home

From the age of 8 or 9, i took every opportunity i could to not be at my biological parent's house, and alienate my family.  I just didn't fit with them, and it was a plain and logical choice for me to "be a part of a family i DID fit in".
So from the age of 8 until i was about 13 or 14 i lived with the family up the street, with my best friend Brody.
Brody's family was perfect [to an 8 year old's train of thought] and i felt at HOME with them, and around them.  They let me be who i was at heart, they were interested in the things I liked to do.  Skateboarding, snowboarding, punk rock, junk food, video games, burning stuff, waterparks, fireworks...we ran the gammut with fun shit until the sun went down, purely enveloped in childish exploitation.  And from the very beginning, my parents HATED it, which only made me love it more.
After living with, and being a part of this family for long enough, i WAS part of the family.  Weddings, birthdays, funerals, hospital trips, helping my little brother and sister with homework, vacations...i was in, deep.  Me and Brody split his room and spent every day together...and i felt loved for who i was.

In all reality, it was the most dysfunctional, fucked up family i've ever known, or been a part of.  Dad was always yelling, drunk, smacking us around, or a combination of all three.  Mom was a flight attendant, so was frequently out of town, so it was up to me and Brody to cook, clean, make sure everyone got their homework done, went to bed on time, and avoided Dad at all costs.
We would go to such extreme measures to avoid him, it's actually still hard to believe to this day.  We would rush home from school, grab a box of poptarts, a couple of beers, bust out of the house and ride our bikes all the way across town to a park [that Dad wouldn't look for us at] so that 1) we were gone when Dad got home, and 2) had enough to eat and drink to last us until he got drunk enough and passed out at 1 or 2 am so we could sneak back IN to the house and fall asleep upstairs.
On the weekends we'd stay up all night and leave the house at sunrise before he got up and made us go everywhere with him all weekend.  We actually got in to the habit of breaking IN to his house at all hours of the night that we could do it while Dad was still awake.
But man, did he catch us doing EVERYTHING...almost on a weekly basis would he catch us drinking his liquor, smoking weed or snorting pills upstairs, breaking windows of the neighbor's houses...he'd catch us fucking girls, throwing partys, stealing cars/booze/money...it was never really a thought in my head that when he kicked the shit outta us, we didn't deserve it.  That's just "what happens"...
The family dynamic changed over the next few years, and it became obvious to Dad, that everyone hated him...and this was voiced by Mom as well.  So the drinking got worse, the fights would escalate further, Dad was doing cocaine now too, and me and Brody would lock the door at the bottom of the stairs and sit with little Brother and little Sister on the landing of the stairway until Dad wore himself out screaming and hitting the walls and shit.  We'd all just sit there crying all fucking night, being loudly berated through the thin wooden door that seperated the two halves of our family. [minus Mom...this would only happen when she was at work, 35,000 feet above Denver or Reno.]
So as we all grew up, things got worse, but coping was easier because it was a natural occurence...a survival skill of sorts. 

When i hit the age of 13 or 14 i was so invested in heroin and other drugs [anything you'd put in front of me] that i wasn't home at Brody's much anymore.  I had a few close friends who quickly became a revolving cast of "sleepovers".  Crashing on couches, sneaking in to Brody's with him late at night, and even occasionally slipping in to my parents house to catch some sleep.

For the next 5 years i wore out my welcome just about everywhere i stayed except for Brody's house.  From friend's basements and dealer's cars, to girlfriend's bedrooms.  Mom loved me so much, and could see exactly what i was going through, she never stopped trying to help me, talk to me, or comfort me.
It is really the only house i've ever felt at home in.  Felt like i belonged...didn't have that unsettling feeling of sleeping on someone else's bed, under their sheets, staring at their ceiling. 
As fucked up as it was, i'm still trying to get back there.

Years later, Dad contacted me asking me to lie about him physically abusing my little brother and sister, and his drug habits.  He was taking Mom to court in the divorce for custody of the kids, and i refused to respond.  I told Mom i'd testify to anything she needed me to, in order for her to keep the kids...She's the only one of us who has seen Dad since he moved out, and only in the safety of a courtroom.

Mom still has the house, and little brother and sister still live there.  Brody got thrown out a few years back, and subsequently attempted to steal his own car.  Whenever i stop by for a visit I end up staying up with them all night until the early morning, in the same living room we used to crawl past at 3 am avoiding Dad's cocaine fueled vodka bender at all costs.  But it's still my home.