By Lacey HumbleOriginal Source: scarymommy.comI am six years old. My dad and mom are fighting. This time over a field trip that I missed because my parents slept in too late. The screaming starts. I go into the kitchen to see what the commotion is about. I hear my dad yell at my mom and then push her into the glass door. That is my first memory of my parents.I am 12 years old. It’s late and my parents are drinking again, like every other night this week. My sister and I are lying in our bunk beds, trying to go to sleep for school the next day, when the fighting starts again. This time, I blame myself. “I should be doing more to protect my sister.” “They always fight … maybe it’s me?” My sister and I sneak into the kitchen to pour some of their alcohol down the drain so they wouldn’t get so...click here to continue reading