It’s bad.
To have to get drunk with your parents.

For them to casually stride into a questionable conversation about what really is the point of going to detox or for accompanying therapy. 

What happened to me when I was 9, mom and dad?

My mom cries. She’s a victim too. 

But I’m the weak, yet aggressive one, who should just be able to get over it. 

Right?

I miss my Jack… At least he cared about my scars.