Life was okay growing up.
Parents got married because of pregnancy, born in Spokane, WA. Father was not around much, too caught up in the 80’s lifestyle of cocaine and promiscuity. He gradually dipped out, mother remarried right around the age when life can be remembered so daddy-issues are mostly absent.
He was a story, not a father.
First memories took place in Washington State, on Whidbey Island. From there the family relocated to Bellingham and times were decent, not poor nor rich, but comfortable.
A brother and sister entered the scene later, 8 and 10 years younger, and the role of
big brother was accepted happily.
There is no need to get into early school years, because they were not particularly profound in terms of understanding addiction. Athletic and popular, to an extent, smart but unwilling to earn good grades, generally idle about everything.
Devoid of purpose, wanting something more, alcohol was tasted in 11th grade at age 17, entering the party scene with a bang. At a huge house party during a blackout about six sophomore girls were pursued, fondled, groped, and generally treated like nothing more than objects.
This was the second time alcohol was drank
and perpetuated the stereotype of how men should treat women.
From this point until sobering up 14 years later, things got worse while remaining the same. Sex, drugs and alcohol. Ambitions in college at Washington State University to become a doctor were on track until after being accepted to the University of Michigan as a transfer pre-med student. This was when mental illness reared its unfortunate head and the complications of bipolar mixed with addiction, leading to a spiritual spiral and search for salvation that both sinners and saints seek with sincere motivation to be better people.
Sadly, this rarely happens soon enough.
This is where it all begins.
what is was like...