A Letter to my mom who still drinks

**Names are redacted**

A letter to my mom who still drinks,

Growing up, I thought that your drinking was normal. When I was still just a small child, I remember getting yelled at for trying to drink mommy’s soda. I didn’t understand it at the time. It was just soda, and daddy never got mad when I stole a drink from his soda. I thought I was bad and I wanted to be a good girl. So I learned never to touch mommy’s drinks.

It wasn’t until middle school where I started to realize your drinking wasn’t normal. We had moved to a new state. None of my friends lived nearby and I always had to beg for rides from my friends parents to do anything after school. Dad worked too late, and for a long time I didn’t understand why you always said no. But I know now, you said no because by 3 pm, you couldn’t wait any longer for your first drink of the night. You weren’t willing to drive me anywhere when you had been drinking. While I respect the fact you wouldn’t drink and drive, it hurts to know that being able to drink every evening was a higher priority than me. I either had to wait for dad to get off work at 5 pm, and beg him to drive me somewhere, miss out on spending time with friends, or hope that my friend’s parents were willing to pick me up and drop me off. 

Moving to Washington was really where life started to go down hill. We lost so many people in our family. You lost both of your parents, dad was losing his dad and everyone was grieving. [Brother] had started his battle with addiction and our home was not the safe and comforting place I had in my childhood. [Brother] would come home high, you would be drunk by 5 pm and the chaos ensued. Back then, I blamed [Brother] for everything. I blamed the destruction of our family solely on his shoulders. And that was true for years.

I watched how much you and dad struggled to try and help [Brother] and I wanted to make your lives easier. I learned to keep everything to myself so you two wouldn’t have to worry about me, on top of everything else. [Brother] was stealing, getting in trouble with the law, growing more violent by the day, and going in and out of rehab. The recession had beaten us down financially, and you spent most of your time trying to make sure [Brother] was doing everything he was supposed to be doing. 

Do you want to know the first time you truly hurt me mom? The first time I felt I couldn’t ever tell you my feelings? It was when my cat Johnny went missing. I had felt so alone in our family and that cat comforted me through the deaths of all of my grandparents. You and dad were so caught up in your own grief to worry about mine and that cat, who hated to be cuddled, found his way into my lap to purr every night I cried over their deaths.

Then, one night you were up late drinking and smoking with the front door cracked and he got out. The morning of valentines day, I woke up and realized my cat was nowhere to be found. He had gotten out before, but we had always realized right away and had been able to track him down.  This time, days went by and I spent hours searching for him to no avail. I cried and was in desperate need of comfort. I have no memory of a comforting hug, of you helping go out searching for him. Instead, what I remember was me sitting on the couch in the family room sobbing and your words to me were, “You’re crying more over that cat than you did your own grandfather.”

That was the first time in my life that words had ever cut me so deep. And they were words out of my own mothers mouth. They were full of anger and resentment and made me feel so utterly unimportant and guilty. And I was so angry. Angry because I knew that wasn’t true. Angry because my own mother had no idea how much I cried over my grandfather, because I had to do it alone, in my room, silently, while cuddling a cat that was now nowhere to be found. Sure, 12 year old me blamed you a little for accidentally letting my cat out. But even at 12 I knew you hadn’t done it on purpose. I’ve long forgiven you for that. But I have never forgotten those words. I remember being stunned, shocked, and even more heartbroken than I was before. I was crying in front of you because I had wanted comfort from you. I was letting you see how distraught I was because I knew you weren’t heartbroken over my cat, so I thought that since now my sadness wasn’t a shared sadness, maybe you would have the space to help me feel better. But instead, you showed me that crying in front of you, showing you my pain, would only lead to more pain. I went to my room to hide away from everyone while I wept for the cat that had been my only emotional support through so many bad nights. And I did it alone.

I don’t know if it was because of your guilt, or because you knew how sad I was about Johnny, but my birthday rolled around a month later and you gifted me a kitten. Despite the fact he grew up to be a pretty mean cat, I still loved that cat. Eclipse I named him. After twilight. I was happy to have a pet again, but I do remember feeling like this gift was more for you than for me. To help you overcome your own guilt for what you said to me. 

2 years later, when I was 14 so many things happened. [Sister] got pregnant and [Brother] went to rehab for the first time. You and dad were broke and I knew it. You were paying for his rehab and supporting your pregnant daughter and soon to be granddaughter. I wanted money for a laptop so I got myself my first job. For a month during the summer between middle school and high school I picked up trash on the side of a freeway. By the end of that month I had earned about $900. I spent $300 on a laptop and you took me and my best friend to a nice big mall where we spent hours shopping for school clothes together in preparation for our freshman year of high school. It was the first year you had never given me money to go school clothes shopping and you never did again, despite always paying for my older siblings’ school clothes. But I wanted to help you and dad because I knew how stressed out you were about money. I wanted to make my own money so you and dad wouldn’t have to worry about me. There were things I wanted and I knew I had to rely on myself to get them.

Then one day, I remember coming home from school and you had spent the day with [Brother] buying him new clothes and shoes because he had pawned off everything he owned. You guys had a good day together. I was angry. Despite his digressions and the hundreds of dollars he had stolen from you and dad, he was the one who got new school clothes. I know you were just a mom who was trying to make sure your kid had clothes on their back, but I remember feeling so unimportant. I was the kid who was doing everything right, I was the kid who took care of themselves and was trying to make your life easier, and yet I wasn’t important enough to spend your money on? 

The distance between us only continued to grow. I had started to feel like a stranger in my own home. I had a role to play, be seen and not heard, get good grades, and “stay out of it.” I started keeping things from you, like my relationships. Eventually, I always told you about who I was dating but even in 8th grade, you didn’t find out about my boyfriend until 6 months after we had started dating. 3 months later we broke up and it was my very first heartbreak. Looking back on it, I was desperate for attention. I wasn’t getting it at home so I looked for it in boys. I wanted to marry that boy and he had cheated on me, then abruptly dumped me afterwards. You found me in my bedroom sobbing and came in to attempt to comfort me. At this point, you already didn’t feel safe to me. I desperately wanted to feel comforted by you, but I was an emotional heartbroken teen. I wasn’t used to you paying attention to me, I felt guilty for having a problem you felt you needed to help me with because I had already started to rely only on myself. Your hugs and words of comfort didn’t console me. I don’t know why you got so angry. I’ve always been a crier, I was a melodramatic teen going through her first heartbreak. But once you realized your comfort wasn’t helping something flipped. It was the evening, so you were already drunk and I vividly remember you getting huffy, saying something, looking at me with such hatred in your eyes, then slamming my bedroom door behind you out of frustration.

Was I in trouble for being sad again? I was already heartbroken and now I was in trouble for being heartbroken? I was so horrible even my mother couldn’t stand me. I sobbed even harder, but much more quietly now and learned to keep my feelings to myself, out of fear of being in trouble for having them. 

One of the next things I remember was when [Sister] was graduating. She is 6 years older than me, you were already in your 40’s and your health wasn’t great. I had learned how bad smoking and drinking were for your body in school and I had already lost a grandfather to smoking related cancer. I had lost a grandmother to her addiction to alcohol, and another grandfather who spent the last few years of his life, depressed and drinking. In school I had heard stories from other students who took a stand against their parents drinking and poured all the liquor in the house down the drain to make a point. That idea had been stuck in my head for days but I couldn’t build up the courage to do it. 

But [Sister] graduating made me realize you might not be around to witness me accomplish a big achievement like that. I don’t remember how the conversation started, or why you were standing in the doorway of my bedroom but I do remember asking you, “Will you still be around when I graduate?” You were so angry with me for asking you that. I was crying and scared and again, I was met with those same angry eyes from my breakup. I was in trouble again for being vulnerable with you. You slammed my door and went to the kitchen, where I listened with tears in my eyes as you poured yourself another drink. 

I played with the idea of pouring all the alcohol down the drain to make a point. To be seen and heard by you. To make you understand how much I loved you and didn’t want to lose you. But the fear of repercussions for doing something like that was too great and I had convinced myself I’d only get myself in trouble, and you’d just go buy yourself another gallon of bacardi gold. 

I don’t remember if it was that same year but I remember asking for a new pair of converse. You had bought [Brother] clothes and shoes out of necessity, so despite hating to ask you for anything, I built up the courage to ask. The converse I wanted were on sale at the store. They were normally $60 but were on sale for $40. After I asked, you never gave me an answer, but one day I came home from school and you greeted me with a box with the converse logo on it. I remember being so excited. Finally I was getting a pair of black hightop converse. 

To my angsty teenage dismay, when I opened the box, I found a pair of white slip-on converse with butterflies. I wanted to be grateful. For the first time in a long time you had finally bought something for me. But I couldn’t stop the tears. You didn’t know me well enough to know that I couldn’t stand butterfly designs. I realized you didn’t know what I liked or didn’t like anymore. Or you didn’t care to know. I didn’t complain but you knew I was disappointed and asked me why. You weren’t mad, and you did understand that I just didn’t like them. You thought that I would like them and you tried, I knew you did. But the fact you didn’t know hurt. Maybe it was a miscommunication, I don’t know. But that made me feel so incredibly invisible to you. I was the good kid after all, but I still wasn’t important enough to pay attention to. To get to know. 

As time went on I started isolating myself more and more. In my mind when I was at home I had 2 choices. Sit in the living room in anticipation for the next explosive argument, or hide in my room. I usually chose hiding in my room. At least in there I could turn on music or play a video game to ignore the fighting I wasn’t allowed to be a part of. When it was just you and me, I tried to leave my room. Despite what you might think mom, I didn’t like hiding in there. I wanted to be a part of the family. It just didn’t feel safe. 

I wanted you to like me mom. I wanted you to care about me and take an interest in my life. But I never knew which mom I was getting. When you were sober during the day, or right when you were drinking you were normal. I could talk to you. But once you were drunk I never knew what was going to set you off. By this point I didn’t trust you and I felt like you didn’t know me. 

I remember one time, I was sitting in the recliner, and you were sitting at the window in the dining room smoking and I was talking to you. I was enjoying talking to you and telling you all sorts of things about my friends, my thoughts, my life. You were looking at your kindle mostly, responding minimally to me. I know even to this day that I am great at talking at people. When I get going, sometimes I can’t stop. But back then, I had been dealing with the internal conflict of wanting to please you and wanting to feel safe. You had already started complaining that I always, “locked myself in my room.” So I made an effort to leave my room and talk to you and you seemed uninterested in what I had to say. Then you made the comment, “Wow you just don’t stop going.” You smiled and laughed and I know you meant it lightly. But I was trying. Trying to be the daughter you wanted. Trying to talk to you and let you in, and you made me feel like a nuisance. I felt like I couldn’t win. I upset you when I kept to myself in my room, and I was a nuisance to you when I came out of my room to talk to you. 

As high school went on, everything that had started in middle school just got worse. [Brother] slipped further into his addiction and brought more danger and chaos into our home. I woke up constantly to you and [Brother] screaming at each other. When I tried to eat dinner with you and dad in the living room I was at the mercy of your drunken anger. Your passive aggressive comments to me and dad. Your unhappiness. When you and dad fought with [Brother], I’d try to say my peace but was always told to, “stay out of it.” So what else was I supposed to do? Sit there and watch while you, dad, and [Brother] were at each other’s throat? Sit there in silence and fear until I became the next target of everyone’s anger? 

I was so desperate to get out but I still wanted to make you and dad proud. I became more self reliant. I started working and paying my way. I got my license on my own, you and dad helped me with my first car, I started college in high school and I did everything right. I got my license at 16, I got straight A’s, I went to college early. I kept to myself and tried to take any opportunity I could to stay out of the house. Our home felt like a warzone. You probably don’t remember it, but you would pick fights with [Brother] in the middle of the night. You two would have an argument that would start in the living room. Maybe it was over him staying out too late or skipping school or god knows what else. Then he would walk away to his room and you would sit at the window in the living room, drinking and smoking, ruminating on your unhappiness. Then you would storm into his room and pick another fight. Adding more fuel to the fire, slam his door and walk away. Then another hour would pass and you’d do the same thing. Sometimes he’d fight back, sometimes he was the one to start it. Back then, I thought it was all his fault. If he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, you wouldn’t have anything to yell at him about. But I know now that isn’t the truth. Sure, if he had been a perfect kid, there would have probably been less fighting but you are an angry drunk. 

I’ll never forget the night you barged into everyone’s room and demanded we get up and clean. It was 11 pm on a school night. [Sister] still lived at home and you had been in your spot, drinking, smoking, and stewing over something. Then you decided we all needed to get up and clean. You woke us all up and started yelling at us about how filthy the house was and that we all needed to get up and clean. I’m thankful dad was there because he stepped in. He told you it was late and that we needed to be in bed for school. You conceded, but turned your anger towards him. You huffed and went back to your perch where you continued to drink in your misery while we all tried to sleep. 

Did you know I’ve never been good at sleeping? It’s been so long now that I can’t even remember a time where I could easily fall or stay asleep. I’m an extremely light sleeper, any sound or movement wakes me up and my dreams are plagued with regular nightmares. I think it’s better now, or maybe it’s just become normal for me. 

But the nights of lying awake trying to tune out the fighting and slamming doors took its toll. The shared sadness I felt listening to you sit at your perch sobbing, the terror I felt when I heard your footsteps come down the hall towards our rooms. Not knowing if it would be you or [Brother] barging or sneaking into my room at night. Did you know how I used to fall asleep in high school? I would blast three days’ grace and tap my foot to the drums to calm myself. Their music was loud enough to tune everything out.

Then of course, I can’t forget the night you drunkenly barged in my room to get mad at me about something and scolded me for falling asleep with my headphones on. You were worried I’d strangle myself in my sleep. You didn’t know how much those headphones saved me. But I learned to hide the thing I needed from you. I’d listen to my music but always keep my ear open for your thundering footsteps down the hall, so I could hide my headphones before you’d barge into my room. 

There is so much you don’t know about me mom. Even from back then. I don’t know if you’ve ever known me. Do you know how toxic my relationship with [Ex boyfriend 1] was? Did you ever realize how desperate I was to feel special to someone? What I put myself through? Did you know how desperate I was to save someone else because I felt like I couldn’t save myself? You see, [ex boyfriend 1] did this really neat thing, where if I upset him or made him worried I’d break up with him, he’d threaten to kill himself if I ever did. I’d innocently say the wrong thing and he wouldn’t talk to me for days because of it. He was abusive, unpredictable, but I thought I could save him. Just like I thought I could save you. I dated him for 3 years. It took me way too long to build up the courage to accept that if I dumped him and he killed himself I’d just have to accept that. But don’t feel bad, none of my friends knew how unhealthy that relationship was. Because of you, I had learned it was safer to keep things to myself rather than tell people about me or my life. 

I learned that very quickly when I was scolded by you for posting song lyrics on facebook. I posted song lyrics from the song “Family portrait by pink, “It ain’t easy growing up in World War III Never knowing what love could be, well, I’ve seen I don’t want love to destroy me like it did my family.” Facebook had recently updated you see, so I could now choose who could and couldn’t see my posts. You and dad always hounded me about not telling people about what was going on at home. That it wasn’t my place to share that information. That I shouldn’t even tell my friends about it. So I became great at hiding things. I posted those lyrics and made sure that you and dad couldn’t see the post. I don’t know exactly how you found out. If [Sister] showed you or if you saw it on accident. But it didn’t stop you from coming to yell at me about it. To tell me to delete it. Again, I found myself being ignored. I mean, you saw your child posting song lyrics like that and rather than taking it as a cry for help, it made you angry. Why? Was it because you thought I was embarrassing you? Because you didn’t want the world to know how bad things were? Why did it matter so much? Why wasn’t I allowed to express myself?

Did you ever notice me? Did you realize how depressed I became? Sophomore year was the most intense. I’d be washing the dishes and walking through the kitchen with a knife, imagining someone walking by me and “accidentally” stabbing myself with the knife. Did you realize I always carried the knives in a way where they were pointed at my abdomen? 

But of course, I knew better than to confide in you about something like that. I remember the hell you gave [Sister] when you found out she was cutting herself in high school. Don’t worry, I never did that. Because I knew better. If I was going to hurt myself, I was going to have to do it in a way you wouldn’t realize it was intentional. I’d have silent panic attacks in my room at night where I would scratch myself, pull my hair, bite myself, punch my legs. Never enough to leave anything more than a bruise here or there. But I made sure it was never very noticeable. I didn’t know if I could handle getting in trouble for wanting to die. But our home scared me more than death itself. 

You taught me how to keep secrets. How to hide, how to be invisible, how to be self reliant and play my role. Junior and Senior year is when I think you started to realize how little I needed you. On occasion, you still tried to play your role as mother. But I didn’t need you anymore. I was already taking care of myself. One night, I came to you while you were in the kitchen cooking and asked you if I could go hang out with [best friend]. By this point I had my own job, paid for my own gas, and was already succeeding in community college. You asked me, “Have you done all your homework?” That question made me so incredibly angry and I got immediately defensive. I couldn’t remember the last time you had asked me that question and the fact that your question insinuated I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing, pissed me off. I was doing everything right but you still doubted me? You were suddenly trying to be a mother and you wanted to pay attention to what I was doing now? I don’t remember if I said this to you or if I just thought it to myself, but if you wanted to say no because you wanted me home for dinner, you could have just said no. I knew that despite all my independence I was still in your house and had to abide by your rules. Thus why I asked to go hang out instead of just leaving without asking like your other two children would have done. 

Then there was the time you found out I had lost my virginity by going through my journal without permission. It was senior year, I was dating [ex boyfriend 2], and spending the night at his place without you ever knowing. But, because you must have been realizing I wasn’t going to be around much longer you must have been desperate to grasp at one of your last opportunities to mother me. I had left a journal with the list of camping supplies I needed for an upcoming camping trip with [Friend] to the property. In that journal I had written once about my woes with [ex boyfriend 2] weeks prior. I didn’t think twice about leaving that journal on the kitchen counter because it wasn’t my diary, and I guess I still thought I could trust you not to go through my stuff. I mean, I knew you had never read any of my diaries because if you had, you would have learned many things you wouldn’t want to know. How much I had wanted to die, how abusive the boys were that I dated. But no. This time, the last summer I lived in your home, you violated my trust by reading my journal and inquired about [ex boyfriend 2] going on that trip with us. I knew then that you had read my journal. Your excuse? I had left it on the counter. And for the record, yes he did go with us, as did everyone else’s romantic partners at the time. I was 18 and as far as I was concerned, it was none of your business anymore. 

As a young adult, my role very quickly became the family confidant. The responsible and reasonable one. The one people relied on and trusted. The one you could fucking count on. I did my best to do everything that was expected of me. I got a job, paid my way, got a license and car, and became self-reliant. Got my high school diploma and my associates degree by the time I was 18. Saved up money to move out on my own without any help from you or dad. Do you know how guilty I felt about moving out? I didn’t want to leave you alone with [Brother]. I was worried you and dad were either going to get killed by him or become so miserable because your one prized child was gone. I felt responsible for your emotions, for your happiness. Moving out left me feeling so incredibly conflicted. I wanted to take care of you and dad because I believed it was my responsibility to do so. But I also knew that I needed to get out of that house. My life depended on it. 

As the time to move out rolled around, I remember feeling so resentful towards you. At the time you were helping support [Sister] and your granddaughters. Using any extra money to help her take care of the kids. I remembered when she moved out the first time how much free stuff you gave her. Dishes, household items, anything she needed. All hers because you wanted to make sure she had what she needed. But me? Well I had to buy everything myself. I did it all myself. And let’s not forget the fact that the day I moved out, you and dad weren’t even there to help or say goodbye. I was moving back to Oregon, and rather than sticking around to help me load up the truck, you went to [Sister]s to spend halloween with your grandkids. 

It made me feel so wildly unimportant. Before your grandkids were born, you had stopped giving a fuck about holidays. You never did anything to make them feel special while I was still around. We didn’t go to the pumpkin patch anymore, or even carve pumpkins together. If I wanted to do any of that, I was left to do it on my own. But not with the family anymore. And let’s not forget my last christmas at home. You and dad were happy to do whatever holiday activity with your grandkids, but when I wanted to decorate the house for my last Christmas at home together, neither of you could be bothered. I remember finally breaking down after asking, and asking to have the Christmas decorations brought down from that attic. I finally went up there and got them myself. I don’t remember if I said any of these feelings or thoughts aloud to either of you. But it hurt me so much that neither of you cared that this was going to be the last Christmas I spent living at home. You two had all but given up on the holidays when it was just me to enjoy them with you. You guys did anything for your grandkids but me? I didn’t matter anymore.  

Despite everything, I still never felt like I was good enough. I tried to be the best daughter I could be. And it was never fucking enough. When I was a child, I wanted to do everything right because I thought it would help the family. I thought I could somehow fix everything if only I was good enough. The good little girl who did everything right. The one who made you and dad proud. As a teenager I realized I wasn’t enough. As a young adult, I still tried to be the kid you guys could rely on. I tried to visit when I could afford to. I tried to mediate problems in the family. I tried to do everything right. But it still was never enough. 

I felt like you care more about [Sister] and [Brother] and your grandkids more than me. Despite how much pain and suffering and stress my siblings put you through, they still got more of you. And I wish you understood how much [Brother] had hurt me and accepted that I was unwilling to reconcile with him. I was afraid of him. But instead, you’d ask me to send him letters while he was in the state hospital and be disappointed with me when I refused. When I’d come to visit, you wouldn’t tell me he was there knowing damn well I didn’t want to be around him. You didn’t give a fuck about how unsafe and scared he made me feel. Because why? Because I had to be like you and let him hurt me over and over again and still welcome him with open arms? I had to fucking protect myself from him in the only way I knew how and that was to keep him away from me. But you couldn’t even respect that. You forced me into being around him. Made me feel guilty for not wanting to be around him. And it wasn’t just you, so many family members would press and push me to “forgive” him. 

By that time the [Brother] that had done all the hurting didn’t exist anymore. He was dead to me, and the shell that still looked like him, “couldn’t remember” what he had done to me. He had tried to apologize to me, but it was an empty apology. I mean, afterall, how can you fucking apologize when you have no memory of what you had done? My big brother died in his addiction. The little kid I used to consider my best friend didn’t exist anymore. I don’t know that person anymore and I don’t want to. I have the right to decide who I want to be around me. And I refuse to let people who make me feel unsafe have any access to me. But you still pushed me to forgive him and constantly disregarded my needs and wants. 

Dad could fucking respect it and leave it alone, but you never could. So many fucking family members who don’t have a fucking clue about what happened in our home, pushed me to forgive him and be around him. The only family member who heard what I had to say, and accepted it right from the beginning was dad. But you and [Sister]? Oh no. You guys loved to push me to forgive him. Loved to add to the tremendous guilt and feeling of not being enough. 

Over time, you didn’t push as hard, but your blatant attempts to try and have us be around each other was disrespectful and damaging. I didn’t like going to visit you and dad because I didn’t want to be around [Brother] and I couldn’t trust that you would respect that wish. You walked all over my boundaries because I needed to forgive him for you. But what about what I need? 

I started visiting you and dad less and less. Partially because of [Brother], but also because any time I visited I was a heap of anxiety. You and dad fought every night because whenever you were drunk, (which is any time after 5 pm) you were always angry and picking fights. I couldn’t stand to be around you when you were drunk. I couldn’t stand talking to you when you were drunk. 

And so began the attempts at controlling my behavior and the countless guilt trips. I had lost any concept of identity by spending my entire life trying to be the perfect daughter. I didn’t know who I was and I was in a progressively more abusive relationship. I’d not respond to you or dad because I didn’t have the energy. I was working full time and going to university full time on top of dealing with an increasingly more toxic and abusive boyfriend. I didn’t have the energy to take care of your emotional needs anymore. So in response, when I wouldn’t respond to you in a timely enough manner, you’d threaten to call the police for a welfare check. Initially, that guilt trip worked. I mean, I was already so overwhelmed with everything in my life, I didn’t need the police showing up to my house too. 

Then I got my degree. My life had been miserable up until them and I was so incredibly burnt out. But I had done it. I was the first college graduate of my family. You and dad threw me a graduation party, but I felt no sense of accomplishment. All these people were “proud of me” but did it really even matter if I wasn’t proud of myself? I mean, if I had done it just to make you and dad proud, was it ever for me? Was it ever what I wanted? Yes, I wanted that degree. But I was so incredibly miserable along the way that it didn’t feel worth it. 

Not long after that, [ex boyfriend 2] hit me for the first time. By then, I was seldom visiting. It took me about a month after he hit me for the first time to work up the courage to leave him. With the help of [Friend], I had an escape plan and she helped me execute it. Despite the fact I was in a place where I should have been able to rely on my mother for support and help, I didn’t feel safe going to you and originally, I wasn’t going to tell you about it at all. 

I came over with my birth certificate, gun, and precious valuables to store at your house until I got out of my apartment with [ex boyfriend 2]. I sat in the garage and told dad about what was going on, and I asked him not to tell you. Because I was afraid of what you would do or say while you were drunk. I couldn’t trust you with that sensitive information because you were not trustworthy. But, dad convinced me to tell you and I did. And I regretted it. 

The following week, I had to secretly clean out the barn I was going to be living in and I spent as much time out of my apartment as possible. I was trying my best not to raise any red flags so [ex boyfriend 2] wouldn’t find out I was leaving because I was terrified of what he would do if he found out. I wanted to be able to get out quietly and safely without him knowing because I was afraid of what he would do to me.

And you jeopardized my safety mom. Because you were drunk. I was over at a friend’s house, we were watching a movie and talking and I saw you had messaged me. I was busy, it was 11 pm and I didn’t want to talk to you because I knew you were already drunk. So I tried to ignore you. Then, you blew up my phone. You then threatened to send police to my house for a welfare check which would have done nothing but put me in more danger. I had no idea what you would tell the police, or what the police would have told [ex boyfriend 2] had they shown up at my apartment when it was only him there. I had no choice but to answer you because I didn’t know if you were going to blow my cover. I was so incredibly angry with you, and your behavior did nothing but reaffirm why I didn’t want you to know in the first place. You are not trustworthy. You are not a safe person. I was trying to take care of myself, and protect myself, and you threatened my safety because you were too drunk to realize how reckless your behavior was. I couldn’t imagine what would have happened had my phone been on silent in another room. 

But I finally got out of that relationship. After awhile of living in a cold barn, I got my own place and decided I needed to figure out who the fuck I was and stop trying to take care of everyone else around me. I needed to unlearn the unhealthy coping skills and relationship dynamics I was so familiar with and I needed to get away from you to do that. The year I lived alone while working as a dispatcher wasn’t easy. I was depressed. But I wasn’t afraid in my own home for the first time since I was a child.

I knew I needed to set boundaries with you. Because despite everything mom, I do love you and I wanted you in my life. There was a sense of responsibility I felt in taking care of you, like I had always done. But I realized I needed to take care of myself too and that I was finally important enough to put first.

The first boundary I tried to implement was that I wouldn’t stay at your house past 5 pm because I knew you would be drunk by then. That meant, I wouldn’t be staying for dinner anymore. Which does suck because you are a great cook, but I needed to draw a line. I needed to find a way to have a relationship with you that I could handle. I like you when you’re sober. But I can’t stand you when you’re drunk and it just makes me a guilty, angry, resentful mess when I talk or am around you when you’re drunk.

But alas, I’d come for a visit and try to leave before dinner and I was met time and time again with guilt trips about how I “Never come to visit” and how I “hadn’t been there that long.” I was trying to manage a relationship with you and the guilt was still eating me alive.

The second boundary I tried to set was that I wouldn’t answer my phone and talk to you at night. For the same reasons I wouldn’t stay for dinner. But that didn’t work. I wouldn’t answer you and you and dad would threaten to call in a welfare check. Which was, in my opinion, even worse now since it meant you were threatening to call my place of work because I wouldn’t answer you. I felt cornered. Either deal with the embarrassment of my coworkers all talking about how my drunken mother calls into my work and let them in on all my dirty secrets, or ignore my boundaries and respond to your messages and calls. You put me in that position and it killed me inside. 

 Finally it came to a point where despite finally having a successful job and being 100% financially stable for the first time in my life, I still was miserable. I was riddled with guilt, anger, and still had no idea who I was or what I wanted out of MY life. So, I decided it was time to get out of dodge and decided to move states. 

I avoided telling you and dad for so long because of the guilt I felt. But finally I told you and I knew neither of you were very happy with my decision. But I needed to change something. The year I lived alone I came the closest I’ve ever come to ending my life. I was so unhappy and I didn’t want to die, but the lows hit hard and something had to change. So I decided a change of scenery was due. It was a leap of faith and I took it. Alone, like I always do. 

I did have the intention initially to keep in contact with you and dad and despite how little you must think of my attempt, I did try. But trying to fall asleep while your drunk mother is blowing up your phone in the middle of the night on a work night, is pretty aggravating. You continued with this behavior and continued to threaten welfare checks. But this time, I knew it wouldn’t work. You didn’t have my address and at most police would probably just call me and I’d explain the situation. I’d inform them you were drunk and I was not answering your calls and ask them to put a note on your number not to respond to welfare checks from you and move on. It wasn’t like you’d be calling my work anymore, or be putting me in danger by sending police to my house in the middle of trying to escape an abusive relationship. You didn’t have power over me anymore and you couldn’t force me to talk to you when I didn’t want to. 

But when you did that, you had finally crossed a line and I was no longer willing to put up with it anymore. I became all but unresponsive to both you and dad. I wanted to be left to myself because after all, I was raised to rely on no one but me. So it was time to focus on me and stop letting you have so much control over my emotions and self worth. 

I moved states again by the way. I’m not in colorado anymore. It took me a long time but I finally cut contact with you and told you exactly why I was doing so. I had tried so hard to convince you to get sober, but you refused. One of the last things you said to me before I moved to Colorado was, “I am who and I am and I’m never going to change.” I haven’t forgotten that sentiment. It helped me accept that it wasn’t my responsibility to carry your emotions anymore. It wasn’t my job to console you when you were drunk. I had done everything I could have possibly done to salvage a relationship with you, and you weren’t willing to try at all. Everything was on your terms and I was no longer willing to accept those terms. I decided I mattered enough to protect my peace.

I know this is hard to hear, but since I’ve stopped talking to you, my life feels so much more peaceful. I don’t live in constant anxiety and guilt, waiting for the next time you’re going to blow up my phone. My life is so much less chaotic and I am happier. I don’t miss you but I am sad I don’t have a mom like others do. I never had a mom I could call when I had a bad day. I never had a mom I could trust with my worries. I never had a mom I could feel safe with. 

Instead I have a mother who drinks. Who doesn’t want to change and who plans to live this way until her dying days. I have a mom who I might not ever talk to again before she dies. I have a mom, who chooses to drink, over having a relationship with me. I respect the fact that addiction is a disease. That you can’t just stop drinking without any help. But I spent my early adulthood trying my best to provide you with everything you needed to get help and you didn’t want it. If you want to drink that is fine. You are free to live your life as you please. But know that your choices have consequences and that one of them is the loss of your relationship with me.

Despite everything, I do love you. But I’m not going to love you to death.

-K.M.
Circa 2024