Lynda Barry Quotes

When I was a little girl, my family was extremely close, loving and really happy, and then overnight, things just became a nightmare, and instead of them becoming a nightmare and getting better, they became a nightmare and just kept getting worse.

I had a very rocky, difficult, emotional childhood with my parents.

Love came in wounded and frantic ways to my dismaying family.

I didn't have a happy childhood.

I grew up in a dysfunctional family.

I grew up in a little bit of a broken home.

I grew up in a broken home.

My family's messed up, for real.

Home wasn't a pleasant place to live, growing up.

I can barely recall a single holiday when my father didn't make a scene or create some kind of chaos. We were always walking on eggshells.

Well, I had the most appalling childhood.

I had a relatively tumultuous childhood.

I don't believe in happy families.

Everything was an escape for me when I was younger. I had a tumultuous home life thanks to the unsavoury characters my mom would marry. My brother just sort of evaded, and my dad lived far away, so I was left alone.

My dad was an alcoholic, growing up, so I knew how scary that was from a child's perspective - the volatility.

Seeing your parents fall apart is really rough. I wouldn't wish it on anybody.

My family is broken.

There was a lot of turmoil in my family.

We had all these smiley family pictures all over the walls of my house, but I always found those pictures to be odd because we weren't smiling all the time. I don't want to paint the picture of a total dysfunctional house, but there were a lot of arguments in that house. A lot of pain.

Growing up, I didn't have great family dinners. We sat down every night, and my mother cooked food, but it was always about who was going to leave the table crying first.

I grew up in what was not so much a familyas a genetic disaster.

Any kid who grew up with an alcoholic parent will tell you how nauseating it feels never to know what it will be like when you come home.

For the first five years of my life, things felt pretty good. A lot went wrong after that, family-wise.

I remember the bad times as a succession of painful emotional snapshots: Me walking into the library at 24 Sussex, seeing my mother in tears, and hearing her talk about leaving while my father stood facing her, stern and ashen.

When I left home, I was going to ride around a little while and then go to my mom's. As I rode and rode and rode, I felt even more anxiety coming upon me about not wanting to live.