Imagine you walk into a room. The scent of cat litter and must hits you, but not in an aggressive way. It’s just lingering. As you step over empty chip bags, discarded clothing and miscellaneous objects you find yourself in the living room. An overflowing trashcan towers behind each of the side tables. Garbage, toys, clothing and other objects clutter all but two seats on the couch. You look to the left and the sink is riddled with unwashed dishes. There is an unknown sticky goop that appears to have dripped down the fridge a few moons ago. This is your home. Home sweet home.

This is the kind of house I grew up in. My mother was basically a high class heroin addict. With a predisposition to partying and a chronic condition that left her in constant pain, she became addicted to prescription pain medication and alcohol. She added pot for good measure. Most days you could say her name ten times before she zoned back in to hear you.

She was a fun mom. She liked to sing karaoke and play games. She was a whiz with computers; we always had some crazy technological set up that allowed us to listen to the TV through speakers and record extra shows on the computer. She was cold and distant, yet warm and loving at the same time. She never mastered responsibility. Once a coworker complimented her always impeccable manicure and noted that she could never keep them that way due to housework. My mother replied, “That’s what kids are for.” Except for those routines and standards were never enforced. I never had a solid bed time, and I rarely brushed my teeth. As for daily bathing and tidying? Forget about it. My hair got so bad at one point that my Grandma took me into the bathroom, washed my hair, and picked out the rat’s nest herself.

My mother was "forced" into dance at a young age like a lot of young girls. Her mother had her young and had become overprotective of her first and only child at the time. My mother grew to hate structure. That combined with her lack of energy kept her from getting my sister and I involved in sports and extra curricular activities. Most nights she couldn’t even muster the motivation to cook dinner. When my stepdad came home from second shift at 11:00 PM we would gather around the TV and scarf down fast food. If it wasn't frozen or ready made, she wasn't going to make it. She didn't even buy real cheese; we grew up on the prepackaged Kraft American cheese slices. It would have been a special treat for her to throw all the ingredients in a pan and make chili or tacos for us. From the age of three, I grew more and more overweight. I can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't overweight or obese.

I had become accustomed to a sedentary lifestyle.

When I was 12, I was diagnosed with Type-2 Diabetes. That same year my mother died from a toxic combination of chronic illness and drug abuse. She was 40 years old.

To Be Continued…