It’S in My Genes: Addict by Blood, Addiction by Choice.

By Jasmine G. Pearce

Addiction is a disease that affects many lives, and its something that is still being studied. But while there is no cure, there is hopea hope for people who suffer with addiction. Some people may find the help they need, but many others may not.

Its in My Genes is a true story of a young girl who grew up watching the struggle of her own mother fighting alcoholismonly to wind up herself in a devastating battle against addiction at a young age. Hopeless on getting help or having a chance at a better life, she found herself having to face the heartbreak that she caused her family. But through the many tears and self-harming thoughts, she clawed her way out of something many people cannot. And with the right help and support, Jasmine turned her life aroundjust in time to pursue one of her greatest passions in life, and to rekindle the strongest bond anyone could havefamily.

Its in My Genes is a story of hope, and it is an inspiration to anyone who suffers from addictiona chance to see that getting better is possible. But admitting that you need help is the first step. You must want it before you get it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Apr 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781480844810

Jasmine G. Pearce

Jasmine G. Pearce grew up in Spokane WA. During her years of sobriety she has been apart of many AA, and NA support groups. Which, she then developed the tools and knowledge needed to maintain a healthy sober lifestyle. She now resides in Seattle WA working as a full time caregiver at an assisted living facility, and is currently pursuing her degree in Animation at the Art Institute. She is a growing Artist in many different mediums. Visit her online portfolio at Jasminegpearce.carbonmade.com/

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I woke up during the night to hear the loud laughs and chatter of familiar voices, so I untangled myself from the blankets on my bed and crawled out. As I crept down the hallway in my silky pajamas with clouds and moons printed all over, my little bare feet squished into the thick, soft carpet. Trying to not wake my brother or sister as I walked through the house, I could hear the loud roar of my dad snoring as I got closer to my parents’ bedroom. I sneaked past and headed straight for the kitchen, where the chattering of my mom and her friends got louder and louder. I shuffled past the table in the middle of the decent-sized kitchen. I pulled myself up onto the counter and looked through a little window to our backyard, where my parents worked hard to build a shed that we used for our playhouse. Then I looked at the above-ground pool they put in and the beautiful reddish-brown stained deck that wrapped around from the kitchen to the side of the house. I could see the back of my mom—including her dark-black hair—and her two best friends beside her. They were sitting at the table on the side of the deck. This happened more often than not.

As I continued to listen to their drunken conversation and the slurred words coming out of their mouths, I wondered how they could have so much fun just sitting there having conversations about random stuff that didn’t make any sense—at least not to me.

It all makes sense to me now. My mother is an alcoholic.

I will never forget the day my mom left. It was a Friday afternoon, and spring was just around the corner. The lightly chilled air breezed through the small town. The sun was shining through the scattered clouds, and the air smelled crisp and fresh. We had just gotten out of school when my dad decided to take my sister, brother, and me to Fred Meyers to pick up dinner for the night. I remember it exactly because that was when they still had the section where you could go in and rent movies (VHS tapes). I headed straight for the kids’ section, and as I looked at all my options, I found a movie called The Saddle Club. It was about a group of young girls who were in a horseback riding club. I was so ecstatic because I loved horses.

As I grabbed the movie off the shelf, I waved it in my dad’s direction to show him.

Looks good. Bring it here, he said.

Thanks, Dad! I yelled as I raced to him to put it in the basket.

We finished up our grocery shopping for the week and got some dinner for the night. As we left the store, I got even more excited. I couldn’t wait to get home and show my mom the movie I got.

As we pulled up into the driveway, I perked my body up as if I was going to leap out of the moving car, my face pushed up against the window.

Jas, sit back in your seat and wait till we park the car! my dad hollered back at me.

Okay, I said as I rolled my eyes.

As we came to a complete stop, I quickly undid my seatbelt and jumped out of the car with the movie in my hand. I ran up to the front door, and as I went to open the door, it was locked. That was weird because if my mom was home, it shouldn’t have been locked. We lived in a nice neighborhood with a long road filled with decent-sized houses, all nicely kept. Big, beautiful yards were filled with freshly cut grass and bright maple trees along the houses.

Dad! I yelled. The door is locked!

My brother and sister lingered around my dad, watching him gather all of the grocery bags in his arms. As he struggled to get all of them onto each arm, I continued to wait by the front door.

He walked up to me and handed me the keys. Go ahead. Open the door, Jas, he said with a sad smile on his face.

I raced into the house like a wild animal. Mom! Look what I got!

As I ran around the house looking for my mom, I started to realize she was not there. Her car was there, so where would she be? Maybe she was outside. I ran and opened the sliding back door. Mom! I screamed.

There was no reply. She wasn’t outside. I thought about it for a minute, and then something in my gut told me she had not just gone to run an errand. She was gone. Gone. My first instinct was to go into the bathroom and look into her drawer to see if her blow-dryer was still there. As I grabbed the handle of the drawer to open it, my heart raced.

When I pulled open the drawer, my eyes started to tear up. I saw that the blow-dryer was gone. I knew my mom well. If she was going anywhere for more than a day, she was going to take her blow-dryer. As I sat on the bathroom floor with tears running down my face, all these thoughts went through my mind.

Why did she leave? Did she not like living here? Did she and my dad get into another fight?

I was always a pretty clever kid. I paid attention to all the details of my parents. I always knew there was something wrong. With the way they acted, they never really seemed happy. I mean, sometimes they did, but most of the time when my mom made dinner at night, I would see sadness in her eyes.

When my dad came home every night after work, he looked exhausted, of course. Normally you would expect someone to be relieved when they got home from a long day at work, but my dad wasn’t one of those people.

I rocked back and forth while sitting on the floor, my face buried into my hands with tears going everywhere.

He knew what was going to happen as soon as I ran in the door and went looking for my mom. He knew the whole time. He knew she was leaving. This all was just a plan to get us out of the house so my mom could pack up her bags and leave.

I heard the phone ring in the other room.

Hello? my dad casually answered.

I could hear his loud work boots stomping around on the hardwood floors in the kitchen. Then he opened the door to the bathroom, where I was holding myself in the fetal position with tears running down my face. He picked me up, carried me to the recliner in the living room, sat me in his lap, and handed me the phone.

It’s for you, Jas, he said.

Hello? I said as I tried to hide the sound of myself crying.

Hey, honey, it’s me …

For a minute, I had to think about it. It sounded like her, but she sounded different.

Mom! I yelled through the phone. Where are you? Are you coming home?

I heard her sighing as she said, No, Jas, I am going to be gone for a little while. Everything will be okay though. I promise. She had hope in her voice.

But what about my birthday, Mom, and my basketball games? I said as tears rolled down my face. My brother and sister were jumping around as they impatiently waited to talk to my mom.

My dad took the phone from me and handed it to my sister.

Jas, it’s going to be okay. I promise, he said to me.

He knew I would have asked my mom every question possible. As I sat there with my dad while my brother talked to my mom, I thought about the fact that I might never see my mom again. I didn’t even know where she was or why she left.

I didn’t understand, but I knew something was wrong. I remember my dad trying to explain to us why she left. He said she needed help with some stuff and that she was in a good place. It was the worst day of my life. How would I go on without my mom? I couldn’t lose her.

Going to visit my mom in rehab every Saturday was weird for me. I had to sit in that god-awful waiting room, just waiting, waiting for my mom to appear around the corner of the horrifying orange walls of the hallway. My eyes were glued on that hallway, just waiting to see her. I just wanted to see her, to know she was okay. I didn’t want to talk to her. I wouldn’t know what to say.

I was mad at her for leaving. I felt like she had betrayed me. She missed out on a lot of stuff in that month, and I just couldn’t get myself to forgive her. I cried a lot while she was gone. I didn’t want her to know that though. I wanted her to think I was strong, almost like I didn’t need her.

But after a while, I could see the way she had changed while she was in rehab. She seemed happy and healthy. It was like she was a whole new person.

I would never blame my mom for the problems I had growing up.

But after she left, I changed. And when she came back, everything seemed to be okay. I was happy to have my mom home again. But I was afraid. I didn’t ever want to lose her again. I needed her, and that month she was gone, I was miserable. It was nice to have her home again, but I guess I just got tired of feeling scared. Once she came back, I wouldn’t let her go anywhere for more than an hour without calling her to ask when she was coming home. Even if she went to the store, I would always call her. Every night I would make sure to tell her how much I loved her because I was scared I would wake up the next morning and she would be gone.

She was always a good mom to me and my siblings—the best even. I guess I always just felt out of place—like I didn’t belong. Being the middle child, I kind of felt like I just wasn’t as important.

My older sister, Rachel, was always so perfect. She had everything going for her. My little brother, Beau, was like the prince. He was so smart, and everyone adored him.

I guess I always felt like I had to compete with both of them to get my parents’ attention. I mean, it’s not that they loved them more than me; it just felt like I had to work harder to get their attention.

CHAPTER 2

W hen I started seventh grade, I became a little bit of a rebel. I always wanted to break the rules and get into trouble. I think I did it mostly for attention. I started hanging out with a group of kids who weren’t the best influences on me. I began to steal things from the locker rooms and eventually started skipping class. But shortly after, I got in trouble for stealing, and the principal threatened to even call the cops on me if I did it again. Honestly I think I spent more time in his office than I did my classes. Thank God it wasn’t ever more than a long lecture and a detention slip. I couldn’t help it though. I enjoyed breaking the rules. I was a fun and rebellious girl, but that only lasted for so long.

In the eighth grade, I met a kid named Vincent. He was a year younger than me. He had olive skin and long black hair that stopped right above his dark eyes. I had seen him around school before, but I never paid much attention to him.

Then I realized he lived a couple houses down from my best friend, Bailey. He was a really troubled kid, which is why I liked him he reminded me of myself in a way. When I started hanging out with him, we started to get into trouble together. We started drinking together on the weekends. I would usually tell my mom I was staying at Bailey’s house. Then I would always talk Bailey into sneaking out to go see him.

He lived in this old, beat-up house on the corner. His oldest brother was usually home when I went over there. He had been in and out of prison. The whole house always reeked of weed and was just a mess. Vincent and I hung out quite a bit. I would wait for his phone calls after school, and we would talk. I began to really have feelings for him. He was different—kind of sad, but he tried to act tough.

One night I got a phone call from him. I could tell he was drunk. In slurred words, he told me he wanted to commit suicide. I was shocked. I didn’t understand why he would want to do such a thing. I asked him why, and he told me because he didn’t have anyone and that no one cared about him. I started to cry. He really was freaking me out.

But I care about you! I said as the tears begin to roll down my face.

No you don’t. No one does. My parents don’t give a shit about me. No one does, he said

Please stop, I said as I started bawling my eyes out.

No, it’s the truth. I don’t need to be on this planet. No one will miss me, he said, crying.

I need you here though! And I will miss you, Vincent.

No you won’t. No one will. You don’t understand. I could hear him sniffling.

Then explain it to me! I want to understand. Please, just tell me what I can do! I said, still crying.

You can’t do anything. No one can. I’m just done.

Please, stop. You don’t know what you’re saying right now.

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