole event was surreal. My new boyfriend had just dropped me off at home. I was in my room watching a movie. On my nightstand was some anti-nausea pills I had obtained legally from my doctor after fighting an infection that made me sick. I grabbed the bottle and swallowed all that was left, about 8 pills. I sat there for a minute and came back to myself. I remember panicking as I realized what I did. My roomate was home and so was my best friend that lived 30 feet from my backdoor but I didn't call either of them. Instead I called a friend that I only knew from work. He picked me up and dropped me off at the hospital. Once there I told them what happened. I even brought the pill bottle so they would know exactly what I had taken. I ended up having to drink charcoal and spent the night in ICU. While in the hospital they got me connected with Behavior Health. I was set up with a therapist and a psychologist. I'm not really sure what the difference between the two is but through them I was diagnosed borderline bipolar and boderline anorexic. I remember laughing at the diagnoses thinking I could never do anything fully. I was prescribed Lexepro and Lamictal for my depression and Trazadone for my insomnia. The meds helped for a while but I was taking other pills on top of these. My boyfriend had a prescription for Vicodin so he tended to share. On top of that I was taking any other mood stabilizers I could get my hands on. Any given day I had five to six different pills in my system.

Life continued this way for about 8 months. I was having trouble with my insurance and wasn't able to get the pills I was prescribed. Once I ran out the world turned upside down. I spent three days crying for no reason. My poor roommate found me curled around the toilet sobbing and throwing up on the third day. Not knowing what to do she called 911. When the cops showed up they gave me two options: get up and go to the hospital on my own or they would call an ambulance and they would 51/50 me for three weeks. For those that don't know what that means I would have been put in a mental hospital for three weeks. I managed to get myself off the couch and to the hospital. They were able to give me one of my normal pills. Once I was out of the hospital my roommate called my best friend to take me to my hometown for a few days. While I was home my grandfather offered me a place to live and a chance to gain control over my life. I didn't really need to think about it. I wanted to be near my family and be around friends that didn't do pills. I needed that support system without telling them why I needed them.

I have been pill free for just over three years. I have only taken pills when the doctor places them in my hand. After having my daughter I didn't even want to take anything stronger than ibprofen. There have been a few times that I long for a sleeping pill or if I am having a stressful day a mood stabilizer. I have been able to resist these urges. Nothing is worth the pain of pill withdrawl. While I still hate feeling my feelings I do it anyway. I haven't cut myself in over 3 years as well. I don't claim to be cured of my affliction but I have control over it. I won't ever let addiction rule my life.

Taya

Elmo

A few days ago my daughter and I were watching Sesame Street. I have always loved the show no matter my age. My daughter seemed to be enjoying it as well, especially Elmo. As we were watching the show I couldn't help but think of my mother and her love for Elmo. It was then I remembered that I had a first generation Tickle Me Elmo buried in my closet. It looked like the perfect time to dig him out and give him to my daughter. I should have known how that little fuzzy monster effected my emotions...

When I was able 11 years old Tickle Me Elmo hit the market. I remember watching the news and hearing how this toy had sold out and that there were waiting lists. I never once longed for one of these toys. I knew that with my mother's addiction and our living situation money would not be spent on the latest "It" toy. My brother was five at the time and I think he may have wanted one. He had seen it on tv and was in the age group these toys were aimed at. I don't remember hearing him ask for one but he might have. My mother on the other hand, was very vocal in her desire for this toy. I wish I could say that she wanted a Tickle Me Elmo for my brother but that was not the case. She wanted this toy for herself. I never understood why though. Would it help her reconnect with her childhood? Did she really want the toy for my brother but was making it seem like she wanted it for herself to throw us off? Whatever the case may have been she coveted that toy. She wouldn't spend her own money on it because well she didn't have any. All the money we got from welfare went to rent and her habits.

I don't remember exactly how it happened but my mother got the toy she wanted. I think it might have been a christmas gift from my future adopted parents but I can't be sure. Maybe I should ask them. Anyway my mother got her toy and loved it. She slept with it and showed it off to everyone. She let my brother play with it and the two would laugh as Elmo giggled and shook. Shortly after she got Elmo my mother also got a Sleep and Snore Ernie. She wasn't as excited about this new toy as Elmo but she still loved it.

I can't say for certain but I think it was only just a few months after recieving these gifts that my brother and I were removed from her care. We didn't have many pictures of my mother so she sent us away with some her favorite items to remember her by: her Raiders jacket, Tickle Me Elmo and Sleep and Snore Ernie. She may have sent other things but those are the ones that stick out in my head. My brother got Elmo while I took the jacket and Ernie. The jacket was huge even on my mom so when I wore it I swam in it. I wore that jacket everywhere: school, church, the store and to bed. I took Elmo with me to camp one year and I think my brother did the same. These 3 items were like the holy trinity for my brother and I. We needed them because they were a physical connection to our mother. Even after all the horror she had put us through we still longed for her. We still wanted her to be with us and to love us. I know deep down my mother loves her children. Sadly, her addiction has overshadowed that love.

As time past and we got used to not being with her we slowly let these items take a backseat in our lives. We didn't throw them away but we didn't worship them like we did in the early days of our new lives. I think I may have even given the jacket back to my mother on one of the few trips we made to see her. We still longed for her to come home but we no longer waited. We moved on in our lives. Well as much as we could. We still kept Ernie and Elmo. We eventually had more pictures of our mother and that help. As time went on my brother and I started to realize that our lives were meant to continue even if our mother wasn't here. At some point my brother stopped sleeping with Elmo in favor of other toys he had picked out. As we both got older Elmo and Ernie found themselves stored in the garage.

A few years ago my adopted mom R gave me a bag of my things that had been in the garage since I moved out. In this bag I found cds, a discman, some other forgotten treasures and Elmo. My adopted parents had kept him for us. I was so happy to have Elmo back. I had totally forgotten he was in the garage. I pulled him out of the bag and gave him a squeeze. He still talked but didn't vibrate like he used to. Seemed as if the batteries were dead. I took him home and placed him in a bag with other stuffed animals from my youth I can't seem to let go. Once in the bag he went in the closet. I remember talking to my brother about Elmo. He was excited that the toy had been found but didn't want it for himself. In the closet Elmo stayed until just a few days ago when I took him out and gave him new batteries. He is now back to him giggly, shaking self.

My daughter at first didn't know what to do with this giggling, vibrating monster. She hid from him for a while. Once I gave the toy a kiss and hug I set it on the floor and walked away. Eventually my daughter got curious and picked Elmo up. She felt his softness and looked into his now slightly yellow eyes and pulled him into a hug. While watching her I couldn't help but think my mother should be here. She should be the one giving her granddaughter a Tickle Me Elmo. But the more I watched my daughter I realized that if my mother and daughter were to meet this is what would happen. My daughter is cautious of everyone who is not her parents or her grandparents(my husband's mother and her boyfriend or my adopted parents). If my daughter were to meet my mother she would treat my mother just like she did Elmo. I like to think of Elmo has that part of my mother that is good and healthy. She gave my brother and I Elmo, the thing she wanted most in this world. I know that under her addiction she is the good person I caught glimpses of as a child. I hope someday my daughter will get to see it too.

Taya

P.S. Don't forget to check out The Addict's Child on Facebook.

The Addict's Child on Facebook

I keep forgetting to let everyone who reads my blog know that I have a Facebook page. Please feel free to check it out. It's mostly just a page to let people know when I have posted a new blog entry. So please check it out and share with your friends.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Addicts-Child/129218913905529


Taya

I just want to be pretty inside and out.

"No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they're pretty, even if they aren't." - Marilyn Monroe.

As a child I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. I'm sure all children have this same thought about their mothers. Even when my mother was at her worst in her addiction I thought she was beautiful. I'm sure to an outsider my mother was not ugly but could have been prettier. My mother had her own style which was never in style. She wore her hair in the same feathered mullet fashion from the '80's for most of my childhood. She wore tank tops and sleeveless shirts to show off her tattoos. She favored black eyeliner and Aquanet. Her favorite jacket was leather with fringe all over it. Looking back I guess you could say my mother was a fashion victim but as a child I thought she was gorgeous and I knew I could never be as beautiful as she was. And she made sure that I knew I wasn't beautiful or even pretty. In fact according to my mother I was ugly.

I have no memory of my mother complimenting me on anything. She often made fun of my blonde hair and blue eyes saying I belonged more with Barbie and Ken than with her. I was always told that no one would want some one as ugly as myself. I never understood why she would say these things. It wasn't like I was calling her ugly or anything like that. I longed to be pretty like her. I hated my blonde hair and wished it was the beautiful red that her's was. Even my blue eyes bothered me. My mother has blue eyes as well but says I got mine from my father. There was nothing redeemable about me in my mother's eyes. Because of all the comments about my looks from her I believed it.

I did get compliments from her friends. My mother mostly hung out with men who had a history of drug/alcohol abuse and had been in and out for prison. Most of these men were very racist. Whenever they were over we were not allowed to watch a tv show that had anyone who was not white. These same men praised my blonde hair and blue eyes, calling me the perfect Aryan daughter. Telling me if I ever dated a man that was not white both of us would be killed. My mother tended to agree with them. It was about the only time I remember my mother being happy about the way I looked. I still didn't find solace in this. As a child of a meth addict I felt I already had a sign above my head that told the world what was going on at home. Add to the fact that these men and my mother were using my hair and eye color to make them feel good about their race made it worse. It didn't help that one of her many boyfriends loved calling me beautiful. He used to say I was his California girl. I hated this man. His comments made me uncomfortable. It was only a matter of time before his comments went from innocent to sinister. He was always trying to get me to sit on his lap and told me that wearing pajama pants to bed would hurt my female parts. Needless to say I was molested my this man. After being molested I truly started to feel ugly. I hated the way I looked and felt that it was because of my looks that I was molested. If I didn't have this blonde hair maybe he wouldn't have found me appealing. If I wasn't so slim or if I wasn't so weak this wouldn't have happened.

Even after being removed from my mother's care I struggled with they way I looked. While I was no longer being told I was ugly I was still feeling the effects of those words. I was 12 years old when my mother sent us away. I was about to enter middle school and I was terrified. Having had to grow up at an early age and what not I already longed for a boyfriend. But whenever I saw a cute boy at school my mother's voice rang through my head. And it got worse as the years went on. I got glasses and braces in 7th grade which pretty much sealed my boyfriendless fate. I knew I didn't want to be one of the "popular" girls so I dressed as uniquely as possible. I was loud and rude. I figured if people thought I was ugly I might as well act the part. I did have a few boys in middle school ask me out but I was just as shallow as all the other kids in my school and said no because they didn't look right.

As I entered high school things got a bit better. My freshman year I got my first boyfriend. He was a junior and liked me. Looking back I can see what attracted me to him: he told me I was beautiful. Oh the joy of hearing those words from a boy!!! I was on top of the world. Well at least until my adopted parents found out and promptly disapproved of him. This of course added fuel to my fire. I did everything I could to keep this boyfriend. As an adult I often look back at that relationship and laugh. I can't believe I spent so much time on someone who I didn't really even want to be with and that treated me like a toy. When he broke up with me for not having sex(of course that is not the excuse he gave me) I started thinking again that my mother was right.

Over the years I have had numerous boyfriends. I have put myself in situations where I am dating more than one guy because it made me feel good to be desired by men. For me it was validation that I was pretty and wanted. Of course I never believed them when they would say I was beautiful. I remember one boyfriend would get so mad when I would roll my eyes after he said he thought I was beautiful.

It took a long time but I finally am at a place where I know that my looks don't define who I am. I have an amazing husband who thinks I am beautiful even when I was hugging the toilet during morning sickness. My husband tells me every day that I am beautiful. And while I may not be Hollywood beautiful I am finally ok with that. I tell my daughter everyday that she is beautiful. She has no idea what it means yet but I don't want her to doubt herself the way I did. I want her to grow up being proud of who she is on the inside and outside. I think that's what every little girl needs, just to be told she is beautiful inside and out.

Taya