My house wasn’t a safe place, and I didn’t know that wasn’t normal. My mom was drunk, volatile, and often caught up in conflict. However, that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes she was kind, seemingly happy and fun. Like any child I loved my mother. Sometimes I felt sorry for her. I tried to make her feel better, I tried.
For a child this creates a crazy type of chaos.
When I walked into a room I didn’t know whether I would be hugged, ignored, or slapped. I learned to read the “mood” and happenings in a room very young. What mood is everyone in? Are they drunk? Are they angry? Are they happy? Never walk into a room, if you don’t understand the vibes.
When people picture drunk people they picture poverty. That was not our case. We had everything when it came to material things. Often after a drunk blow-up, maternal guilt would result in a shopping spree. Like most people who live with an alcoholic, I learned not to trust. Not to relax, and mostly not to talk about any issues in our home.
Time moved on and so did my father, Mom had a new man now, he was drunk. He liked fast cars, small dogs, and sometime he was cruel. My bedroom became my safe place. A hiding place, where I would be left alone. I often read, wrote and studied, I hid. At night when I heard fighting, I would silently cry and shake, I didn’t know I was afraid, it had become such a part of me.
I learned to take care of myself and my sister, I made our meals. I got us up for school, I stole money from my mom for lunches, so, I didn’t have to ask. I did the laundry, I made sure nothing was out of place, I tried to keep everyone from being angry. I tried.
I did not have friends over, you never knew what was going to happen at my house
I did not talk about what happened in my house. I tried to fit in at school. I tried. It was a small town, people knew. Rumors flew, I didn’t talk about it. I tried to fit in. I tried.
One night, sirens awaken me, the ambulance takes Mom. Nobody tells me anything, I have learned not to ask questions. I lay awake shaking, when the alarm goes off, I wake up my sister. We eat silently, not talking about the night before. We go to school. On the outside nothing shows, on the inside I wonder, I worry. After school, there was Mom. Happily making dinner. No words were spoken. No explanations given, we were expected to eat a chatty dinner. I wasn’t hungry. I tried to eat anyway, I tried.
Time moved on, so did my sister, she left to live with Dad. I was alone with them now. It was very lonely. The drinking escalated and the money was mostly gone. I couldn’t wait to get out of my house. I was a good student, I knew how to get positive feedback from teachers, coaches and friends. I learned I was smart, I learned I was pretty. In my house I was as invisible as a ghost, I walked quietly, I talked quietly, attention was not a good thing. On the inside so many feeling with no names raged on. I tried
Time moved on and so did I. I met a boy, he liked fast cars, booze, and small dogs, sometime he was cruel. At first he made me feel safe, later he made me feel at home. After all, this was the only life I knew. I tried.
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*I wrote this story with a choppy, immature writing style to set a mood and a feeling. It is an experiment. Please let me know what you think in the comments.
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