#3 Don't Get Too Comfortable.

I spent much of my childhood asking God this single question; “Why do you keep ripping the rug out from under me?” The story was always the same. If something was good, it would never last. If something brought me joy, it would leave me. If something brought me peace, it would disappear the moment I allowed myself to feel the comfort it brought with it. Life felt like jumping out of an airplane, only to come to the scary realization that you're the only one without a parachute.

The summer of 2001 would be the year that my mind would kind of wake up and start to process everything that was happening, burning each little detail into my memory along the way.

In the decade since my dad had bought our first house, the crime rate in the neighborhood had more than doubled. The school system had rapidly declined to becoming one of the worst rated in the state. Our once quaint street had become a less than ideal place to raise children. It wasn't safe anymore for my sister or I to go further than the end of the driveway on our own due to a heavy amount gang activity occurring out in the open.

It was almost my 7th birthday, and that's when my dad announced that we were moving. He explained how there was a perfect suburban town just north of the city that had everything we needed. Safety, great schools, sprawling parks, big backyards- and potentially a fresh start.

My dad let my sister and I pick between 2 houses that were for sale in the same neighborhood- & we picked the one that had a swing set in the backyard. On moving day, I could hardly sit still as I eagerly waited at the front window for the moving truck to arrive.

I was full of hope and happiness. All of my thoughts focused on conceptualizing what my new room would look like and all of the friends I could make at my new school. I was going into the second grade with confidence in myself, because my dad told me that this town was going to be our golden ticket. Our new life there would be so much happier than the one we had here.

Every breath I took after stepping foot on the green grass of our new front yard felt like a fresh start. The neighborhood had a stillness to it and nature was everywhere. This was vastly different from the city that- up until now, had been all I'd known my whole life. The house smelled of new paint and the carpet was so soft on the soles of my feet. These little details brought me an unbelievable amount of peace. Thinking to myself; "Surely, now that we are going to live in this beautiful and happy home- I'll have my dad back and he will never want to drink again!"

I left to go explore a little so I wouldn't be in the way of our movers while they brought all of our things in boxes into the new house. At the pond that sat just across the street, there were kids playing that seemed to be around my age. I half hesitantly began to approach them as they were playing on the waters edge. They shot perplexing looks in my direction as I fixed my gaze on the ground in front of my feet. Realizing that suddenly, I was the new kid, struggling to think what words I could string together that would be equivalent to "I need friends."

I spotted a girl who had red hair like me, holding 2 nets, and the neighborhood kids all surrounding her as they all argued over who was going to use the second net. She looked over to me, taking 4 or 5 equally as shy steps in my direction, and asks for my name. I quietly said to her "My name is Lauren, and I just moved here." Right away, I could tell that she was very perceptive to the fact that I was feeling quite out of place. She smiled, extended her second net out to me and said "I'm Alicia. I'd really like it if you'd catch minnows with me."

I was off to quite a wonderful start. Less than 24 hours in a new town and I had already made a friend! She introduced me to the other neighborhood kids and even took me 3 houses down from my new house to meet her mom and dad, Mrs. Karen & Mr. Steve. Alicia was only a year younger than me, but that still meant that we wouldn't be in the same grade at school. Still, I found comfort knowing that at least I had a friend.

My grandma came into town from Wyoming to see the new house and to see us off to our first day at our new school. This year my dad had even gotten us shirts and water bottles branded with the school logo, and packed my lunch for the first day of school. I had never had anything like that. I could tell that he was really trying to turn over a new leaf. He had been sober for a few weeks, and it really felt like this place might actually be exactly what we needed.

However, things were always tense when my grandma came to town. Mostly because my sister and I had to tell a slew of lies. For example- how we never eat fast food, the house is always this clean, Daddy is the best, he never drinks, and everything is great! But she always noticed Allyson and I just weren't quite right. She would always say "I have one week to teach you what a mother would teach you in a year." No pressure, right? Her biggest concern throughout my childhood was weight. She needed us to know that if we were fat, we would be nothing except a failure in this life. She would come in and take control. My grandma struggled to understand certain things- like why my sister and I did not want to change clothes in her presence. Not only could she not comprehend it, she would consistently ask us "what is wrong with you girls?" She would blame our shortcomings on the fact that we did not have a mother while simultaneously refusing to cut us any slack even though we didn't have our mother. I'll cover this part of my story a whole lot more very soon, because there's a lot to unpack there.

Long story short, I only lasted 3 days in the second grade. My teacher noticed I was struggling right away. I had no idea how to do basic things, like crossword puzzles. Since I was coming from a lesser school district, they decided that I needed to be held back before we got too far into the school year.

Photo from that first day of school.

Honestly, I didn't care. I was just happy to be there. Nothing was going to ruin the fresh start that easily. I sat in my new classroom early one morning, watching my dad talk to my new teacher before the bell rang. I scanned the room wondering, "Will I feel like I belong here?"

I wanted more than anything to be like the other kids, and I would try so hard to make it seem like I was like the other kids. The only thing worse than not fitting in, is trying so desperately to fit in and failing time and time again. I guess I was a little bit of a loose cannon, I struggled to make friends in my class. Some kids would ask me "Why are you so weird?" For whatever reason, I felt like a good answer to that question was "My mom died." Which only further alienated me from the rest of the kids. I remember they used to say to me "Did you know that there's a curse that you'll die at the age your mom dies? You're going to die." I was so young, that I believed them, and that was a terrifying form of mental torture. The bullying did not go unnoticed and I spent a lot of time in the counselors office. (Amazing lady. I still think of her to this day.) She would try to form little small groups with a few girls from my class, taking us to do fun things outside of the classroom to try and help me make friends. Somehow, I always managed to blow it. I was such a nervous kid. Not to mention having absolutely nothing in common with these girls who wore bows in their hair & clothes that were free of stains. They were normal happy kids, while my vibe was more "dumpster fire." No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find a place for myself at school.

Before the first 9 weeks of school was up, my teacher demanded to the principal that my father take me to see a specialist for the treatment of ADD/ADHD. My dad attempted to fight back, but the school didn't back down. Our options were to do what they say or they would expel me- a first grader. I'm not going to say that I wasn't a handful, I was. I had never received the attention or enrichment that I needed at home- & that would always catch up to me at school.

The specialist was really nice. We played a lot of games together, then my dad would always take Allyson and I out to eat afterward. After several weeks of visits with the doctor, we got the ADD diagnosis and I was put on Ritalin. My dad had also signed my sister and I up at a learning center, & we would go there three times a week for help with our homework. They gave out special tickets for good behavior, and when you saved up enough tickets, you could pick something from the prize wall. I remember how little things like having a tutor, or being able to tell the other kids I got a little toy from a prize wall- that kind of stuff made me so unbelievably happy, because that kind of stuff was normal, & I so desperately wanted to be normal.

The first day ever that I was on Ritalin- that was the first time that all of the thoughts in my brain changed. My mind was suddenly running smoothly. The only way I can describe my prior thought pattern would be that every thought was on a collision course crashing into other thoughts and exploding on impact over and over again. The ball of live wires in my head had suddenly become nice and neat boxes. My mind felt organized.

With the medicine, things did start going a lot better for me at school as far as grades were concerned. It felt really good to see how proud my dad and my teacher were of me. I loved it probably because I couldn’t remember ever feeling that anyone was proud of me before. Life was good.

But let's not get too ahead of ourselves here. Remember, if something was good, it would never last. I didn't know it, but my fresh start was about to come crumbling down on me, & I was not ready.

My grandma had gone back home to Wyoming after the first week of school ended. My dad had been sober for almost a month. This was quite a bit longer than I could remember him being sober before & I felt like we were no longer drowning in complete chaos.

Until one Friday afternoon when I stepped off of the bus after school. Brett's car was in our driveway. My heart sank into my stomach because I knew exactly what this meant. I walked up the driveway, suddenly it felt harder to breathe. I let myself in the front door and peaked up the staircase. My dad's door was closed. This was another gut punch of a sign. The door had been open all the time lately- since he was sober and he no longer had to hide from us.

As I made my way up the stairs, I could hear my dad, Brett, and another unknown voice laughing and talking enthusiastically. I knocked on my dads door. Brett answered, & I couldn't hide the tears in my eyes. He asked me what was wrong as if he didn't already know. Brett stepped aside as my dad came to the door, being sure to only open it just enough that I could see him and his body would block my view into his room. Without hesitation, I asked him "Daddy, can I smell your breath?" This was the usual way that my dad would prove to us that he wasn't drinking. If he was sober, he would gladly blow in my face. But if he was drunk, it was a completely different story. "You really think I'm drinking? Really?" he said to me. Asking him if he was drunk only made him angry if he was drinking. A little bit of an oxymoron. He refused my request, telling me "You have absolutely no respect for me. Get out of my face." My father shut the door in my face, just as he had so many times in our old house- where I thought we had left all of this behind.

At this point, I didn't need his breath to confirm what I already knew.

My fresh start had gone up in flames.

Allyson got home from school not long after me. She wasn't confused when she saw my eyes full of tears. Just as I had known, she also knew exactly what was happening when she saw Brett's car in the driveway. We shuffled upstairs to our rooms, feeling dejected as the uneasy feelings we thought were gone for good cornered us both once again.

Why had I allowed myself to get so comfortable?

A painful mistake.

Come back next week to read part 4. <3