The Fifth Memory

So this diary entry falls in after Chase has turned a year old, and Larry has been in prison for about a year and half or two.

05/22/99
Dear Diary,

Hello!  I am having a pretty bad day.  Dad is on drugs and I heard someone say they are afraid he will OD tonight.  I'm so scared.  I really need someone.  I'm lonely.  PLEASE LET DAD BE OKAY!!

Love, Cassie

Thankfully that entry is followed by this one:

05/23/99
Dear Diary,

They found dad around noon today.  I'm not sure where but he is alive.  I'm still really scared.

 Love, Cassie

So something to understand here is that while drugs were nothing new to me, someone in my actual family on drugs was.  I didn't see Larry is a part of my family.  I saw him as a parasite that latched on and was harder to get rid of than lice.  So although it was rough knowing what he was doing, witnessing it and the effect it had on my mom, he wasn't my family.  When I found out my dad was following that same path, I was devastated.  I had my dad on a bit of a pedestal I think.  I always thought of him as the more stable one.  This was probably mostly due to the fact that I wasn't around him as much.  He didn't always get us on his weekends when he said would, and when he did, he spoiled us rotten to make up for his absence.  So as a kid, I saw him as the solution, and even though I didn't live with him, there was some security in thinking I did have a stable parent there in case of emergency.  And although Larry was in prison, mom was distant and distracted.  We didn't get along and because she was unhappy, that projected on to us.  And because I felt disregarded, I was bratty.  I felt like nothing I did was good enough, I have several entries where I talk about making dinner for the family, and even more about how "I can't do anything good enough" for Mom.  Through the summer of 1999 I have several tear-stained entries about how unhappy and miserable I am.  Looking back I do think some of them are the over-dramatic rantings of a young teenager, But then I read some entries and wonder if they are just pubescence or if they are the first signs of the my childhood effecting me.  Like this entry for example:

08/09/1999
Dear Diary,

Maybe I should explain something.  Now I know that reading back through this my problems may seem small and my tears over nothing, but you don't understand my feelings. After all the horrible things from the past life should be wonderful, but it's not.  I hate it.  What do I do?

Love, Cassie