My mom wasn’t the best mom. I’ve had fourteen years to come to terms with it. She was an addict. Way before I was even born, she was an addict. She couldn’t even tell me who my father was because she couldn’t remember anything about him. She stole my identity before I was even in middle school. Bought me CDs with a credit card that was in my name. Let my friends and I smoke cigarettes by the door of a hotel room that she had bought with a credit card that was, once again, in my name. I think she knew she was fucking up. I think she knew she was hurting us.
I was ten years old when I asked her why she was so angry all the time. She took my to my room in the very back of my grandmother’s house and did a few lines eight in front of me. She wanted to show me what he problem was. To scare me? I don’t know. What scared me was how she sat on the bed afterward and sang to me. She wouldn’t let me leave the room. She just made me sit there and watch her.
A couple of weeks later she showed up, banging on the back door. She had gone and gotten so fucked up that she couldn’t walk. She had collapsed on the ground and my grandma had to drag her inside and set her up against the kitchen cupboards. It was pouring rain. My grandmother said that she was just dehydrated and not to worry about it. My mother was trying to speak and she couldn’t seem to get a word out. My grandmother told her she had to leave the next day. There was a huge argument and the last time I remember seeing my mother she was yelling as she walked down the street, leaving just like my grandma had asked. Three days later she broke into my grandma’s house and took a handful of pills prescribed to her to try and frame her for murder. Not thinking about the massive amounts of meth already running through her system, she fucked herself up bad. She died on the table in the hospital.
These are the last memories I have of my mom. I have no texts from her to hold on to; Text messages weren’t even a thing yet. The last time I heard her voice, she was yelling in a voicemail telling my grandmother how terrible of a person she is for “keeping her away from her kids.” I found her jacket while cleaning out the girls’ closet a couple weeks ago. It was the first time I had held anything that was hers in over a decade.
I never wanted to be like her. Then I was 22 with two kids living with their dope fiend father and eventually partaking myself. The day I looked in the mirror and saw my mom was the day my kids got taken away from me. It was a huge slap in the face.
I could still be there but I’ve grown. I’ve moved forward. Left their dad, got my kids back, and never looked back.
I tried to build a life with someone who seemed right and turned out to be nothing like I expected. After trying to get him to listen to me, I gave up and tried another way. That was the first time I cheated on him.
When I met you, I didn’t want to cheat on him. I wanted you. I wanted to end it so we could do our own thing. But I got scared and fucked everything up.
So I’m still gonna grow and move forward towards a better version of myself. I have no need to lie anymore. Just know that.
And know that I’m here for you. I always will be. If you decide you want me around, you know where I am. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to make you mad. I really did want this. Want you. “The one” is a bullshit statement, if I wanted perfection I’d be holding out for a long time. We click, Mistah J. And you know it because you agreed the first time I brought it to your attention.
I know you’re out there and there’s things you gotta go through. Grief is ongoing and I didn’t want you to be as alone through it all. But if this is how you want it, then I’ll step away for you.
I’ll worry in silence from now on. I’ll miss you. I’ll be here if you ever decide you miss me.