Exploring My Roots

Unexpected Twist

So originally I planned to revisit my previous post yesterday to write up the “Here We Go Again” part. I promise to get to that, but I need to get something else out of my fucking head first.

Mothers’ day FUCKING sucked.

No, I’m not a mother.

Yes, I know, the day wasn’t about me.

But I can’t help the urge to cry and punch everything in sight when I think back to yesterday. I should have went with my fucking gut when I called her in the morning — my mom, that is.

“Hello,” my mother answered, mid-yawn.

“Hi, it’s me,” I replied, my upbeat tone slightly disappearing as I get a bad feeling in my stomach.

No one knows my mother like I do. That is a blessing, and also a curse. It’s a blessing to have a close bond with your mother, but it is a curse to see right through her.

I am the one and only person who can tell the minute my mom starts drinking. I can say this with confidence, and my grandmother, grandfather, father, and ex-boyfriend – among countless other individuals – would undoubtedly reaffirm this. So the minute I got that bad feeling in my stomach during our phone call, I wish I would have believed in myself and called off the plans.

But I showed up anyways. As I walked towards her first-floor apartment, I noticed her window was open and poked my head inside; I shouted for her to let me in. Mid-shout, I was attacked by the overbearing smell of cigarette smoke.

This wasn’t just any regular cigarette smoke. This was an alcohol binge cigarette smoke.

What do I mean by this? See, when my mother drinks, she smokes one Newport after another, and doesn’t stop until she runs out of cigarettes or passes out. This is a stark contrast from when my mother is sober and smokes, at most, 5-6 cigarettes a day.

So I walk in, now with an already bad taste in my mouth. The first thing I notice is that she is smoking in her apartment. “Mom, you’re not supposed to be smoking in here,” I exclaimed. She puts her finger to her lips, signaling a sssh, and replies, “I do it sometimes, don’t worry.”

It only got worse from there.

My mom then cancelled our plans for bowling. She claimed she “worked too much this week” and was just “too tired.” She was still up for ordering Chinese food, though, so we did. Once I got back with the food, she ate two spoonfuls of pork-fried rice and shut the container. “The food’s good from here, huh?” she asked. How the fuck would you know? You’re too out of it to even taste it I thought; “Yeah, it’s not bad!” I replied.

As I sat on the couch, watching her nod off to some CSI: Miami re-run with a lit cigarette in her fingers, I felt the most helpless I have in years. Just like 7 year old me. Stuck with a drunk mother with nowhere to go. Here I was imagining we would take selfies together and post our matching Alex & Ani Bracelets on Facebook for Mothers’ Day. Too bad all I got was just a bad trip down memory lane.

I know none of this is my fault. I grew up with my mom being an alcoholic, so trust me I get it. This is just the same bullshit at the end of the day. But what angers me the most is the fact that she still thinks she can trick me. She still believes that she can hide her drunkenness from me and put me through that suffering. Well, jokes on her. I am making a promise to myself here, right now, that I will not stand for this.

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