Anyway, those trips to her friend’s place were... something else. Loud-ass parties, random guys everywhere — and almost always new ones.

We bounced around different spots, but most of the time it was at her friend's apartment.

That was their little HQ, mainly 'cause her friend lived alone.
Well, not totally alone — she had a son a little younger than me, but honestly, back then nobody gave a shit about the kids.
We were just... there.

Passing out to blaring music, in random beds, next to dudes we didn't know.
Totally normal, right?

Oh, and speaking of stellar parenting moments — that’s also when I had my first taste of alcohol.
One time, hanging out with mom and some random dude, they handed me a sip of "peach vodka."
It wasn’t even real vodka — just some trashy canned cocktail.
Sweet, sugary, and after that, swinging on the playground felt like flying.
Mom loved telling the story about how little drunk me was having the time of my life.

Around the same time, they let me try beer too.
It was good.
It was fun.
It was chaos.

The kids at these parties? Left to fend for themselves.
I honestly don’t remember much of what we did — probably played with some busted toys, fought each other for no reason, whatever.

We were bored as hell, but at least I got to be around my mom.
Sometimes we’d crash there for days without even telling my grandma.
And every time we finally dragged our asses home, there was a full-blown meltdown:
"Where the hell have you been?! Why didn’t you call?! We thought you were dead!"
Next time? Same shit. No call. More panic. Like clockwork.

When we were at her friend’s place, the bedroom was the “kids zone,” and the kitchen — a tiny smoke-filled box — was for the adults.
That’s where my mom and her crew would get wrecked — drinking, smoking, playing spin the bottle.

One time, I walked in and caught my mom — MY mom — making out with some fat, nasty dude.
I totally lost it.
Started punching him.
And my mom just laughed.

I’ll never forget that feeling — that what the fuck are you doing? you’re MY mom kind of horror.
Why the hell was this disgusting loser kissing her?
The jealousy. The helplessness. The betrayal.
It all slammed into me right there.

And guess what — thanks to my future relationships, I’d get real cozy with those feelings over and over again.
But the first hit was right there — in that grimy little kitchen — watching someone you love do something that made you wanna throw up.

And there’s one more scene, burned into my brain like a goddamn photo.
I walk into the kitchen, and there’s my mom — needle in her arm.
They yanked me out of there fast, but yeah — I saw it.

Years later, I found out mom had been deep into drugs for a long-ass time.
She claimed she "tried everything."
Also swore up and down she never would’ve shot up in front of me.
But I know what I saw.

That shit wasn’t a false memory — just something I shoved so deep down it took years to crawl back up.
I remember her being strung out more often than not.
And honestly, I trust my own memory way more than her endless bullshit.

Other parties mom dragged me to were basically the same flavor of mess.
Some were a little more fun, some just soul-crushingly boring.
They’d toss me into some spare room, hand me a chocolate bar, and I'd crash wherever I could.

When she was drunk, my mom wasn’t exactly the warmest person toward me.
Especially if there were other kids around — boys, mostly.
Almost all her friends had sons.
Girls?
Yeah, she fucking hated girls.
She never wanted kids in the first place — but if she had to have one, a boy would’ve been “better.”

She made sure I knew that, too — praising the boys, hugging them, talking to them, while basically pretending I didn’t exist.
Over time, the wild benders turned into something a little more "civilized" — like holiday dinners.

Actual food showed up on the table next to the booze.
Other adults started coming around — like the father of my mom’s friend, and sometimes other random kids.
Some were my age.
Some were newborns.
Fun fact: one of those babies?
The son of mom’s old boyfriend — the one she’d been absolutely obsessed with.
Like, steal-his-photo-from-a-friend’s-house level obsessed.

And now?
Now they were all playing happy family.
Mom even stood up as maid of honor at their wedding — and became the godmother to their kid.
Fucking hilarious, right?
Oh, and that ex-boyfriend’s mom?
She sold real estate.

And down the line, she’d end up playing a pretty damn fatal role

in mom’s story.