Alcoholics Anonymous
...drinking and using. When we did go over to her place of residence she was usually too high to get up. We always went to school late and sometimes we would not even go to school. She was screwing up her life as well as ours. One night I remember going over to her friend’s house, Diana’s. My Mom was staying there for awhile and I actually felt she was doing well by staying there, until that night. I was very good friends with Diana’s daughter, Andy. So I ended up sleeping in her room on the floor. But then I was awakened by screams. As I looked up I realized that Andy and her sister had both left their beds. Once again I heard screaming and yelling. I could not understand what was going on, but I rushed down stairs as soon as I could. As I descended off the last step, Andy and her sister were screaming at the top of their lungs. I swirled my head to the other side of the room only to see my mother and Diana fighting. My mother was picking up knives and telling her that she was going to stab her and what not. She even latched onto Diana’s arm and tried putting her hand into the garbage disposal. I do not remember who it was that called; all I remember is my father coming to save the day. He was always there when we needed him and that’s why I was not surprised that he came to mediate and solve the problem. He was somehow able to calm my mother. After all the commotion my father seemed as if he had had enough. I believe he took me and my brothers, and left for home. As time went by we still saw our mother every once and awhile, but not as often. Then she found a man by the name of Bob Goodman. He was a very good, down-to-earth man and it seemed as if he could always bring out the best in my mother. We thought this positive role model might rub off on my mother, so we were ecstatic. My brothers and I got pretty attached to him considering we saw my Mom around three times a week and my mother was with this man for… I think three years. In the end, our expectations were wrong, he was no good for my mother. He himself was a drug addict. They started fighting, and not just like once a month or once a week. They fought every single night; she would throw plates, call him names, hit him, and even drive off and leave. But he was no better; he yelled, screamed, slammed doors, and hit walls. He even punched a hole in the wall once. I began to dislike both of them, especially my mother for putting us in that type of environment. It turned out to be an even worse environment than I thought. One night I heard them fighting. As I began to listen, I heard my mother yelling at him to get this stuff out of the house. I began to listen more intently then I had before. I soon realized it was either speed or cocaine they were talking about. Soon after I went to my father and told him all I had heard. It turned out that he did have cocaine in his possession. I was really upset to find all of this out. The weird thing is I was...