My parents were a coke addict and international drug trafficker, respectively. I didn't meet my father until I was 14. I fell off foster system's radar a few years earlier, ended up moving in with my mother when she got out of prison.

My mother was in NA, really obsessed with being seen as normal and acceptable. Pushed me hard to shape up, bought a house she couldn't afford, basically did everything she could to improve others' perception of her. Eventually she cracked. Relapsed and lost everything. Stole all my savings, some heirlooms my grand mother had given me, even stole my girlfriend's checkbook and emptied her college fund.

As for my dad, he got out of prison and decided he was going to get rich again at any cost. Tried starting a few businesses that all blew up in his face. Ended up living off his start up loans, fell into debt pretty bad. Ended up living with him for few months in my early twenties. I caught him stealing money from me and decided to move out. He threatened to set all my stuff on fire while I had it on the porch for moving, so that got him off the list for Christmas cards pretty quick.

Bonus side story: When my granddad died, he was on his way to my place to give me his car for my birthday. My uncle, fresh out of prison for coke and armed robbery, was living with him and knew about the car plan (I lived ~200 miles away, so everything was planned out in advance). He decides to take the car for himself.

Despite really needing a car while working and going to college, I decide to be the bigger man and let him have it - after all, once the rent ran out on grandad's place, that car would be my uncle's only home.

Fast forward a few months, he had moved in with one of his friends, outstayed his welcome, and set the building on fire when asked to leave, killing two people. He then proceeds to go on the run. In my car.

tl;dr: Don't trust "family"