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?