After my grandma died about ten years ago, my family's slipped apart and away from each other. We hid and moved houses, schools, jobs, and chose drugs to duct tape ourselves together and make it through a day. Mine happened to be the only one that wasn't narcotic.
By the time I was four, I used to read my crappy soft cover copy of "Black Beauty" by Anna Sewell daily. I internalized everything. The only time I was outgoing was at grandma's. I went there every summer, to Iowa. Where the air is damp, and filled with the sweet smell of wild flowers, fresh cut grasses, and sweet hay about to be harvested. My siblings, cousin, and the rest of the family got together. My blind and deaf grandpa made breakfast every single day and we got up early for it (he was a great cook, and very quiet, I remember). That tiny little house was my life. Me and my cousins and siblings played Sonic on what I believe was the Dreamcast.
But their house burned down (no fatalities) and they had to build a new one on the same land. The pictures of the rubble, and grandma looking for something, anything in the ashes was upsetting, and still is.
Grandma passed a few years later. I can't remember if it was before 2001, but I think it was 2000 or 2002, my memory is nearly gone after my struggle with PTSD. But grandma passed, and we were there and we all were together the last time. Grandma died of lung cancer that spread through her body, and her last wish was to die at home with my mom, the nurse, at her side to help her. She was in a coma when we brought her home, and when she passed, before she did, she saw me last, and talked to me, and then she was just gone. Then we sold the home and we all never got together again.

Nothing has been the same since. And nothing ever will be. But we all gave in to our demons. My mother, her brother, sister, and other sister all drank. My brother smoked pot and my sister did crack, meth, speed, and anything else she could get in her hands. My cousin became angry and depressed and smoked everything from pot to meth. He's still trying to rehab, and he's doing good.

I ended up not doing drugs. I did for a few days when I broke my ribs, take a bit more painkillers than I needed. Now my stomach rejects them no matter what. I have Bipolar 2. But things got worse. When mom slipped finally and was diagnosed with Lupus, she constantly ignored her prednisone and other non narcotic treatments of her lupus and only took pain pills around the clock. She got fired from a hospital for stealing them as a nurse a year or two ago. Now she abuses Butrans patches and won't quit.

Since then I have accepted that she's trying to kill herself, and doing a pretty good job of it. With no car, job, money, or other means, I packed up, took my two animals (Suggie is another story) and moved the hell out of her house. Since then she gets to be high all she wants without me trying to revive her and beg her to quit. I know she's going to kill herself if she doesn't quit.

And I can't watch.

All I want is her to stop abusing drugs, and more than anything, I want my poor dog back. She doesn't need to be around my mother's drug abuse. She deserves a healthy family who pays for her vet care (my mom refuses to take her), gets her shots normally, buys her healthy food, meets to her emotional and physical needs like play, walks, and cuddling, and actually gives a damn about her. I WILL get that apartment and I will get my dog back because she can't take her from me. I cry every single day about my dog. I can't get the heart to ask about her around my mom, who is so high most the time she doesn't even talk.

So I signed us all up for something that is insane. I can't say for risk of them finding out, but it's going to either destroy us or rebuild us. And really, there's not much left to lose at this point. Wish me luck.