I remember being happy once, a long time ago. We were a normal family then, had a dog and a cat. There were 5 of us children, I was the middle.

My parents started fighting when I was 6. Around the time they started drinking I think. Their fighting didn’t last long as they split a year later.

My mother took us children to live with her new BF and his 2 kids. I don’t remember much about living there, we weren’t there long. I remember not liking the guy.

One day my little sister was walking slow to the bus stop. So I slowed my pace and walked with her to make sure she was safe. We missed the buss and I was grounded to my room for a week because of that.

When I turned 8, no one cared, there was no cake, no gifts… whatever.

One day when I was 8, after us kids had gotten out of school. I was in the living room doing my home work when I heard my sister scream, all seven of us kids looked out the window and saw my mother’s BF hanging in the tree in the front yard. Everyone was freaking out and understandably so. I ran and found the scissors and my mother cut him down. I’ll never forget the color of his face, it was terrifying. The ambulance came and took him away. It’s been almost 30 years and I still have nightmares.

We moved shortly after. My father came and got us and took us to my grandmother’s. I wish I could say life got easy after that but it didn’t. My father had taken to meth and alcohol and I was stealing my grandmother’s vodka before I turned 9. A story for a different time I guess. This just seemed like a good place to start.