As I mentioned in the previous chapter, I once was blessed with having an amazing mother. Once she couldn’t overcome her battle with alcohol and drugs to reach stability, I no longer connected to her like she was my mother.

A lot of my childhood was spent living in fear. My mother would have very aggressive outbursts, and just seeing her drunk terrified me completely.

At one point, my house was always clean, always had help with my homework, my mother used to get us ready for our dance recitals, and was just a very involved parent. To lose that was very difficult to deal with.

A lot of my childhood was spent visiting her in rehabs or psychiatric hospitals. I never wanted to do any of that. I no longer felt I was her daughter and lived in anger that I had to be a part of her life, especially while she was in and out of rehab and psych wards throughout my life.

I did always find a way to stay hopeful, and I assumed eventually she’d reach recovery, but sadly, that never did happen.

I did start to enjoy not having her at home anymore and wished she would stay inpatient, seeing at least that way she was sober and stable.

Since my mothers alcoholism became present, my father and siblings often times had to pack our bags and rush out of the house to stay with my grandparents due to my mother’s instability.

I’m beyond grateful for how involved my grandparents had become, and to be honest, I started to view them as taking over the role of my own parents. Even though my father was still present physically, my mothers mental state and lack of stability took away him being emotionally present in our lives.

Years went on, and my home life seemed to worsen. For some reason, I couldn’t force myself to go to school, so I often stayed home. Looking back I’m not quite sure why I’d rather stay home with my alcoholic mother than be at school away from her.

One day, while I stayed home from school, I walked down from the attic where my bedroom was. I walked past my parents’ bedroom very quietly, seeing I didn’t want to wake up my mother. Well, our family dog saw me and started barking at me, which woke my mother.

She was slurring her speech and repeatedly asked me to call her out of work. I yelled no and said if you don’t want to go to work, you call out.

Well, she stormed past me and walked downstairs. I heard her rattling through the kitchen drawers. She then yelled as she walked up the stairs that she’s going to kill me if I don’t listen to her and call her out of work.

Terrified, I bolted back up to my bedroom and took my comforter, and lay under my bed. It was summer, and the attic was so hot, and I started to drip with sweat hiding under my bed. I was terrified my mother would come up to my room and find me and kill me.

I ended up falling asleep and woke up hours later. I had an accident in my sleep, I guess, from the fear of everything.

Soon, my siblings came home from school, and I was able to go downstairs. I thought about telling them what had happened, but we weren’t all that close since my mothers alcoholism became present.

When my dad came home that night, I told him my mom threatened to kill me and had a knife, so I hid under my bed for hours. He responded, “Stop already, stop saying things for attention.” You’re acting crazy like your mother, and that was it.

I just felt so alone and felt no one in my house would ever protect me if things got bad.

I now lived in absolute fear of my mother, and that night, when I went to bed, I prayed to God. I said please God help my family.” I prayed I would be diagnosed with cancer, so maybe that would make my mother sober and bring back my happy family if they had something more to focus on. That turned into my nightly prayer. I would tell God that I want to die of cancer, so I would be set free from all the traumas my mother is causing me. Looking back that’s pretty heavy to be praying that at such a young age.

Since this day of my mother threatening to kill me, I no longer felt safe in my house. So I started going to a friends house more often just to escape my home life. Whenever I was there, I always wondered why my life was how it was, and my friends family was happy and how she had a stable mother and emotionally present father.

I started to realize at this point that life isn’t always fair for everyone, and I just need to accept things that will never improve and my mothers alcoholism will be a part of my life forever.

To be continued…,

Life of living with my mothers alcoholism and mental health struggles was not easy. I never knew whether she would be sober or completely under the influence of alcohol and unstable.

I grew to fear my mother, I also grew to hate my mother. I even grew to hate God for abandoning me and making my life what it was. It wasn’t fair that my mom chose to drink over being my stable mother I once had and the one I deserved to still have.

On this particular day of my childhood, I was in 6th grade. My mother promised she was going to pick me up from school. She told me before school that she would pick me up after school.

I was actually excited my mom would pick me up, which would mean she would be sober, and that was becoming a very rare thing to see in my mothers behavior.

After school, I stood with the crossing guard. I didn’t know it was supposed to rain, so I didn’t have an umbrella. The crossing guard asked me if I had a ride home. I said “I think my mother is coming to get me.”

So, the crossing guard waited with me for 25 minutes while I stood under her umbrella. Eventually, the crossing guard had to go home, so by now, it was thundering and lightening out.

I had no choice but to walk home. It took me 45 minutes to walk home. It was scary to be outside during a horrible thunderstorm.

Well, once I got home and walked through my front door, I saw my mother passed out on the floor with car keys in her hand.

I was so angry not only, because she didn’t get me from school, but also because she planned to drive drunk if she were to get me.

So I kicked her leg and screamed at her. I said “ fuck you and fuck you for making me walk home in a thunderstorm I hate you, I hate you so much!”

I stormed up to my room to change out of my soaking wet clothes and went to the bathroom.

I walked past my mother again and went to sit outside with my umbrella. It was still drizzling out.

I looked up to the sky and said “God please show me a sign you are with me and that one day everything will be better. Please, God, I can’t take this anymore.”

All of a sudden, while staring at the sky, the grey clouds parted, and the sun came out instantly after I said my prayer. In that moment, I no longer felt alone, I felt protected.

Some may say that might not have been God, but I know deep down in my heart that was his way of communicating with me during my time of need.

I sat outside for a while after I prayed and just felt a sense of relief that just maybe one day things would get better for me and my family.

When I went back inside, my mother had woken up from her drunken slumber and was in the kitchen.

She was slurring her speech and asked how I got home from school and apologized for not being able to pick me up. I mumbled “ yeah you’d rather drink than be my parent”. Out loud, I said “whatever” and walked away.

I then went up to my room and laid on my bed, and cried until I fell asleep. I will be honest whenever I would wake up I’d sometimes assume my life was just a bad nightmare, and just maybe I’ll walk downstairs to my happy, stable mother.

Realistically, my life was full of letdowns by my mother, I just needed to start accepting that she has a drinking problem and can’t be the mother I deserved to have.

Growing up before my mothers alcoholism became present, birthdays were a big deal in our family.

I remember coming home from school, and the house would be decorated with balloons and streamers, and my mom would always plan parties with all of my friends. I used to be so excited for my birthday. I knew I’d get a special cake, and I knew they would always be great.

The last birthday I remember having was a birthday party with a magician. I loved magicians. Having cake afterward and opening up all my gifts just felt like the best day ever.

Another birthday I remember that upset me a bit was finding out my older sister and I would share the same cake and celebrate the same day seeing our birthdays were close together. Looking back as upset as I was over, what my birthdays turned into, I would take a joint birthday again.

For whatever reason, my mother on my birthdays would bring me to the liquor store with her. She’d give me a card in the car showing she loved me. When we would get into the liquor store she’d get teary-eyed talking to the cashier, telling them it’s my birthday and I’m growing up so fast.

We’d get in the car, and she’d take out her beer she bought and drinks and blasts music, then sings me happy birthday.

I was so angry with her for ruining my birthdays, and I’d always just gone home and cried.

She’d call up to me to come down to the basement, and I knew why and dreaded it. I was named after John Lennon s’ mother, so my mom would play the Julia song for me on my birthday and talk about the day I was born and how happy she was. She did all of this while slurring her words from drinking.

Once my mothers alcoholism took over, parties just weren’t the same. We never had parties at my house anymore, seeing it wasn’t a fit environment to invite people over to.

I remember having a few skating parties though with my friends and family. My mother was never present, seeing she’d be home unconscious from drinking too much.

So, for many years, I found no enjoyment in my birthdays, and I never felt like celebrating.

As I got older though I started to see my mother tried her best to be present and to celebrate birthdays with her kids, but her alcoholism took over taking away any fun it could have been having her around.

I used to hold onto the cards she wrote me every birthday, seeing she seemed like she really cared when I would read how genuine her writing was. I would save them in a box, but that box of birthday cards disappeared due to my mothers worst breakdown ever.

To be continued….

Seeing my mothers alcoholism was very difficult to live with at times. We would often have to pack our bags and stay at my grandparents’ house.

One of my mothers drunken fits. I went into the bathroom and saw on the mirror in black permanent marker a long note telling me I was the biggest mistake of her entire life and, because of me, she started to drink. She wrote she wished I had died at birth and was never born.

Her drunken fit this time, we packed up immediately after she was yelling and throwing things around the house. I was terrified of her as usual.

I loved not being home and staying at my grandparents’ house. We’d play board games, watch tv, and every night we’d get to eat ice cream. It was definitely much more peaceful than being at home.

I also loved being able to spend time with my grandparents’ dog TJ. It did make me miss all my pets at home, but he was such a great dog.

I became very close with my grandparents, and I don’t think I ever even thanked them for all they did for my family.

I started to look at my grandparents as my second parents. They just did so much for us. I can’t imagine not having their house to escape to when I was a child.

When it was time to go back home, I knew things would be the same. We would tolerate living at home until my mom got extremely out of control. Then, yet again we’d pack up and go right back to my grandparents.

I remember coming home from school, and my mother was extremely drunk. She said I think you love your grandparents more than me.” I said maybe I do. I asked, “How can I love you?” You’re always drunk. She got so angry slapped me in the face and called me a little bitch that she hates.

I ran out of the kitchen and went up to my room and just cried myself to sleep.

It’s the most horrible feeling to grow up knowing my mother wished I was never born and hearing often from my mother that I was the cause of her alcoholism.

I never had anyone to tell me otherwise so my entire life all I felt was that I was the biggest mistake to my family and if I wasn’t born maybe my mother never would have picked up a drink.

It took me going through years of therapy to outgrow this thought, but I was consumed by it and at a young age I thought about killing myself assuming maybe that would be the reason my mother would get sober.

I wish I had a stable mother and stable home life, but I began to realize my wishes never came true.

To be continued…

Growing up, my family celebrated both Hanukkah and Christmas. My fathers side of the family is Jewish, and my mothers side of the family is Catholic.

I thought this was wonderful to grow up with 8 nights of gifts for Hanukkah and 2 days of gifts for Christmas with Christmas Eve included.

During my mothers sober years of my childhood holidays, we were so much fun. The house would always be decorated for Christmas. We would get a huge real Christmas tree, and the outside of the house would be decorated with lights. We baked Christmas cookies and listened to Christmas music. My dad also loved to watch the movie A Christmas Story.

Christmas Eve, my entire family would get together at my uncles house. I don’t even think I knew half the people there, but it was nice to spend time with my cousins, seeing we didn’t get together very often. All I remember is one Christmas at my uncles house he had two kittens who he kept in the garage due to having family over, so I’d sneak off to the garage to hang out with the kittens.

My siblings and I swear we heard reindeer and sleigh bells on our roof one Christmas Eve.

Waking up on Christmas morning was so much fun. My siblings and I would be downstairs way before sunrise.

I remember one year, my parents surprised all of us with a new nintendo or Genesis. That was the best Christmas ever. We really were very spoiled kids.

I’m not sure the exact age I stopped believing in Santa, but I remember my mom finding out, and she broke down crying. I assume she just got emotional that the Santa part of Christmas was over with.

The holidays were just such a great time of year during my mothers sobriety once her alcoholism took over holidays became dreadful for me.

Like I said, I celebrated both Christmas and Hanukkah. As a kid, I was always so excited to celebrate Hanukkah because we got gifts for 8 nights of the holiday.

We’d typically celebrate at my grandparents’ house where all of my cousins would go as well.

One year, though, I dealt with a traumatic experience. My grandparents would light the menorah on a side table in the living room. I walked over near the table and then turned around to talk to my one year old cousins who were sitting on the chair. I saw my cousin point her finger in the air. I turned around calmly and said “dad I think my dress is on fire.”

Everyone yelled, and my father threw over the table and grabbed the table cloth, and threw it over me to put out the fire.

I started to cry afterward, and I remember my sister telling me I was fake crying and I didn’t even get burned.

I had extremely long hair as a kid, and it was a blessing my hair didn’t catch fire.

My mother was really upset about this, seeing the dress I was wearing said non flammable. I recall her calling the company the next day to yell at them over the phone and say my daughter caught on fire in this dress. The company told my mom they would send out a new one, to which my mother yelled back. I don’t want a new flammable dress, then hung up in anger.

Thinking back I’m not sure how a dress could be made non flammable, but it clearly was not.

Since catching fire, I was terrified to be near fire. After the holidays, school started back up, and I had my first cooking class at school. We went over to the stoves and had to practice turning them on. I panicked and told the teacher I can’t do that. She snapped at me and said it’s part of cooking.

I told her after I caught fire this past week, so I’m terrified to be near fire. She then told me that if I didn’t want to use the stove due to that I’d need a drs note to tell her why. I said I just told you why, and she said I’d need a note.

I lived for many years, terrified of fire. Now I’m ok being near fire, but if I smell smoke, I always panic that I might have caught on fire.

Every year, when I light my menorah, this memory crosses my mind.

When I was younger, I outgrew my girly side and started to be more of a tomboy. I ditched dresses for soccer cleats and simply fell in love with playing soccer.

Funny things about me getting into soccer was I originally had zero interest. In my family, soccer was something all my siblings played.

My father asked me on a few occasions if I’d like to play soccer, and I said no. Then one day he said well I’d get munchkins at half time so I said “I’ll play in excitement.”

I started playing soccer, I think, at around 5 or 6 years old. My father was the coach of our team. As years went by, I became really good at it.

I scored a goal off a corner kick when I was older and was in the newspaper for that. I wasn’t really fazed the day that happened, but looking back that’s a pretty big deal.

I played soccer throughout my life. From local town tes to traveling teams. I was a great athlete growing up. One part of playing I struggled with, even though I did often make goss as is, was I’d kick the ball up and over the goal. The parents and my dad would joke and put their hands in the air, yelling field goal! I did eventually go to a local college soccer camp. That’s when I learned how to play better and not punt the ball up and over the soccer goal.

Eventually, as I hit high school, I gave up on soccer, but to this day, I regret that and do miss playing. At least I got to experience it, though, when I did.

It was a Saturday morning, and as usual, my family except  for my mother to would get up early and get ready for our sports games. On this particular day, I had a soccer game.

My dad was the coach, and my younger sister was also on the team. It was always a great break from my awful home life to be able to play soccer.

On this morning, though, when I woke up, I told my dad I was tired, and I went back upstairs to go to sleep. I never would miss a soccer game, but I just wanted to stay home that day.

For some reason, though, I had a really bad feeling about staying home, so I threw on my uniform and ran downstairs just before my family drove off. I ran to the car and got in winded. My father asked why I changed my mind, and I simply said I just didn’t want to stay home.

So we had our typical Saturday of sports, and afterwards, we went across the street to the parking lot to get Italian ices from the ice cream truck. I remember my flavor of choice, which was rainbow.

All of a sudden, 2 fire trucks, an ambulance, and a few cop cars speed past with their sirens blaring. For some reason, I knew my mother burned down our house. I said to my dad we need to get home. mom set the house on fire. He looked at me confused and said, “Just eat your ice that didn’t happen.”

When we got to our street, I could see all the first responders right in the middle of the block, and I just knew our house had a fire.

My father pulled around the block and told us to stay in the car.

He was gone for a while. When he came back, I told him again I knew mom set the house on fire. He said no, she did not it was caused by the furnace. I knew what my mother did, I don’t know how I knew, but I did.

All I thought was, were our pets ok, and did they make it out? My dad told us that all the animals ran off and they didn’t get trapped in the house. That seemed believable, but still, I knew they didn’t make it out.

After my father told us what happened, he drove us down the street to a family friends house, and we stayed there for a few nights.

To know we lost everything that day was completely overwhelming to think about. We had to start over again, but I knew this time our lives would start over without our mother being a part of it.

No, my mother did not die in the house fire, but she ended up with bad third-degree burns. We didn’t visit her in the hospital. I guess that was just my father’s limit of us having her in our lives. At some point, she was transferred to a psych ward, and we still didn’t visit her.

I was angry with her, and I only thought about what if I stayed home that day. I’d be sleeping in the attic, and she would have killed me. I was just so angry she could have reached that point and even more angry all my pets were now gone.

How does a person get to this point to do something so drastic? Why would my mother do such a thing? So many questions went through my mind, and I was just so angry and now completely feared my mother. What type of person could do this? All I thought was my mother was an evil monster, and I wanted nothing more to do with her.

Life after a house fire is not easy to live. My family lost everything. I couldn’t even imagine this would have ever become our lives.

We had to get clothes donated to us and slowly over time we were able to buy and replace not only all of our clothes, but everything we had was lost.

We went back to the house to look for important documents and hopefully salvage family photos and whatever else of importance.

Walking into the house, it was the most awful burnt smell I’ve ever smelt. It was like walking into a horror movie house. Everything was burnt up and ruined.

Shockingly, we found our baby books and family photos, and they all had minimal damage to them. Everything else besides important documents in a fireproof locked box was destroyed and burnt up to only be left as a memory.

I was angry that my mother could do this to her family. How could someone even fathom doing something like this? I was now terrified of her and no longer felt comfortable being in her life anymore.

As angry as I was about all of this, I was able to block out thinking about my mother. As if I didn’t lose a relationship with her in the past due to her drinking and mental health, this was the limit I hit on ever, hoping she would get sober and well again.

As to where my mother went after getting on an ambulance after the fire, I don’t know even until this day.

Wherever she went, I now knew she had to live with this memory for the rest of her life.

I did question where God was through this situation, and from this, I gave up on my belief in Him.

I can now look back on her struggles and suffering, though, and to an extent empathize with her suffering due to my personal recovery journey. I know I would have never reached a point to set a house on fire, but I faced off with my own situations I caused that I only did due to mental health breakdowns.

Watching my mother’s mental health breakdowns and alcoholic rages angered me, but now I see she was suffering with no way out.

At age 43, with similar lived experiences, I can look back on my mother’s past and be a bit more empathetic about it. I’d never be capable of doing what she did at times, but I’ve had my fair share of huge regrettable mistakes due to my mental health.

Since the house fire and losing our home and everything else we owned, we needed to completely start our lives over.

After the fire, my mother wasn’t even a topic to us. Looking back, she must have been hospitalized for her burns, then most likely spent time in a psych hospital, but it wasn’t even a thought for me.

We needed somewhere to live for the time being while our home was being rebuilt. Oddly enough, my father found a house to rent directly behind our burned down house.

I slightly remember this time of my life. We had to start shopping for new clothes, because all of our current clothes were donations from others.

My father had to furnish some of the rented house. I remember just sleeping on mattresses in our bedrooms and having a small television sitting on the floor of the bedroom I shared with my younger sister.

I would watch our house being rebuilt, and at first, I could still smell the awful burnt smell that was emitting from our home.

I was still very angry that we were put in this situation, and I just wanted to go home.

I continued to ask my father if we could try to find out pets that he said ran away during the fire. I was still certain that they all died, but at this age, looking back, obviously, my father would not tell us that.

I’m not sure how long we lived in the rented house, but it must have been over a year. I ended up living across the street from my friend at the time and would spend a lot of time there.

It felt good to be in a home with a stable mother and to see how much different their life was from. It kind of made me jealous. Why couldn’t  my family be like theirs was. In those moments, I felt abandoned by God. All I thought was that my life was a mistake, and what I’ve gone through is punishment.

So my family lived in this house until ours was rebuilt, and never once did anyone talk about the fire or ask where our mother was. It’s as if we treated the situation like it never even happened.

One big thing I remember while living in this rented house was celebrating Christmas. That holiday always made me think about the awful times a little less. I knew my father wanted to make life for his family better during the holidays.

All I wanted was to be able to escape my homelife and find a stable family to live with. That was, as usual, wishful thinking.