I was born in the year 1982, six days after the New Year. My mother desperately wanted a New Year baby. Maybe for the luck, but mainly for the free stuff. A group of medical students delivered me under the full moon after my mother went into labor in the Galveston Ocean. She was drunk, which at that time in her life, was most of the time. My father was 31 and she was 19 at the time of my birth. As I would find in my own relationship decades later, she at the time, I believe, was looking for security and a father figure.
A decision she would come to regret many years later. Both of my parents suffered from various mental health and substance abuse issues. They desperately tried to numb the pain and emptiness they both felt in life. And it ultimately, would be their demise. While the movies can showcase these beautiful love stories, were everything goes right. That is rarely the case in real life. We tend to over romanticize everything to the point real love is no longer recognizable.
My parents endured great hardships their entire lives. I rarely know much about my father's side of the family since he was considered the "black sheep." I do know he grew up on a cotton farm with six or seven siblings. He didn't make it far in school before being pulled out to pick cotton. And from what I know, his father was a cruel, abusive man. He even stated how he had several siblings die as babies and they were just buried in the backyard like an old dog. No words said.
My father had severe psychosis at a young age because he often bragged about torturing animals and having sex with the livestock. Something most people would never tell another soul or even make a joke about. He met my mother in a bar - she was only 17 at the time. She had been through a traumatic event at 15 years old - were she been raped by three men.
I think her perception of her true value and herself in the world had suffered greatly. And my father waltzed into her life and took advantage of that. He had previously been married and already had children and he preyed on the child locked within my mother.
The 15-year-old who lost her innocence. My grandmother was a schizophrenic who was actually institutionalized for believing she was having Jesus' baby. And when not in a mental hospital, my grandma was a bootlegger. And my grandfather was a drunk lumberjack. She had three siblings - two were half-ones. But my mother never had a close relationship with any of them. She was alone.
I think she believed her parents had failed her and she resented them for it. It's the job of a parent to protect their child from the evil of this world. And my grandparents failed to do that for my mother. It's hard growing up even in the most normal of situations, but when you experience such trauma, and on top of that feel like you are not worthy of love then it changes your whole perspective in life.
My mother once told me she tried for a while to get pregnant and was excited to have me, but my father often told a different story. He would always say, "I wanted your mom - I never wanted you." And for the rest of my life, I would struggle with relationships because I truly believed no one ever really wanted me.
I spent a lot of time with my grandmother growing up. My granny would tell me that I loved playing school - and would make everyone play with me. My parents found it difficult to support themselves and would do odd jobs and sell their plasma for money in order to just buy a sandwich at the gas station to eat. We once lived in the back of a bar - where my mother was a bartender, and my father was a bouncer. They said I used to dance to Michael Jackson's "Beat It" on the jukebox and would dance for the patrons there.
When I was even smaller than that, a baby, my parents were so poor my bed was in a drawer of an old dresser. My parents were reckless, and they safety of their children was not always their top priority. When I was nursing, my mom would drink too much and pass out. My father would then just prop me up on her breast to eat while she was unconscious. They would also put whiskey in the nipple of my bottle on a cotton swab to make me go to sleep.
With that being said - it was easy to see why I was an alcoholic most of my life. When I was younger, I remember the cops coming to my grandmother's house and her asking me to stall them when she tried to pour out all the illegal bottles of booze she had. Alabama was a dry county at the time. And being involved in events like that became a regular thing over the years since my parents were always in trouble with the law.
My father later became a truck driver and when he became angry at his employer - he got drunk - and stole one of the company's semi-trucks. When the cops came to get it - he was completely wasted - and had tried to cover it up with a mere sheet from a bed. I don't know how long he was in prison or what my mom did to survive while he was gone. But I do think around that time was when he came out and murdered the men that raped my mom. It was like he gained himself some street cred in there and came out worse than when he went in. I was surrounded by chaos, drugs, and alcohol my entire life. And that had a great impact on who I became.