Valentine's Day party could have been better if I'd been a little tipsy. I know it's a downward spiral - relying on alcohol to numb my insecurities and have a good time - and I have no counterargument prepared. Addiction runs through my family's veins. As long as I don't have money and can't buy anything myself, it's not a big deal. However, I feel like if I'm not careful, I could fall into a hole that will be hard to climb out of because it will be so, oh, sweet. But I'm aware of it, right? Does awareness shield me?

     Before the party, my friend was putting on her makeup at her desk, and I sat cross-legged on her bed, telling her a terrifying dream about my mom to drown out the screams from the other side of the door; for her, not for me. Every time I start to think that my upbringing didn't have such a profound effect on me, something happens to disabuse me of this notion, throw me to the ground, and slap me in the face. I knew nothing would happen, that we were safe, that we wouldn't have to defend any of her family members, yet throughout the entire wrangle in the other room, I was as tense as I would be when the same sounds echoed downstairs in my own house. I knew everything would be okay, yet my nervous system was on alert. Parents' screams were parents' screams, whether mine or someone else's. I'd never felt so close to this friend before. She apologized for me having to witness this, but she didn't have to. I understood her, understood her like never before. I know it's not the best way to connect with people, but her persona made even more sense to me. The quote unquote angry daughter. To survive in such an environment, you learn to talk back, to shout, to keep what needs to be bottled up, to pour out only wrath. It was so familiar it was almost abstractly comforting. The lines of bloodline blurred; in that locked room, she was my sister, and I was hers, and our parents morphed into one being, even if mine weren't there. I'd feel embarrassed if she read this, she'd think I was exaggerating the situation, except I know perfectly well it wasn't some huge argument, that it was something natural, commonplace for people like us. What I mean is... I'm used to things like this, and knowing she knows the same thing is... not comforting, but somehow connecting. I wish she knew this, so she wouldn't feel embarrassed because I hadn't changed my mind about her. If anything, my perspective on her has broadened. I used too many words to describe it adequately, to convey this strange feeling. Not necessarily positive, but not entirely negative either. And definitely not neutral.

     I love my parents, don't get me wrong. They're not bad people. But growing up under their care has done irreversible damage to my nervous system and my ability to maintain relationships. But I'm no saint either; I robbed them of much of their goodness by coming into this world before they even considered whether they really liked this life, with each other by their side.

     In the morning, as I brushed my teeth and the argument resumed outside, I realized I felt incredibly awful leaving her alone. I spat the toothpaste into the sink and reminded myself that she'd managed without me until now, and that I'd managed without anyone else before, too. Playing hero wouldn't help. Just before another friend's eighteenth birthday party, I also felt an instinctive urge to snatch her away from her quarreling parents. I was sitting in her room and listening to her tearful tone, my heart shattering, because whether I reacted now or not (how, anyway? By telling them to stop pointing out each other's mistakes? Two grown strangers?), before I entered her life, she'd been through it all before, and it wasn't new to her either; she knew the bitterness and helplessness inside and out, but the familiarity didn't lessen the impact. I wish so badly I could spare them this, I should. But the truth is, we've managed so far, and we'll have to continue to manage. I'd like to say it's easier when you're older, but that's not true. The burden is even heavier, you're even more convinced of your duty to step in when things get physical. It doesn't matter if you're 9, 14, or almost 18. You'll still find yourself standing with your ear pressed against the door, your eyes glued to the moving shadows on the wall by the stairs. I wouldn't call my home abusive; it's not that binary. The solution isn't running away or turning to social services; it's not that kind of "problems at home." I don't blame my parents, I don't think that I do. Sometimes I blame myself for tying them to each other. When I recently watched a movie with my mom where the characters were happily married, I realized she no longer feels that petty, teenage excitement at the thought of one day meeting her soulmate. She's already married. Does she ever feel sad that she has no one else to wait for? That this is it?