My life as an open book? Not by choice at first, but certainly now.

A child of an addict doesn't get to say who knows what goes on behind closed doors. For me this was a breath of fresh air, one I wouldn't admit at the time however the knowledge that others knew gave me an odd sense of security.
My mother was a beautiful woman with a deep laugh, one that came from her belly and filled the room. She was stunning and gentle and loving and yes she was an addict. Growing up I saw the woman behind the drugs and alcohol that painted an awful picture, I knew my moms heart. That woman would sit for hours and brush my hair and play games with me and watch movies. Those moments I hold so dear, those moments are the ones I chose to define my mom and still do.
Mine was not the house friends came to hang out or had the best birthday parties at. Mine was the house of an addict and her daughter desperately trying to make it through each and every day. Every day was a battle for survival for my mom. The dark pain that plagued her was her internal battle, one that she often lost.
The day I lost my father was a day that changed my forever. No he didn't die, I wished he had as I felt it would be easier to understand. Rather he too was stolen by my mother's addiction. An addicts choices soon become out of their control as the power of the drug takes over. Not to enable nor minimize the choice to use but rather make clear the understanding of the downward spiral in saying this. My mothers state of mind fueled by past personal wounds and buried hate fed continuously a diet of mood altering chemicals found a sure fire way to alienate me from my father.
That was the day I became a survivor. That was the day I stopped crying.

I write this to shed light on the child I was along with the children that have and are walking in my shoes. They need us, even though they push us away, even though they are unbearable. They hurt, a hurt they cannot put into words. Love them, and love them so well that they feel it forever. They need to know someone cares, someone sees through the outer junk and finds their hurting and fragile heart.