my life
This article contains explicit and disturbing accounts. Reader discretion is advised.
■ by Ebonie Warren
The Other Epidemic I REMEMBER WALKING home from school by myself on one of the rare occasions that I actually went. My mother had not shown up to get me. I was 6. I could see the house up ahead. Maybe she’s not home, as usual, I thought. But as I approached, I could sense that something was wrong. When I walked into the basement— which was part shooting gallery and
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partly our living space—I immediately started looking for my twin sisters. When I found them in a corner, rocking back and forth, I knew this day would change my life. Then I heard a man’s voice. I followed it to the back and there, on her knees, was my mother with three men standing in front of her. One of them had a gun. I realized in that moment I could deny her nothing.
January/February 2021 ■ ArlingtonMagazine.com
I had taken care of her when she was drunk. When she nodded out with a needle in her arm, I pulled it out. So when she looked at me that day and said, “Mommy needs a big favor,” I somehow knew that my needs didn’t matter. Everyone else came first, and sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the survival of everyone involved, even at the expense of your very existence. I traded my innocence for her life
GETTY IMAGES / ILLUSTRATION BY LAURA GOODE
I am a fifth-generation addict. I’m more than a statistic.
