The Beginning.

 It took me a while to figure out what I was going to write about the first time. There is a lot that I need to get off of my chest. I guess I'll just start from the beginning.

I was raised by a single mother. Who loved my two sisters, brother and myself the only way she knew how. I love my mother. She was the Queen in my eyes, and telling this story or any that will follow won't change my outlook about her. My mother Tina (yes, her real name. I've decided to not change anything.) was a drug addict. No easy way to say it especially since my mother was so loving and sweet. As far back as I can remember my mother did meth. She had us around all types of people, I'm sure we shouldn't have been. People who molested me and my sisters. I'm not sure about my brother because he has never said anything, but it leaves me wondering. I remember never wanting to be away from my mom because I was terrified that something was going to hurt and kill her. and in my young age I stressed. This even applied to staying with my aunt or grandmother.

My mother tried her best to raise four kids all alone through all her traumas. I couldn't imagine all the things she's never spoke of. We lived in a smallish marina town when I was born. I was informed that a house fire happened, and we lost everything. My mom moved us to Napa Valley to get away from my grandma. Whom, I was told later on was the one who burned our house down. The traumas that I faced as a child shaped the person I am today. With all of my mental illnesses and coping mechanisms. 

Napa was horrible. Living there was so bad I blocked most of it out. 

My family eventually moved back when my mother kept getting beat in front of us. I vaguely remember trying to call the police as my mom was getting beat in the other room. I was five. When we moved back to our hometown my uncle lived with us, as an adult I was told because my uncle had to co-sign for my mother to get this apartment. Same place we were living before when it caught fire. Most of my childhood here was boring, there isn't much to note other than my grandmother being crazy and picking favorites within our cousins. Long story short, I wasn't the chosen child. That was okay with me I loved my mother and wouldn't have changed it for anything. All of my siblings have lived with my grandmother at one point or another. I was the acceptation because I didn't want to leave my mother. I developed separation anxiety. My family wasn't the greatest, but it was bearable with having the mother I did. 

I'm not sure what story I'll tell next, maybe some of my teenage years and the best friends a girl could ever ask for.