I’ll start this journey from the earliest I can remember (and with the help of my family’s memories as well).
My mum was 18 years old when I was born. Her and my dad weren’t married and didn’t stay together for very long after the birth. Very shortly after I was born my mum started to get involved with drugs (particularly heroin) while she was out partying.
Before my first birthday she became so addicted that she would leave me in the house with strangers while she went out searching for her next hit. Of course, I can’t remember this, since I was so young.
One day, while my mum was out searching for drugs, my auntie came to the house to check up on us. She couldn’t get in because the door was locked. So she climbed up onto the balcony and saw me, a baby, stuck in a manky house surrounded by drug paraphernalia, being cared for by one of my mums addict friends.
So, that day, my auntie broke through the door, grabbed me in her arms, and took me out through the balcony entrance (it was ground floor by the way). This almost resembles some kind of fairy tale story where a princess is rescued from a tower by a knight in shining armor.
On the way back to her house, she passed my mum. She shouted from the window of her car “You will never, ever, look after him again!”.
Did my mum come chasing after the car that day? No.
Did she use her parental rights get me back? No.
Did she stop taking drugs so she would be fit enough to bring me up in a happy healthy family home? No.
Drugs have such a strong hold over an individual. They override that most natural human instinct, the maternal instinct that a mother has to always keeps her child safe protected from harm.
I ended up living with my gran. That didn’t mean my mum and dad didn’t have a massive influence in my life. In my next few posts I’ll share memories about the times I spent with my mum and dad during my childhood. I’ll share how they were both able to deceive and charm those around about them, and make me believe they were my idols.