My dad was in a biker gang and my mom worked in bars my whole life. One day, my father stumbled into the bar that my mom was working in at the time. He and his Nomad brothers parked their bikes on the sidewalk in front of the establishment. My mother came out and told him if he didn’t move the bikes off the sidewalk, she would run them over with her car. They didn’t move them. She kept her word. My mother was a lot of things, but dishonest was not one of them. The bikes fell over like dominoes.
Instead of my father killing her, which was very much a possibility, he decided that he would date her instead. She became pregnant almost immediately. They got married when she was six months knocked-up and right around that time was when she found out that he was a heroin addict. Three months later, I came screaming into the world.
Soon after my birth, my father had a stroke. Against all odds, the paralyzed side of his body recovered and he had feeling in his left side again. To celebrate, he shot enough heroin and cocaine to have another stroke. This time it took out the whole left side of his body for good.
One day, he got high and made the decision that he was going to kill me. I was six months old and he put the knife up to my throat while I was in my crib. My mother stopped him and that was the day that we left for good. My mom’s next boyfriend molested me for three consecutive years. When I was eight, I finally got brave enough to speak up. We moved on, again. A different town. A new bar for my mom to work in. A new man. Rinse. Repeat.
I had my first drink at twelve and it was all downhill from there. It quickly went from pot and LSD to robbing my mother so I could buy drugs for all of my friends. I was arrested in ninth grade for selling pot in my school. After I made it through that, I was arrested again in eleventh grade – for selling pot in my school.
At 20 years old, I found crack cocaine. I was issued a settlement for $20,000 and proceeded to spend it all on crack in three months. You don’t really consider fiscal responsibility when you are smoking cocaine and baking soda. This cycle continued until I was 85 pounds, homeless, broke, and had nothing to offer anyone. Especially myself. I was broken and I didn’t want to live like this any longer. I was becoming my dad. I asked the universe or whatever for help.
With the help of god, I got sober. I still think it was a miracle. And speaking of my dad, I ended up forgiving him for his mistakes. I cared for him. I was the only one there for him in the last years of his life when he was bed ridden. I did everything that I could to make him feel loved and not judged until the day that he passed. I know that sounds crazy, but how could I expect anyone to forgive me if I couldn’t forgive him?
Today, I have been sober since 2006. I have an amazing husband and perfect children. I own a successful business which involves helping healthy people thrive. I am so grateful for who I am today – and it all happened because I decided to forgive. Forgive others. And forgive myself.
We DO recover!
