Personal Narrative: My Parent's Addiction

I never imagined love could be so complicated and tumultuous. Many children grow up with their parents as their role models. I was not one of those kids and often lived in shame because of my parents. My parent’s addiction to drugs and alcohol which were the focus of their life. Due to their addictions, many times I felt I was an afterthought and a burden. Loving a parent/s that have addiction problems often create innumerable emotional and mental difficulties for their children.
My parents met at a party when they were in high school. Alcohol and marijuana flowed through the hazy house while Al Green crooned over the radio. The two was instantly attracted to each other even though they were complete opposites. My father was an introvert that

All the while their life was in party mode, even after my birth a year later. We lived in a tiny two-bedroom duplex fragrant from my mom’s cooking during the day but pungent from the burning smell of smoke and incense at night. My mom was from the Bahamas and it was displayed with the eccentric, tropical, and carefree décor in our house. The food was one of the best attributes about my mom. The delicious fresh seafood, sweet gooey brownies, and creamy lasagna were some of my favorites. I would wait for my mother to come get me from school anticipating what she had cooked today for

All I discerned was when they when my parents under the influence that is was dreadful. My father would be so intoxicated he would stagger while mumbling incoherently and bump into the walls. My mother would become atrocious towards people physically that she felt like everyone was against her and tried to fight them. In the neighborhood, my mothers’ reputation followed her, and people called her the “Grim Reaper.”
Eventually, this dysfunctional lifestyle became the norm for me. Now that I was twelve my parents felt that I could stay at home alone while they went out instead of staying with my grandmother. My grandmother would question me about my home life and one this day decided to confront my parents about it. As I sat in my grandmother’s guest room, I could hear yelling and then a loud rumble through the wall. “Get out,” yelled my grandmother.
My grandmother was upset due to my father had punched a hole in the wall in anger after being accused of not prioritizing his life. “Dee Dee, let’s go,” my father