My mother is a junky. 

She wasn’t always that way. Once upon a time she was anti pills and medicines and was just your average, run of the mill alcoholic housewife.

She started suffering panic attacks and developed them so badly, she became agoraphobic.

She in turn gained a lot of weight.

She went from 180 to 400.

And with that came back pains, leg troubles and just general unease and discomfort. 

She started needing antidepressants.  And began having issues with high blood pressure.

She was prescribed valium for her mental health stuff,  and she used to just bite the corner off of one of them whenever she felt an attack coming on.

But, Then she hurt her back at work and everything escalated. She started taking percocets, vicodin, and then oxys.

And then  one day, she discovered she could mix all three and not die, so she did just that.

And she continues to do it today.

She smoked for 30 years, so now She has COPD. She is on oxygen 24 hours a day.

She is so over weight and so sedentary that if she falls asleep with out her oxygen, and her stats fall low enough, she becomes confused and disoriented. She hallucinates. She screams and rants and has conversations made entirely of gibberish.  Mostly she just sleeps. For hours upon hours..even days, at a time.

She then slips into almost a sun downing state. She has even had a stroke. And a heart attack. And has had multiple  grand mal seizures. And then she stops breathing and has to be intubated and then put on a respirator for a week until she can breathe on her own so she can go home and do the exact same thing all over again.

She has learned nothing. She doesn’t care about anything.

To the average lay person looking in, she is just a helpless old lady with nothing to live for, waiting to die.

That’s where you would be wrong.

She picks up her pills on the 2nd of every month. She gets over 400 pills in total.

By the 17th of every month, she is completely out. And THAT is when my real mother comes around.

The one who is manipulative. The one that lies. The one that finds the softest part of your belly and kicks you in it.

My entire family has NO idea what my mother actually is.

By some form of voodoo or witchcraft, she doesn’t encounter anyone on the days she is high. She has my father so trained and she has become so good at living this way that she synchs her doctors visits and trips to see family on the 12 days of the month she appears the most “normal.”

This has been her life for the last 10 years.

And in turn, by association…this has been my life as well.

My mother has been to my house one time in 3 years. 

I have been to her house  maybe 20 times in that span.

I cannot explain the feeling I get when other people talk about their relationships with their mothers and then I have THIS to deal with.

In my nearly 40 years I have learned many things. One of which is to separate myself from her completely.

SHE did this.

SHE is choosing to live this way.

SHE has the problem.

It’s just hard.

I am not ashamed OF my mother…I am ashamed FOR her.

Unfortunately, I cannot be the only one who is…and the fact that I feel this way is starting to break me down. I can’t keep making excuses. I can’t keep quiet. I can’t pretend.

And I think after all this time, I shouldn’t have to.