daniels, braden roy

I was a rather difficult child, being the first of four little rascals that literally fucked with the minds of the Daniels’. Having four children surely was plenty for mom and dad and I have to give them some credit, they did try at the beginning, you know, being a dude, you’re so happy when your first born turns out to be a boy and you think you’ll be able to teach him so much, and when I think about it now … he did teach me a lot, too much to be exact. I wasn’t even in high school yet when their marriage went to hell. They fought and it was a miracle if dad even came home in the evenings. Mom was busy texting her new boyfriend all day and no, I wasn’t fond of changing diapers and picking my little sister up from kindergarten. It was a pain, living in a household where the two people, that were supposed to keep it all together, failed at talking to each other. I’d say dad tried to drown his sorrow in booze, and that was probably true – but by all means, he couldn’t have possibly been so stupid to try and pick up girls that were obviously out of his league. You’d think he would have learnt after being denied a couple times, but he’s one pushy bastard and not only we had to get through our parents not talking to each other, we had to listen to all the bullshit that was going around about dad. Like father like son they say, but there’s one thing I never did … try to fuck someone under the age of eighteen. Years went by and nothing really changed, except for the fact we were filthy rich and left to do whatever the fuck we wanted. Raid the cabinets full of vodka and whiskey at home and when that wasn’t enough, we just got more. Dad never paid much attention to his wallet when he was trying to recover from a nasty hangover and that’s where I got all my drug-money. It was peer-pressure I’d say, you know, they offer you a joint and you think it’s cool, you feel like a superman, all out of your mind, and one day weed just doesn’t do you any good anymore. It feels like smoking cigarettes, except more expensive. You try LSD, once, because you don’t want to get into that, you try cocaine and you want to stop, but you can’t. You steal money from the ones you were supposed to love and cherish, but hey, it was their fault you’ve done it in the first place anyway, so you get over it … fast. You overdose. Once. Twice. Third time they make you go to rehab. And you’re stuck, you feel like you could have done so much more in life but you failed. You failed everyone, your family, your friends, your girlfriend … but she wasn’t yours to have anymore, because who would want to date a drug addict.

I walk out and feel relieved. Mom is waiting on the curb and dad is probably at home. Asleep. Or maybe he’s still out drinking, not really sure, because it’s been ages since I’ve last talked to anyone. I always preferred mom to my father, at least she wasn’t a raging alcoholic, although she did fail us too. By whoring around. I hug her nonetheless, but it’s not the same. I guess she just doesn’t feel like hugging someone who dirtied the family name by getting himself all drugged up. It’s been fifteen years, but I still remember that exact day; despite being pretty fucked up herself, she told me to get myself together, finish college and get a paying job. And I did. I got a degree in public relations and a job that pays well, but it was a rocky way to success. Just a couple months into my new job and life and I was already feeling lost and overwhelmed with the amount of work I had. I was under a lot of pressure, and I know it’s a lame excuse, but I started sniffing again, except this time I made sure not to make a mistake. I depended on drugs, but I never got close to an overdose again. Somewhere in between I met her, the woman that had changed it all for the better. I needed no rehab, just willpower to get me through the worst of times I suppose. I quit and I’ve been clean for eight years and counting. I’m also counting the years I’ve been with her. My wife. My rock. My everything.