I remember I was playing with my siblings when my mom called me into her room, after she’s already been drinking at the kitchen table for hours. Her usual.
She has this wire in her hand and asks me for help to strip it, because she needs the copper for her pipe.
Heartbroken that it came down to this. Daughter helping her mom to get high.
I kept telling her no, it’s not right.
It’s hard enough knowing she gets high. I can smell it through the apartment. But it’s a whole other thing to help my mom get her “treat.”
Knowing it was wrong, I helped her anyways. She begged me like she was so helpless.
Nights going into the city because she had an extra 20 dollars.
Being in the rough side of Milwaukee while she ran inside to get her score.
Leaving the kids and I to just sit there waiting.
My siblings didn’t know what was going on, but I did.
Her van had already gotten stolen once before when her boyfriend Jason went to the city to feed his addiction.
Stolen from drug dealers.
Jason was gone for 3 days.
Nobody knew why. He was a pathological liar, or just an addict.
His stories never added up.
In the end, no matter how much he went on his binges, mom was never pissed that he was gone. She was only pissed that he wouldn’t bring some back for her.
It pains me to say this, but my mom loved me most when she was high.
Her loving me. Finally.
It was better then her screaming at me.
Or calling me names.
Even though every night I had to drag her to bed because she passed out half on the chair and half on the floor.
I can honestly say she was the number one cause of making me feel worthless.
Hiding my sadness with a smile.