What is a Drug Addict?

I wrote a poem of sorts the other day and posted it to my Facebook wall. So I'm sharing it here since it pretty much goes with my Thursday/Friday theme. Not to mention, I went south to visit my grandsons. And that seems to slap me in the face every time I go back. Memories suck sometimes. No to mention, daughters number 3 and 4 struggle with drug addiction. Its a constant battle.

So here it is:

What is a Drug Addict?

A daughter
A son
A wife
A husband
A mom
A dad
They expect everyone to cater to their needs
Pay their rent...
Buy their gas
Buy their food
While they invest in their habit
They're emotional thieves
Stealing their families love
Their trust
Their money
Always blaming everyone around them for the addiction they crave
No one matters
Nothing is good
Everyday is a bad day
It's always someone else's fault
Life dealt them a bad deck
They're skillful hunters
Seeking to use whatever weapon against their prey
Leaving their entire family bruised

Shelly Arkon 2014

 

Hugs and chocolate, everyone!

Vodka, Pills, and a Guardian Angel

Like I ended my last post, mom wasn't like other moms. My step-dad had no clue what he had gotten himself into. As for my real dad, it felt like an eternity when I got to see him again.

My mom made sure that our step-dad would become the father that I knew. Speaking of my real one became a taboo.

It didn't help that I resembled my dad and my sister missed him horribly. My step-dad did his best to fill his shoes. He really was wonderful to my sister and I.

He was the rock in our lives when our mom would go into her dark times.This happened   frequently. 

She would sleep a lot and keep every curtain in the house closed. She would cry and nothing would make her happy. Not even my step-dad. But he was patient.

This crazy part of her would last for weeks on end. Being a little girl it felt like an infinity. As I got older, I would stay home from school and take care of her. I even learned by the time was 8 to scramble eggs, make a mean grilled cheese, and how to heat up a can of Campbell's soup.

My step-dad was the best. He wore a badge of patience. And many times he came home at the right time. He was clearly our guardian angel.

"What are you doing?" My step-dad shook her one evening.

Mom just stared blankly ahead.

A booze bottle and some pills occupied the kitchen counter. Mom had been sitting on a stool staring into space for what seemed like hours. My 3 year-old sister and I tried many times to get her attention. But it was of no use. Our snack time didn't happen that day.

 My step-dad grabbed the booze bottle and the pills. He dumped the bottle and threw the pills away. After, he walked mom to their room and tucked her into bed. 

That night, my sister, step-dad, and I feasted at the Golden Arches.

To be continued...

Severed

People were yelling at each other in my kitchen. It sounded like mom and dad. So I dropped the doll that I was playing with, toddled out of my bedroom, and down the wooden staircase.

Their voices grew louder and angrier as I passed through the creme and turquoise colors of the living room.

I stopped dead in my tracks, shocked, and feeling helpless. A four-year-old can't protect themselves let a grown man like my dad.

Mom stood to the right of me, baring a pointed knife. Dad was to my left, arms spread wide, palms up. He was far enough away not to get stabbed.

I don't remember saying anything to either one of them. But they both went silent and both glanced down at me.

Mom dropped her weapon. 

It wasn't long after this event that my sister, mom, and I were on a plane to Florida.

Years later, my dad explained that the incident was over her obsession to strip and wax the floors throughout their house every other day, including the wooden staircase. Everyone in the house had slipped and hurt themselves on the later. 

He just couldn't deal with her obsessions anymore, the violence, or her wacky stories.

Mom wasn't like other moms or wives. I learned that early on.

To be continued...