As i've said before, my family life was pretty shit. Dad was alcoholic with nontreated depression/bipolar disorder which only got worse over time. He used to regularly cycle between the alcohol and weed which no doubt exacerbated the natural chemical imbalances until there was permanent damage. As of today, he still does not live in reality.
My grandparents basically raised me and my brother and many of my cousins. Their house was like a small island of normal in an ocean of crazy. I loved being with my grandparents, and spending weekends at their house after being there all week. I think childhood was made bearable because of them.
It wasn't until my early 20s that I really made the effort to gtfo of the area and away from my family. I had moved out previously and, if I'm honest, I was really hoping to start a new life and get married to my then boyfriend. But, because I was mental and going through my own emotional crap, I cheated on him and fuq'd the whole thing up. (I've made peace with myself over this, however. And strangely he still comes around to my blogs... Or I guess it could be his controlling girlfriend, I don't know. Anyway...)
So at 22 I moved "away". At the time I think my dad was also living with my grandparents, making visiting them all but impossible. Perhaps my memory is not so good here, because this is also the age when my grampa died. I remember it was my dad who helped carry my grampa inside the house after he had a stroke. Either way, my dad was in some form or another a wedge between me and my grandparents. My grama would defend him (before she really understood there was something seriously wrong with him) and my grampa didn't want to get in the mix of it. I feel bad for what they had to go through, though.
to be continued:
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