Black Sheep in the Circle of Wolves

It’s the holiday season. A time for families to come together and share joy and memories. And give thanks for all the blessings they receive in life. My cousin has been hosting the Thanksgiving festivities at her house for a while now, so going there has become tradition. I couldn't tell you what it's like. I've never been invited. So while my family enjoys turkey, ham, stuffing, alcohol and togetherness, I sit here. Alone. In my bedroom. For I am the Black Sheep of the family.

It wasn't always this way. Growing up I was the baby among my cousins and without a doubt the favorite. I never had any brothers or sisters so I guess you could say I was spoiled. On Thanksgiving, (which was always at our house), my mom would make us all write our name on a small piece of paper and fold it up. Then she'd take the pieces, throw them into a hat and make us each pull out one. The name on it would be the person we were supposed to get a Christmas gift for. I guess she did this for everyone else because she always made sure to get a gift for everyone and everyone always got an extra one for me.

As I got older, my interests began to change. I discovered boys and sex. Then after a bad break-up, I discovered drugs- and booze. My parents did everything they could but nothing helped. Before I finished my freshman year in high school, I was a drug addict. And that Christmas, everyone would know it.

Its funny how no one ever acknowledges the person who is aware of the signs. I had been able to fool my parents. But once my family arrived, the cat was out of the bag. My cousin's husband was the first to say something. A "former" addict and forever alcoholic. I use the term "former" loosely because looking back I realize he was telling the truth about being drug free about as well as I was. Still seeking approval from my family he saw an opportunity to take the spotlight off himself and shine it on someone else. A fifteen year old girl. Swell.

I should probably mention that at this time I was not the only active drug user in my family. I was just the only one that hadn't mastered the art of hiding it. How disappointed everyone must've been. I bet they talked about it the whole time they were getting loaded in my bedroom. The shame they must have felt when they discovered I was not of the same high moral standards.

Years went by. People pretended to get sober, myself included. Eventually we stopped having Thanksgiving at our house and my cousin took it over. My parents say it got too expensive having both holidays at our house but I'm pretty sure they got tired of being judged. After all, it is their fault for not being able to see the signs.

Funny how no one ever mentions the abortion my parents paid for. Not mine of course. But the daughter of one of my perfect family members. Who at the time was fifteen. They never mention the lying, cheating or violence. And why would they? Maybe I just don't get it. I've never stepped on that moral high ground they all walk on. I've never been invited.

See my parents, raised me to be loving and tolerant. To use the gift my dad gave me. Which was the ability to read people. To use that as a tool needed only for protection. He showed me how to listen to my instincts. How to use caution when dealing with strangers. But never, NEVER, stick your nose up. He taught me that humility was the only way to ensure that when the tables turn, (and I promise you they will), I have a seat on the right side.

My mother. She is a beautiful person. The epitome of a strong woman. Her unconditional love and loyalty was the only thing that got me through some days. Of course I didn't realize it until later on in life. When the entire world had given up on me and everyone else in our family had their nose up, she was there. And when I cried to her because I wasn't invited to my cousin’s she said:

"That's ok. We didn't really want to go."