Pained

18

June 25, 2013

I was 10. It was my summer. Happy to be out of school, I was spending my free three months with my dad, going to the pool, seeing family friends.

Her actions continued to haunt me. She'd attempted several times to get into our apartment my dad worked very hard to pay rent for.

One night, she got high, crawled under the complex gate and banged on the front door at the bottom of the stairs that lead straight to our unit at the top. My dad told me to stay in my room, to lock my door and hold it shut.

We'd moved out of our previous apartment one day when she was at work, a job that she was close to getting fired from due to her absence since she'd go out and binge with any man who could get his hands on her. She would lay out lines, open her pill bottles that were prescribed to somebody else, and inject the drugs into her skin. Alcohol wasn't enough. In fact, she avoided it because she hated the bitter taste and strong smell. Quite ironic.

That night, I was sitting on my bed. I heard my dad open the front door at the bottom of the stairs, and I heard stomping on the steps. It sounded like she was running up, trying to get to me. Soon, I heard her screaming. Screaming to let her in. To see me. To take me to "a better place." Seconds later, I heard the front door slam shut. I looked out my window from the second floor and saw her throwing her hands around. She had her hands on her hips, standing in the middle of the parking lot.

A smirk formed on her pale, tired face. She looked so crooked. I had bad vision, but I could still see how big her pupils were. The bags under her eyes looked like bruises. She had dry blood stains on her head, and her arms were covered in red, yellow and purple spots.

I stared at her, refusing to recognize her as my mother. All she'd become to me, is the woman that birthed me. She wasn't anything more but a druggie that brought me into the world. She even almost killed me, for when she was pregnant, she was unable to wait 9 months to take her self-prescribed doses. I was born blue, not crying. They thought I was dead, but here I am.

And there she was. When she moved closer to our garage door, I scooted to the other side of the window, trying to see what she was doing, and when I did, I immediately regretted it. My eyes widened and my expression scowled as she pulled down her pants and squatted down to urinate on the concrete in front of the door.

I backed away from the window and fell into my bed, amazed by her stupidity. She had such a great life before she fell into her hole. She had everything. A man who loved her and knew how to show it, a safe home, a loving family and valuable friends. She threw it all away.

On the night of July 25, 2013, she called my father's number. They argued for about 40 minutes. Maybe an hour. I don't remember, but when they were done, he passed the phone to me. It was the first time he made me talk to her.

I was so fed up of her leaving me. She ABANDONED me. Her daughter. I wasn't even her only child. I have a half brother who's eight years older than me, and she didn't give him attention either. She was too busy selling her body for whatever high she could get her hands on.

Though I always secretly despised what she was doing to herself and those around her, I always ran back. I always let her in. She was toxic, and I fed off of her fake love.

Sometimes, my dad would let her come over as long as she was sober. She'd stay the night. She would sleep in my bed or lay with me until I fell asleep then move over to my dad's room. I always hugged her tight when I would see her. I guess I was just holding on because I knew she would only be around for a couple of days then gone for the next months or longer.