In my early years of drug abuse before it turned into a full blown addiction; I was silently screaming for help and no one was paying attention. I wanted so badly to have a sense of love and appreciation from my family. Don’t get me wrong I know they love me, they always did. I just didn’t believe it back then. I wanted them to hug me; I wanted to hear that they loved me. I wanted to know they cared. Saying I love you and hugs were something we have never done in my family, we still don’t. The only difference now is I know they love me; I am mature enough to see it now.
When I was young, immature, and naïve, around 13 years old I truly believed that if they saw how fucked up I was then they would love me. I started using drugs and made it known; I wanted them to know, I wanted to rub it in their faces. It didn’t work, so I kept getting more and more fucked up until eventually it was beyond my control. They didn’t know how to handle it, I would run away and hope they would look for me or beg me to come home; they did after a while. But by that time I didn’t care about what they wanted, I didn’t care if they didn’t love me, I didn’t care if they never wanted to see me again. I was alone, I was scared but I had my drugs and that was enough for me. After the last 10 years of drug abuse there didn’t seem a way to be redeemed. I wouldn’t be where I am today without the help and love of my parents, we have had our share of hardships but we have pulled through; together.
I can keep saying how much I regret everything, I can keep telling people I am sorry but no matter what I say or do it’s not going to change what has come and gone. I can only improve my present and my future. It’s one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.