Borderline

Growing older..

I’m a little older now, im almost a teenager. I have many sleepless nights. I worry alot, my father has gotten sick. He’s been having alot of heart problems and not to long ago a heart attack. It terrifies me, I’m scared to lose him. Even though there’s no exspressed words of love for one another i care deeply. The fights are on going as usual, some days better than others.

Some days we all fight. I find myself involved in the middle of a never ending battle of disfunction. Deep down I love tremendously, but on the surface I seem to hate. I hate them because they fight, I hate them because they don’t know how to love, I hate them because I am becoming like them.

I remember thinking to myself do they even care, do they know how angry I am. I was hurt and neglected. I was neglected of a loving home. I was neglected of a friend.

I can still feel the embarrassment of some of those days. I can still hear my aunt calling my name from next door. She was yelling for me to come and get my mother out of her yard. With neighborhood kids around and people starring, I was truly embarrassed for myself and for her. I remember her naked bruised body laying in my aunts yard. She was so intoxicated and high her lips were purple. She looked so beaten up for a moment I felt sad, then the anger set in. I was angry that this woman was my mother. I was angry that my friends were falling witness to my hell.

We knew what she’d do, we all knew. It was a hard realization that we rarely spoke of. She’d trade herself for drugs. And when the dealers or men would get sick of her they’d send her on her way. She’d always end up back home after days or weeks of being gone. Always the same, bruised and high or bruised and hung over. The thought still sickens me to this day.

There were days we would pretend like everything was normal. She’d cook and clean and try to be a mother. It rarely lasted long, because the moment she needed to get away she’d blame us. She’d blame us that she had to cook and clean and be a parent. I can still hear those words “I deserve it” or “your driving me to drink.” Something I often wondered about was why on earth would God send me here with her. Why do I deserve this. Am I not deserving of a loving home, of a loving mother.