Subjective

Everything I believed was wrong. For the 20 + odd years I was in recovery it seemed to me that it was the best place for me to be. Certainly not a far stretch for a girl that had seemed to have had problems most of her life. The oldest of three children, I was certainly the fuck up of our idyllic little clan. Little pot smoking, school skipping derelict and pregnant at 17. The stories of me acting up before kindergarten became family lore.

I had been the bane of our family’s existence for as long as anyone could remember. I was the reason for my mothers upset. Too sensitive, too serious, creative, smart, different than the other crayons in the box. I was the one causing problems.

Born in 1962 I was told just how lucky I was coming from such a wonderful family with so much. My mother consistently telling me how she never felt sorry for me, there where people out there with real problems. It took me 56 years to understand what the hell she was talking about.

All those years in AA I could never understand , how, coming from the Brady Bunch did I end up here? Every person I had met in the program had had issues with their family of origin, in some way.

I had sponsors, I had Psychologists and Psychiatrists long term; no one including me, really looking beyond that I had been born with a physical, spiritual and mental disease and the best I could hope for was a daily reprieve.

THEY WERE WRONG.