I was raised in a dysfunction Catholic household. Dysfunctional? Well, that may be a bit of an understatement. Alcohol influenced, abuse ridden, and dangerous are probably better descriptions. Yes, I grew up in a family led by angry alcoholics who apparently hated children. One inflicted physical wounds, the other emotional. Every day was another chance at survival, and I'm happy to report that we all made it out alive! Of course we have scars, emotional and physical, but wouldn't life be boring without some additional baggage? I just happened to have left home with a 12-piece matching set.

I was in 5th grade when my mother left. She never came home from rehab. My father finally took a stand and kicked her out, or so he said. She never showed up to the custody hearing, so he got stuck with 3 broken children that he didn't want, and he made sure we knew it. I found out later that while he was with my mother, he began having a relationship with his youngest brother's wife. When my mother left us, she left my uncle, and a secret relationship began. He would sneak out at night after we went to bed to be with her. I was always terrified that something horrible would happen in the night and there would be no one to save us. Though, no one ever was there to save us, even when the adults were home.

So I began to pray. I prayed to St. Theresa, Jesus, and even God himself. 

My father married my once aunt and though the physical abuse stopped, the emotional abuse increased. No longer did we fear for our lives, but it was made very clear that our lives were not worth much, and we had somehow brought that on ourselves with our bad behavior. The one who had claimed to be our savior was just another parent who didn’t really want us. She was the queen and we were her humble servants, and we were treated as such.