Be Your Own Person
I always felt that I was going to be different. I was smart, athletic beyond belief, and had the biggest heart. I was the first person to ask others how their day was going. My expectations for myself were extremely high because I was led to believe I was gifted. My grades were great, I was the starting quarterback for my football team my entire life. It was not just talent though, I worked for it all.
What people did not realize about me is that I was bothered on the inside. No one really took notice of me, always wanting to stay after practice late or continuously asking my friends if they wanted to chill that day. My efforts to not be home were persistent but not obvious so my friends never saw the desperation of my pleas.
Waiting for me at home was my mother and father who drank copiously and liked to dabble in cocaine. As a child, I did not see this side of my parents. They went to great lengths to make sure their young kid did not see them in that light. Most of my memories consist of late weekend nights, getting put to sleep early then watching my parents walk towards our external garage to bathe in their vices.
As I got older, classes like D.A.R.E (Drug Alcohol Resistance Education) exposed me to the behaviors of drug users. This is when I found patterns between my parents actions and the D.A.R.E videos. I pushed these thoughts far into the back of my mind because I saw my folks as heroes, not struggling for help. My parents drank every night but did not really let loose until their friends came over that weekend. I hated the weekends. Every other child got to spend quality time with their families during the weekends. Home cooked meals and watching movies together seemed like an alternate reality.
Where I went wrong is I ignored the signs. I continued to unconditionally love my parents for what they were and refused to see the evil in it. “Those videos I saw in fifth grade depict the worst of the worst, I know my parents are not that bad”, I would tell myself. I believed this so thoroughly, I found myself following in their footsteps. My parents were cold and avoided emotion but when they were intoxicated, they loosened up. The majority of times my parents told me they loved me was while I sat at a bar top with them.
The love for my parents dragged me down. I could only get attention from them if I partook in their version of fun. This trend continued until my father’s death in my senior year of high school. My father mixed alcohol with substances and died from an overdose. I finally saw that their behaviors were not role model worthy.
I tell this story as a 22 year old man who still does not have it figured out. My life is far from over, but my father’s premature passing feels like an expiration date on myself. My love for parents drove me to become just like them. I have fallen to the cycle. My best advice is love your parents, but be your own person.
This story was written by Jacob Crowley based on an interview with an anonymous contributor. The story and its content belong to the contributor.
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