Childhood

Dear Stranger,

I had a childhood that was both bright and shadowed. My friends and I lived in a neighborhood that felt like a sprawling playground, where laughter echoed through the air, and we knew every nook and cranny of our streets. Our days were filled with freedom, and our parents, assured of our safety, never worried. Our house stood as a testament to comfort, with my room offering a sanctuary and a vast backyard beckoning countless adventures. I attended a good school, enjoyed genuine friendships, and was untouched by the cruelty of bullying, harboring a tender crush that spanned years.

Yet, my parents often fought their arguments a constant backdrop to our lives. Initially, their disagreements were about everyday issues—bills, responsibilities, and parenting choices. But soon, these disagreements morphed into something more sinister. The fights became daily events, evolving into accusations and distrust. My dad, once a figure of stability, began to withdraw. His late nights and erratic behavior sparked conflicts about infidelity and drugs. His transformation into someone I scarcely recognized filled me with a mix of anger and sorrow. The man who once played a central role in our lives became a shadow, lost in the grip of addiction. I didn't know how he could just give up on us and choose this... thing.

The fighting escalated to physical confrontations, with objects being hurled in frustration and despair. I vividly remember those early morning hours, driving through the city with my mom, searching for my dad. We would find him in the company of strangers, lost in a world of drugs. He became a ghost, tangled in drugs, and eventually landed in jail. My mother, despite her own struggles, bore the burden of raising us alone. Her strength and resilience only intensified my resentment towards my dad.

Years passed, and miraculously, my dad found his way back. He overcame his addiction, found faith, and tried to reconnect with us. But the years of absence had created a chasm between us. Our relationship, though mended, was fragile and awkward. Sometimes, it felt like living with a stranger, though I loved him deeply.

During this period, my brother also fell into the trap of addiction. The brother who once built forts and sang with me disappeared, replaced by an angry, distant figure. His brief moments of normalcy were shattered by relapses, transforming him into someone I could barely recognize. I recall the eerie silence as the paramedics rushed him out of the house, foam trailing from his mouth. My young mind, trying to make sense of it all, began to harbor resentment towards him for attempting to leave this world. As silly as it may sound, that resentment was a child's way of grappling with the fear and pain of potentially losing a loved one.

When he went missing, it was a devastating blow. I was angry at him for leaving me behind in that house alone. I would cry just wanting my older brother again but I was set on him being a stranger to me. The search for him was a painful reminder of the fragile ties that bound us. Although he eventually returned, the bond we once shared was irrevocably changed. Time and understanding softened my anger, and I no longer blamed him for his struggles. I understand now how drugs are and I don't blame him for growing up without me.

Going back far, both sides of my family were haunted by substance abuse, and I live in constant fear of following the same path.

Despite this, I wouldn't trade my childhood for another. Maybe I would have in the past but not anymore. My mother ensured I had moments of normalcy and experiences. Maybe that's why my mother and I are so close to this day. She helped me have a more normal childhood. And all this, put me where I am now, and made me who I am, and as much as these things hurt me I am a better person because of them.

-Blue