experience that helped me grow

It was the may of 2016. I remember my mother had been sober for months and I’d only just allowed myself to feel comfortable, like we were back on track, when she called me up telling me she couldn’t handle it and that she was going to drink.

I remember being so stressed out because I had never felt the weight of being the only child before and this time, it was all catching up to me. I was disappointed in her and I let that reflect in the way I treated her. I felt betrayed, like she owed me her sobriety, and I’d felt so lonely to the point where I had completely isolated myself from everyone else. It was something I just couldn’t pull myself out of. I convinced myself that I did not have the capacity to do it on my own.

It was the first time I was forced to deal with MYSELF. I’d never felt so overwhelmed before, even thought we’ve have had the worst of fights, and said the most hurtful things before, I always managed. For some reason this time was different. I’m struggling to even type this out, it seems ridiculous trying to analyze my emotions. Every time I try to construct a sentence, it sounds too mechanical, like if I can’t put enough emotion into it somehow it’ll be lesser than it should be.

The truth is, I’m not good at talking about myself. I’m a messy person and I tend to tangle up my emotions trying to think of the right words. There are times where I feel like I don’t even play an active role in my life, more times that I’d like to admit. When I found out about my mom, my entire view frame shifted. I was only ten and I remember just moments before I overheard my godmother talking on the phone, I was tugging at her arm for a tub of cheese popcorn. My entire life changed from movie nights to nothing and I never even bothered to let someone know that I knew about her. I just let it go on. I don’t know how much of my incapability can be chalked down to my mother’s absence. I don’t even know how much of me is me and how much is because of everything I’ve never let myself feel.

I wouldn’t look back to that day and say I’m disappointed or that she wanted to hurt me. I understand her. I understand the person she is, and I understand that she has always struggled to express her emotions through words. I honestly can’t even remember what I was so angry about back then.

I can’t say that I’ve been able to really deal with my emotions after reaching my lowest, but I’d like to think I’m a lot more stronger now that I’ve learned to be more kinder �" to my mother, and to myself. 

Author's Note

what can i do to make this a better piece, be as harsh and give as much detail as you wish to ):