Sorry, excessive? It’s one of those nights- and I think it’s enough fucking around (literally and figuratively… okay not literally). I’ve written about this before– my mom. Her problems. Haven’t heard? Read aaall about it here. But I’ve never really told you how it makes me feel.
The first time I had to hold my mother’s hair back was when I was 16.
The year my mother filed for divorce– because according to her, my father was a tyrant– she lost control. And since then, it’s only spiraled from bad to worse. The wine was replaced with vodka. The vodka was accompanied by God knows what pills.
I still can’t find the stash.
Her drinking wasn’t a result of the divorce… it’s a result of a genetic malfunction and a lack of strength. My grandfather… my great grandmother… now my mother… and to some extents, even me- cigarettes and energy drinks- not as innocent as I like to make it sound.
Despite my slight cigarette addiction (<– see how I did that), I’m grateful I don’t end most of my days passed out on the floor or wake up in the morning with bruises on my face because I ran into walls the night before.
When I left California, I thought I had left my mother capable. I encouraged her to take classes at the community college, she was spending less days at home in the dark– and more time outside, living life.