So all my life i have moved from parents to grandparents to aunts and back to all of them and i can easily say it has not been easy. I was born in a small town in maine and my dad was basically the coolest guy in town, almost everyone i talked to had a party story with him, even my class mates. He smoked pot and drank and eventually when i was 12 i left him because he was getting into other drugs and we were living in a hotel. One of my memories from this period was a woman who lived right next to us. I didnt know at the time but she was a prostitute and one day i walked out side to play with my little brother in the morning and all i remember was seeing her laying on the ground. That image has never left me to this day. Fast forward to christmas break and i go to my grandmothers in northern maine. My aunt brought me up and noticed something was wrong and eventually got me to spill it. I wont get into details but there were many other reasons i did this(non of them sexual it just takes a while) but mostly because my dad couldnt provide for me. I was the one who called him and had to tell him why his boy wasnt coming home for christmas. That was the only time in my life i heard my dad cry. I still dont know if i did the right thing. Skip ahead 4 years and my dad is doing worse. I always think its because he couldnt cope with losing me but i dont know. I remember one day at school that was actually really good and i made a mental note of it. The sun was out,school was easy, and my friends had a good time. I got home and my aunt was at work and she called to tell my other brother to leave and go to hia friends house(he had a different dad) i thought this was weird and very unusual. I was smart enough to realize that it had something to do with me but i didnt know what. Thats when my aunt came home with tears running down her face. My dad had died of a heroin overdose. He was 36. I think the worst part of it was that me and him had just started to connect. I never had that with him until i was half forced to spend the night at his house. It was the best night of my life. I realised how alike we were,we both played guitar and like the same bands and movies. I think if i wasnt his son we could have been very close friends growing up. But of course life has a way of tricking you into putting your guard down. Some how my school found out amd when i finally went back i felt so alone. Did anyone know how i felt? Did they think differently of me? I dont know. I started getting more into pot right after that because it was the only thing that would allow me to escape from everything. It also helped me calm down amd focus because i had ADD and some other thing i cant spell. It really was my hero. To this day i still have trouble dealing with his death and when i dont have pot i usually do something like tell my partial life story to a bunch of strangers on the internet when my original intent was to tell the story of my first pot experience(it was fucking wild). Sorry if that was sad and stuff,i promise im ok and i habe many more crazy stories. This is really my only sad one besides my mom but its whatever.