Everything I am is built on a lie. My parents were criminals. My father had been in prison longer than I remember him being out. They died when I was a 25. They were heroin addicts. They’d also drink, use other substances, abuse each other and abuse me.
My grandmother was a criminal. Commercial & Street level heroin trafficker. She doesn’t even know who my dads dad is – she prostituted herself in the 70s.
Every conversation – shot down because they were right and I was wrong
Every melt down – wipe your face and get up we don’t cry in this family.
Every birthday – filled with junkies and drug associates.
Every birthday gift – proceeds of crime
Everything I wanted to do – sorry we have to go “pick up” this afternoon
Every deadline – ruined by the need to shoot up or top up before we left
Every time I wanted to leave – fear.
I can’t get passed this life.