Damn you Pearl Jam! I hate that every time I hear your song Better Man, I go down memory lane and rediscover how lame I really am. I mean how is it that certain songs remind me of every moment I was a failure in life. It is bad enough to get your heart broken to Nazareth's Love Hurts, but seriously, my own fucking memories are destroying perfectly great songs.
I know I should be over the whole teenage angst shit, but let's get real. I bet each and everyone of us harbors a small amount of angst that we wish would stop having a permanent residence inside of us. I know I am generalizing, but cut me some slack, I feel alone in most things, please don't tell me I am alone in this too!
So it comes down to this, as the song is playing, I turn it up and sing it at the top of my lungs. I know every word by heart, and listened to that album a few hundred times. Why? Well the Christmas the album was released, I scored it as a present. To my surprise so had my crush. He was everything I thought I wanted, yet I was a total bitch to him at first. Oh how I could tell the younger version to take chances, but alas here I am. Old spinster full of regrets and stuck with a lifetime of what if's. The biggest chicken I know. Back to the story, here it was Christmas night, I had a wine cooler I snuck into my room. I downed it and made the phone call. Three rings and he answered. Oh no, what next??? I froze for a second, then my liquid courage kicked in.
"Um, is Sam Montes home?"
"This is him, is this Raven?"
Holy shit!! How did he know it was me? Caller ID? Oh yeah, my voice, the voice of a sex operator, how could I forget. I get reminded daily.
"Yes, it is, um Merry Christmas Sam!"
"Merry Christmas, Raven. How are you doing?"
"Oh, I am good just listening to the new Pearl Jam CD, you?
"How cool, so am I, I got it for Christmas. Have you listened to it yet?"
"I am now, any good songs?"
"I like Better man"
"Oh cool, so do I"
This began an hour long chat on music and bands, and what we liked and didn't like. It was a conversation we had many times before, but this time, I thought for sure it was fate! So I would sit back and wait, and wait, and let's face it, nothing ever came of it. Fate became my enemy, and being cynical became habit.
As I look back now, I see the pattern. Every single guy I had a crush on, was just that a crush. I never dared tell them, and the few I did tell, only met me with rejection. So I grew to keep my mouth shut, and my heart closed. Rejection was something I grew to hate. Being dismissed enough by my own family, there was no way in hell, I would let a stranger make me feel that way.
I really gotta find a new station, these songs are killing me.
Lost Little Girl Part 2
Another day, another drama. I wake up and it is all about her. Do I have time for myself? What does that even mean anymore? I can't remember the last time I got dolled up for a night out amongst friends. Why? They quit inviting. I can't blame them really. When every time I plan to go, some kind of drama happens. So instead, I just say no thank you from the get go. It was exhausting trying to plan, and making sure my things fit around her schedule. How in the world will I ever get ahead?
I do have some solace. I like to call it TV series therapy. Late at night, when the house is finally quiet, I can sit down and try to watch an old TV series and get lost in the characters. Sad to say, they become my friends in a way. I escape, even if it is just an hour or so at a time. I forget what is really happening. I forget about the abyss I have submerged myself into. I forget most of all, that I am hiding. It is what I do best.
Blending in and becoming a chameleon is probably my best asset. Why? When you blend, and don't stand out, no one asks questions. No one pries into your private life. No questions, no awkward details. I mean seriously, dealing with the demise of an addict is not on a person's top ten discussion list.
I do keep searching, trying to figure it out. Where is the light at the end of this tunnel? How can I emerge unscathed? The answer is simple.
I won't. One way or another, this has become a part of who I am, and who I am to become. Now if I could only figure out who exactly that is. I often tell myself, "Raven it could be worse. Think if you were born in a third world country." It is true.
Yet still the tightness in my chest, when I see the remnants of her use, reminds me otherwise. I just shake my head, shed a silent tear, if I say what I find, its a fight.
I think it is time for another episode of Buffy, or Angel, I need to see how they are tonight.
Lost Little Girl Part 1
Here is a new story I am sharing with all of you. Graphic words and material may be written here. Please be advised.
I slowly open my door, I tiptoe into the kitchen, find a clean cup or bowl or whatever will hold my cereal. I carefully pour my milk and I sit down with my TV tray in front of the old fashioned television set. I have to be very very quiet, I tell myself. I don't want to wake mommy. She is "sick" and will get mad if I do. I tiptoe into her room, yes she is home, asleep, and breathing. Whew we made it through another night. Now back to my cartoons.
At 34, you would think this scenario would never have to play in my head again. Unfortunately for me, it is a daily recurrence. As hard as I wish, and as much as I try not to be bothered by the same events, the harder it is for me to let go. This memory should just haunt me, right? I should be over this type of thing?
Impossible. Not going to happen, I have tried, and contemplated, I have yelled and cried, I spoke with intelligence and logic, but nothing changes. Same selfish acts, same selfish mother. People may see this and scream how dare you! Do you know how lucky you are to still have her in your life? Do you know you should show respect?
All I can say in response is, walk in my shoes, see what I see, and then we will talk. Wake up every morning, tiptoe into her room, check if she is breathing. Stay awake at night when she has disappeared. Or better yet wait for the call from the hospital saying she has been admitted because she was too fucking high to get back home.
Then, I welcome all comments and concerns. As hard as it is to say this, and as hard as it is to admit, I need to. Release this secret from upon my chest. Set it free, to fly in the wind. Let go, so I can stop choking on the truth. So I can stop pretending it will be alright. Most of all find out who I really am, besides a series of built up lies and made up stories of how wonderful, I imagined it would be to just be normal. That my friends was never going to be a part of my story. Much less a part of my life.
So I keep beating around the bush. Okay, breath, here it goes. My name is Raven Jackson and my mother is an addict.
Whew, there I said it, clear and honest. Now do I get a pin or something for sharing?