As each glass of elixir hits my lips I type. I keep typing, I am on fire, like a machine pre-programmed to not stop until the job is done. The words that once choked me, are now flowing freely. I knocked down my dam and can let it all go. No judgement, no more pain. Just pure unedited emotions spraying across the page.
Page one down, page two, page three...
I hear something or someone at my door. I plead with my inner self, please just go away!! I am on a roll. Who ever it is please just go.
"Raven, what are you doing?"
No, anyone but her. Not now, please. If there is a God, don't do this to me now.
"Raven, answer me!!
Every damn time I am on a fucking roll, she happens. How can I help her, what can I do to make her life easier. Give me this, please just go away. I turn my music up louder in my ears to tune out the banging of the door outside my room.
Type Raven, type, don't lose it know. A louder bang, followed by the all too familar knob turn. She pushes the door open. She is clearly angry.
"Raven, why did you not answer the door?"
I turn around slowly in my chair. Feeling a bit light headed. Oh God, please don't ask me to stand up, I know I won't make it two steps! Damn this alcohol. Dizzy, room spinning, Mom is in front of me. I am trying to gain composure.
"I was writing, had my headphones on, what do you need?"
Mom, standing there, if she could see me, I could feel the tone in her eyes growing impatient.
"What if something had happened, what if I fell? Would you have heard me? No, too busy tinkering away on your computer. When are you going to do things for me?"
Without hesitation, my mouth opens and here I go, "Whoa, hold your horses, I do shit for you all the time, you are just ungrateful and selfish, you only think about yourself."
SHIT!!!! Shut up, Raven, shut the fuck up!! Here we go. What the hell are you doing??
"Well if I am so damn selfish, why are you here? I don't need you, you should be at a good paying job, and have a husband family of your own. Why are you here?"
I bowed my head, I knew this wasn't going to be easy, I knew damn well what I was in for. Why the hell did I have to get drunk tonight?
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?