Your Father isn't perfect.
Actually he's the complete opposite. He tells you he loves you but only after you watch him dig in the downstairs closet for the bottle of ***** hidden away because loving you was too ******* exhausting.

Your Mother is a strong woman though.
She'll hold back her tears and smile at you and tell you everything is going to be alright until you watch her go upstairs, realizing she's going to the medicine cabinet to try and swallow all of her lies.

So here you are.
17 years old and trying to figure out ways to drown out the voices in your head. Nobody tells you how lonely your bed becomes when you finally start realizing that you'll never be stable enough to have someone cry in it with you.