I love her, I really do, and after reading Bella's comment(thanksboo!) I realized its probably not all her, and I need to see both sides
So, I'm going to do my best to fix my side, and hopefully she will soon follow.
And in order for me to fix my side, I'm going to go back to a time where I truly appreciated her,
This was a paper I wrote about 10 months ago.
Broken Wounds
I could not pinpoint the exact day it was all fixed. I could not tell you the event that made it all okay. I probably can not even say that it is all fixed, even now. What I can tell you is that it is better. I can honestly say that it has improved tremendously. I would like to take you on a journey that I call, "my mom's sobriety."
In order for you to understand her sobriety, you have to understand what I call, "the before life." My mom worked nights at her job, so she was not home that often, but when she was, we were either fighting, or making up from the fight we had the day before. We were both really good at putting the blame for the arguments on each other, whether it was because of my laziness, or because of her attitude while she was high. Our fights always seemed to be over the most pointless things too. The fight would start off with something simple, such as me not doing the dishes, but because of my pent up anger they would escalate to screaming matches that I am sure had the neighbors wondering what had happened. Our fights were more frequent while she was coming down from a drug binge, and those would be the days I would cry my eyes out while counting down the days until college started.
I had thoughts of moving in with my aunt a few times, but I could never leave my six year old sister behind with my mom. I did not trust her enough to take care of her own daughter. I could not leave my dad behind to deal with her either, so I just had to be strong and go through the motions of pretending to be a happy little family. I did my best to make the most of my senior year of high school. I washed dishes at the Italian festival to go to homecoming. I went out with my friends as much as possible, to movies or to the park, and just stayed out of the house and stayed away from her as much as I could. Life at home kept getting worse, but I stayed collected on the outside, thinking forward to the day when I could escape.
February 19, 2008, was a turning point. No, it was not the day when it all changed, but it was the day that the first step to the road to recovery was made. Not everything clicked on this day, but this was the day my mom admitted she had a problem. I remember coming home from school that day, still mad at her from what had happened the day before. We had gone out to dinner for her birthday the night before, and she was upset because we hadn't gotten her any presents. She walked out on dinner, and walked around at the outdoor mall, while my dad called off the birthday song, and paid the bill. Dad was upset because her birthday was ruined, and I was mad that she couldn't seem to spend more then an hour with her own family without being high. When I walked through the front door, on my way to the bathroom I saw my parents sitting on their bed, both of them crying. My first thought was, "Oh great, another fight, and just another sob story that dad was going to believe." The scene in front of me instantly flared my anger, and I silently repeated, just a few more months until I moved out to myself.
Figuring Mom was going to drag me into their fight somehow, I went in my room to fold my laundry that had been sitting around for a few days. If I was going to get into trouble, I might as well soften the blow. It was while I was folding my laundry that she came into my room, with Dad right behind her. Her eyes were bloodshot, and I could not tell if that was because she was high, or if they were genuine tears coming out of her eyes. I looked past her, because I was used to not looking her in the face when she was talking, and my eyes fell upon my dads face. His eyes were lined with crimson, and that was a warning signal for me. Thoughts started racing through my head at speeds of over one hundred miles an hour. I went from thoughts of my parents getting a divorce, to getting grounded again and being grounded on my eighteenth birthday that was coming up.
Before my mom could even utter a word I turned around and started folding my laundry again. She was sobbing, and close to hyperventilation, then she said, "Tasha I need to tell you something. I'm addicted to crystal meth."
"Well, duh, I could have told you that," I thought to myself instantly.
"And, I need help."
"Ding ding ding, we have a winner."
"So I'm going to rehab." As soon as those words spilled out of her mouth, my mind came to a screeching halt, and I raced over to my mom. I do not remember if I ran or walked, but all I know is that within moments I was holding her in my arms. She looked like a weak bird that had fallen out of her nest. I just hoped that rehab would teach her how to fly.
Mom spent a few days in rehab, and many people would see that as the turning point in our relationship, but that was only to outside viewers. Of course, we talked about silly things, like boys and how school was going, and the future. The tension in the house had died down, but our relationship was still not better. We were only a few steps into the road to recovery, and I lived in fear that my mom would suddenly decide to make a U-turn. Because of this fear, I tried my hardest to not open up to her. She would always talk about the walls that she would have to learn to break down in order to strengthen herself in the long run. Little did either of my parents know, I had built up walls of my own.
My mom went to her daily meetings, and did everything she was supposed to do in order to stay sober. She was building up trust in herself and mending old relationships and friendships that had been tattered while she was still abusing. We both worked hard at getting along, although I know she worked harder. My initial thought on the entire situation was, the last seven years of damage could not, and would not be fixed in six months. In six months I would be out of her house, and I would not have to worry about mending our broken relationship. I kept my distance, praising her when she deserved it, but I was always cautious, because at any moment she could run into an old friend and take that U-turn in the road.
Eventually, I started going to the meetings with my mom. I listened to what the other people had to say about their recovery, and I learned that there were many similarities in our lives as there were in theirs. One day, when I was at a meeting, I heard my mom speak. She started sharing about how grateful she was that her family was her main support system in her recovery. I was happy that I could help my mom in the way that she needed, and it was after listening to her that one time that I started to trust her again. I learned that my mom was a strong person, and when she sets her mind on something, she can do whatever she wants to.
Right now, she wants to be sober, and I can finally believe her when she says that. My mom has many friends that look up to her because what she has accomplished in just a few short months takes many others years to learn. She has managed to find the stability she needs to stay sober, and she has stabilized many relationships that had been damaged in "The before life." I am extremely happy that I finally have that trust in my mom that I always wanted to have. I have the relationship with her that so many daughters yearn for. It took me a while, but I finally grabbed my moms hand and skipped along with her, down her road to recovery.
I want to skip with my Mommy again. I miss her. Soo much. <3
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