So Close, but so far away!

I got a message this morning on facebook from my sister, saying my mom had relapsed and she was scared. It was timestamped 2am. I messaged her back, and have been calling and texting, but I haven't gotten any response from her since then. My other sister seemed normal and unaware when I talked to her this morning, and I didn't have the heart to break the news to her. For a little while I was in denial. Maybe Lauren had misunderstood. A miscommunication. Maybe Lauren had a bad dream, and, half asleep at 2am had thought it to be reality.

I'm feeling really numb. I'm not really surprised, and I'm not heartbroken. I'm surprisingly okay. It frightens me, to know that I have become so numb to this. I would have expected to feel angry, like I always used to be. Hurt, offended. Worried, scared and heartbroken. Really, I just worry what this means for my sisters, how it will effect them, and I worry for my mothers internal organs. But as for me, personally, I'm only minimally effected.

I hate not knowing what's going on, but I haven't the guts to call anyone who might know. I keep calling my sisters, and I'll offer my support to them. They always will have me. But eh. I can't say I didn't expect this to happen at some point. Even the best of people, the most determined fall off the wagon a few times before they reach a safe, stable place. She was doing everything right, but sometimes it just takes time, and I could hear in her voice how impatient she was.

Its one of the reasons I didn't want her to visit me. I couldn't handle that sort of..... seeing her and watching her fall. I can almost bet that if I was home, I would be feeling something unpleasant right now. From Virginia, I worry. In Massachusetts, I'd surely be in a frenzy right now.

I feel unbelievably numb. I don't feel like a whole lot of anything. It's sucked the enjoyment and happy out of my day, but that hasn't been replaced by sad and anger. I feel somewhat empty. All I really feel right now is a desire to hear back from my sisters, to have them tell me that they're okay.

I was going to call my aunt today, just to chat and catch up, but it's been so long since I called her. I dont want it to seem like I only call her when something goes wrong. I had planned on calling her.

M is for Mumma

I've been back in touch with my mother for the past..... little while. I dunno how long. Not very, but weirdly, it feels like a long time. I guess because she's my mother, and I've known her my whole life.


It's awkward talking about her. A part of me can't forgive her. After all that time, and all that stuff that I have forgiven her for, I guess I'm just worn out. I'm not really still angry, so much as afraid to build a relationship with her.

But she's my mom. I want to. I love her. I miss her. Secret Life of the American Teenager (yes, I watch that show. No, you aren't allowed to laugh at me. I watch a lot of TV that I don't usually admit to watching) said something on it's last episode about how abused children still want to love their parents. I relate. I love my mother, and I want a relationship with her. But I'm so scared. And I'm still so hurt. Not angry, but offended. I guess I'm taking it personally.

No one else wants to hear about her, or about how I'm trying to fix things. Everyone else I talk to is either like "she's bad news" or else "so what? it's your mom. of course you talk. it's not worth mentioning that you talked to your mother today."

I guess no one gets it. I expected Jeffrey to, because he and his dad had an issue too at one point. But he doesn't. He doesn't forgive my mother, want to hear about her, want anything to do with her. Fine. But I do. He doesn't understand. I expected Chelsea to understant too, but I think she's too busy. I don't even know if I've tried to talk to her about it. She's go-go-go-go-go maybe even more than I am. I guess I don't want to bother her with my lukewarm ness.

I don't know what I want to do. I'm really digging this phone-relationship that we have. We talk once in a while, and that's that. No pressure because that's all there is: phone calls. and they aren't scheduled. She can't let me down. But as much as I really like the lack-of-pressure of this arrangement, as part of me really wants a mom-hug. And phones just don't allow it.

She comes home this weekend. She's out of rehab right now, and in a sober house, which I guess is some sort of halfway-house for sobriety. Then this weekend, she moves home. I'm excited for her. I'm scared. I miss her. I don't forgive her.

I don't even know what I feel right now. I'm glad she's coming home, but I don't trust her to take care of herself at home, and I'd really rather her take care of herself than try and do something she's not ready for. But maybe she is ready. I can't see her. I don't know. I'm so confused. I definitely want her in my life, but I don't know what role I want her in. I don't think I'll ever be able to respect her as a parent again. But I do love her and want her in my life. I just..... don't know.

Rumor Has It....

Rumor has it....

• that the reason my mom isn't talking to me has nothing to do with anger. She faked anger because she was ashamed to talk to me. Now that I think about it, I can't remember her saying why she was angry with me. I just assumed that it was because of what's going on.
• that the reason I haven't heard from her in over a month is because she's trying to keep the current situation "on the down low" and apparently that's a direct quote from her
• that my mother is entering a 6 month rehab program, starting as soon as a bed is available.
• that my mother's drinking has gotten significantly worse, since the kids left, and no one is there to monitor it. Rumor has it that it's gotten so bad, she can't tell a real memory from a dream anymore.

And there's one more rumor, the mother of all rumors, and I was told it in confidence. I can't even say what it was. But let me just say, few people have faith in my mother's attempted sobriety.

Unfortunately, I hate to admit, I'm one of those with little faith.

And the Drama Continues!

Immediately after my last blog post, I called my sisters. The blog was a dump, so that I could talk to the girl with a clear head. So that I could tell them I love them, without bursting into tears.

For the record, it didn't work. I cried. Lots.

Everything is happening way too fast. I've talked to who-knows-how-many-people in the past few days. In a weird, backass way, it makes me proud of myself. I usually hate talking on the phone. I get really bad phone-anxiety. It makes me sick. But I've been able, for the last few days, to talk to all sorts of people without freaking out.... at least, not freaking out at the thought of a phone call. There's been a lot of freaking out about other things.


It helps, for me to put the story out here. Even if there's no advice, even if I don't get a single comment, it helps for me to just put this out here. It's like the blog takes this burden from me. Lifts it off my shoulders. It's like I make the problem belong to the computer, instead of to me.

But I've lost track of everything. I called my dad, expecting that my mother would have asked him to bail her out. I wanted more details. My dad didn't answer the phone.

I called my sisters, expecting them to be at a friends house. That's what my aunt had said. Turns out, later in the evening, not long before I called, Child and Family services went and brought them to foster care. They were in the same house. I was satisfied, with that part. I hate that they have to be in this position to start with, but I'm glad that they are at least together. That was why they didn't want me to call DCF to begin with. They didn't want to be separated. I actually called DCF to thank them about this.

I called them, and we all cried. Amanda didn't want to talk because she hates to talk and cry at the same time. Lauren didn't want to talk either, but she was the one who answered the phone, so she got stuck with me. I needed to tell her I love her, and that if she needs me, she can always call me. They didn't know any more than I did, about what was going on. I probably told her 6 times that I love her, and to tell Manda that I love her too. Eventually, Lauren had to get off the phone.

Not long after, my dad called. This was still the Arrest Day (from here on out, that's AD) He asked what I knew. I told him that I knew almost nothing. He didn't know either. He had been working off cape, and I was right, my mom asked him to bail her out. One of the first things my dad said to me was "She asked me to bail her out, and I did, but I think I probably shouldn't have. She caught me off guard, and I just reacted."

No, Daddy, you shouldn't have bailed her out, but I don't blame you. I did the same thing over the summer. Granted, it was probably a difference offense, but I didn't know what it was, when I bailed her out. I just did what I did without thinking.

He also told me that when my mother was arrested, she was showing no visible signs of drunkenness, but because my sisters insisted she was drunk, they gave her a breathalyzer. Apparently, they were very concerned by the number that came out. They let my dad bail her out, but said she couldn't leave until the next morning, because she was that drunk. I was unsurprised. My mother doesn't usually get "normal" drunken signs. She doesn't slur her words, she can walk in a straight line, she doesn't seem confused. Her drunken signs are anger, and being weak. She can walk in a straight line, up until the point where she's too weak to stand on her own. This is right before she passes out, at which point, that is her new drunken sign.

Anyways, my father told me that he was going to see what he could do about the girls living with him again. He even said he'd make peace with Tony, if that's what it took. My dad hates Tony almost as much as I do. I was stunned when he said that, but I admire my father so much, for being willing to do that for kids that aren't even his. I admire my father for loving people, and specifically, loving my girls, that much. My dad is my hero. He always has been,  but this, this just re-enforced it.

AD+1 day.
My sister is online, on Facebook. I message her. Hey, how are you, what's up, you feeling any better, I love you. The normal things. The things she'd expect with this situation. From her, I hear that they were told that they're going home on Monday. I was hoping someone lied to her. Hoping that it was a (slightly misguided) attempt at comforting her.

DCF wont release information on my sisters to me. They never have. So today, instead, I called them to make a request. As a sort of test, I asked them to keep my sisters together in the same house. They finally told me that the girls were going home, on Monday. Fuck.

AD+2, Monday, Today.
At a little before 5 O'clock I texted my sisters. I said "Hey, what's going on?" Lauren never responded to my message. Manda sent back a reply "nothn cnt tk bye" Manda's big on shortening words, but that was sparse, even for her. She usually spells out "cant" and "talk" anyways, and that isn't usually how she abbreviates nothing.

I haven't heard anything at all from anyone since. I've made a few phone calls, but nothing. Panicking? You bet!

Explosion.

Last night, at around 8:30, I started to a blog post about my mom. I'm really getting sick of her on/off drinking. I'm tired of knowing she downed a half liter bottle in one day, and then watching her hands shake all the next day.  I'm tired of knowing that the colds she keeps getting, causing her to spend the day sleeping, are actually hangovers. I want to do something about it. Talking to her didn't work last time I tried. I don't know of another way of doing it, without uprooting my family.

Right now though, it doesn't matter anymore, what the right thing to do is. Right now, I'm too hurt to even think about doing anything. I just want to cry. I'm hoping that sharing will help. There was a huge fight last night, and the only way that I think I can feel better is to type out the whole thing bit by bit.


I wake up at 5am to go to work, so I try to get in bed by 10. Last night, dinner was late (9) and I went immediately from dinner to showering. I planned to go straight to bed after. When I got out of the shower, though, my sister said my mom was looking to talk to all three of us at the same time.


She started SCREAMING at us, all three of us, for not unloading the dishwasher. I was annoyed. I hate being yelled at. I told her, as politely as I could, that in the future, she can tell us without yelling. Turns out, there isn't really a polite way to say that.


She didn't let any of us get up to do the dishwasher, even though her open floor plan would have allowed for someone to do the dishwasher, while being yelled at. She turned to Amanda and went off on her too. Manda had just been on vacation for 3 weeks, and had forgotten that she had a new once-a-week chore. She was only told about this chore a few days before she left. She hadn't even had a chance to do it for the first time.


My mom yelled at Amanda for a few minutes, and poor Manda had no idea what my mom was yelling at her about. She didn't remember at all what her chore was. And my mom kept making her guess what she was supposed to be doing. Eventually I blurted it out, and my mom flipped out on me again.

She kept switching back and forth, from yelling at me to yelling at Manda. After a few minutes of back and forth, Manda said something that broke my heart. "I should have just jumped off the roof that day. I should have just killed myself when I had the chance." I remember that day. I was in Virginia still, but my mom called me to tell me what was going on. It terrified me then, but hearing it come from Manda's own mouth was worse.

And they started arguing more, but I couldn't handle it any more. I started screaming, that I couldn't do it. That I couldn't listen to them argue like this. My mom said "This is hte only way we can fix this! We have to have this argument!" and I told her that I couldn't. I could handle the chore argument. I couldn't handle listening to her screech at my sister, and really really couldn't handle listening to my sister half-threaten suicide. When I started yelling, Lauren burst into tears too. Now all four of us were crying.

I walked off, and my mom told me that if I left, I wasn't coming back, and I would have to move out. I changed my mind mid-step, but kept walking, turning towards the bathroom to blow my nose, which was running because I was crying.

I spent as much time as I could blowing my nose, and blowing as loud as I could to drown them out.

I stopped blowing just in time to hear Manda say "I hate it here. I hate everyone in this family. I never have felt like I belonged. None of you like me."

And somehow, even though I was angry at my mother, I started shouting at my sister. I love her. She didn't seem to get that. Instead she mentioned something that a non-family member had said to her, about how she was going to ruin everyone she came in contact with.

No matter what I said, it didn't matter. She repeated herself several times about how we all hated her, and how it was our fault that she hated herself. I kept repeating myself too. "What about me? Don't you know I don't hate you? I love you, Manda." It didn't seem to do any good.

Meanwhile, my mom was still yelling, yelling over us, and ignoring the fact that this was happening. She kept yelling at Manda about her chores. I interrupted again, just about as loud as I could, which wasn't very loud because my throat was hurting already from crying. "This is why I can't listen to you two argue. Do you hear what Manda is saying? Do you hear what you're saying? I can't do this!"

And then I apologized to Manda, because I really was sorry. I had never ever meant to let her feel that way. I wish I had known a long time ago that she felt that way, and I can't help but blame myself. I went over to give manda a hug with my apology. She pushed me away and wouldn't even look at me.

I tried to redeem myself. Instead of running away from it, like I wanted to, I stayed. I stood up for them. But it was too little, too late. And then when my mom finally let us go, I emptied the dishwasher, and had to go to bed. I couldn't even stay up to make my sisters feel better. Manda was still crying when I went to bed.

And now my mother is giving all of us the silent treatment, which just really PISSES ME THE FUCK OFF! I can understand her giving it to me. After I apologized to Manda, I tore my mother a new one. But Manda and Lauren, I just don't understand. Lauren didn't even do anything. Manda got angry with her, but Manda is just a kid. Was she out of line? Yes. Both of them were. Is this a good way for my mother to handle it? No, not at all.

As I was writing this, Manda messaged me and told me she thinks my mom is drinking. I already know she is, and so does Lauren. My sisters and I are going to have a talk all together soon to figure out what to do. I want to call DCF/DSS/whatever, and get them out of here. But I know that when I was there age, I would have hated if anyone did that to me. So I want to know what they want. I'm moving out soon anyways, so all that matters to me is that they are okay once I leave. And I want them to know that I will ALWAYS be there for them. That I love them.

This is NOT a good situation.

My mother and I don't get along

I hate living here. I really hate it. My mom's drinking again, but now only at nights before bed. she's mostly sober during the day. She's only been drunk for about an hour a night, the past three or four days. Then she goes to sleep. I am angry.

But it turns out, I don't like her much, even sober. I'm really starting to learn the difference between loving someone and liking them. I'd do anything for my mother. But I don't like her at all. Even sober she's SO negative. Nothing is ever good, happy, or even mildly pleasant. She can and does complain about everything. A part of me, the part I like to ignore because I'm not a shrink, wonders if this negativity is why she drinks. If it drives me this crazy just being around her, I can't imagine how crazy I would go if I were in her head. You probably wouldn't know it from reading this blog, but I'm usually a very positive person, and I surround myself with people who are even more positive than I am. I don't like negativity. I want to move out.

She brings out the worst in me. I keep catching myself doing and thinking stupid, childish things. And not he good fun kind of childish. More like, the back-talking but not quite logical type of childish. The type of childish that makes kids throw a temper tantrum when things aren't fair. That's not me..... or at least, I don't want it to be. But I keep doing it. And so does she. We're playing off each others bad behavior. I don't know how to stop it, except to bite my tongue. But I hate that too. It's not comfortable.

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT (and yes, I did just say that out loud and draw the word out) There are other things going on right now which are a lot better. Which I'm trying to focus on. I just had to get that other bit off my chest. I've been writing posts, but not posting, for more than a week now.

I regressed, again. WORK! My job. It doesn't pay much, but it turns out, I actually like it a lot. I work in the bakery of a grocery store. I love bread, cookies, and pastries (all things we bake ourselves) and even though there's no discount, I do get to know in advance what will be on the shelves and I get to know exactly how fresh it is. My co-workers, though all significantly more experienced than I am (all of them have been working at least 5 years in various grocery store bakeries. Some of them have transferred between stores every now and then.) but all of them are really nice to me. It's fine, it's good. I cut myself on a bread knife the other day, but it's healing nicely. (cuts are no big deal. I'm just glad its healing finally. it's right on the joint so I expected it to take a lot longer)

And Jeffreys applied for a few good jobs. Hopefully he'll get one soon and then I can start looking for apartments and find us a nice pretty one. It'll be sad though, to leave my job. I'm looking into what I'd need to do to transfer to another store. At least that would give me some sort of job security.

Drunk.

She's drunk again/still and can hardly walk right now. I'm so freaking angry. All I want to do is punch her, but I know that wouldn't solve anything. How can she be doing this to us all again? How can she do this to HERSELF again? She's still going to her AA meetings, and I don't know how she can lie to that many people. People who are here to help her. I tried to help her, I want to. I just don't know what to do.

Last night she forgot Manda at the mall. Way to go Mom.

The bottle I found last night? I put it on the counter, so that she would know I saw it. The bottle is gone, she hasn't said a thing, and I'm too scared to bring it up while she's still drunk. She gets mean, and I don't want to fight with her. So I'm stuck sitting in silence, fuming, and crying a little.

Fuck.

Bottles

There is a vodka bottle on the kitchen floor.

Ghosts

I need to learn to let go. The past has haunted me, is haunting me, and will continue to follow me. I need to get rid of it. What kind of person sits in the mall, and then suddenly starts crying about something that happened almost 3 years ago?

Me. I need to learn to forgive. I need to learn to forget. I need to get rid of it all. There is a shadow over my head all the time. Successful people don’t let their pasts hold them back. I want so much to be successful.

And I want to forgive my mother. I love her, and for her I have to try. I can’t keep beating myself up over the jobs I couldn’t find. I cant keep being angry over our Christmas fight. I can’t keep feeling guilty for not calling her that year on her birthday.

And I need to forgive myself. I can’t keep hating myself for not being able to get her to stop drinking. I can’t keep blaming myself for not taking care of my sisters. I can’t keep crying over the fact that her house was a mess.

My heart shouldn’t race in fear whenever I see someone who looks mildly like my sister’s father.

The ghosts of my past are following me. It’s not healthy, and I know that. And lately I’ve been all about healthy. I’ve been exercising, eating better, cutting out a lot of my contact with the people who tend to bring me down and getting back in touch with people who are good for me. I’ve been planning more and been organizing more to hopefully reduce the number and frequency of my anxiety attacks.

Mostly, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. Everyone has problems, and I make too much of a big deal out of mine. I need to stop that. How can I help other people if I'm feeling bad about myself?

I’ll end this with a quote from a song which sums it all up pretty well.

I don't believe in ghosts but I'm afraid of 'em

_______________________________
Song Credit: Ghosts by Skye Sweetnam

I hate "Allyson"

There’s a reason I started this blog, and tonight gives me a perfect opportunity to test out it’s effectiveness. It’s purpose? So that I didn’t have to tell each of my friends about a major event. I don’t like repeating myself. More than that though, I hate burdening them with whatever bad thing happens to me.

WARNING: The following post ends with an abundance of swearing. Just to prepare you.

This morning I called my mom. She didn’t answer the phone. I called her again around one, because I was bored, and my mom is usually up for a chat. She didn’t answer. She finally called me back at about 2:30pm, to tell me the reason she hadn’t been answering. She had been at the hospital with my sister since about 10:00 the night before and had just then left it. That in itself would have been enough stress for one day, but that’s not even it. I wont even get into that mess tonight. So my Mom talked to me an apologized, I talked to my sister for a few seconds, then my mom told me she had to get off the phone to make other phone calls. Them being in the hospital for a billion hours had made a nice long list of people.

Skip forward to 7:45pm. My mom calls me up, sounding a little distraught. I ask her what’s wrong. (M=mom, E=me/Erin)

M: A-a-a-a.....
E: A what?
M: (calm controlled breathing, like when you’re trying not to cry or scream)
E: Would you rather talk about something else?
M: Could you?

So I babble on for about 3 minutes about the latest Reader Digest and about cooking and how my nails needed painting. Safe subjects. And then I run out. I flounder for a while.

E:Uhh.... umm..... My dishes need doing and..... umm.... uh.. I’m.....
M: Allyson [[see bottom of post]] did it again.
E: Did what again?

My mind was reeling with possibilities. This girl had done so many things to harm my family. She is 16 years old. She and I had been friends since we were very small children. Since I was 7 and she was five. She lied and she stole every time she was around. She broke my laptop, and refused to pay me. She made mess, intentionally, and refused to clean them. She insulted various ones of us at different times. She had one kicked me in the chest, and had hit me a few other times. She had called the cops on my mother before many times. She owes me over $2,000 which I’m sure I’ll never see. I gave up on her about a year and a half ago. Stopped speaking to her. In return she decided that my sister was her best friend. A sixteen year old, whose best friend was 11 (and is now 12) That in itself is a bit weird.

M: You know what I’m talking about.
E: No I don’t. What has she done.
M: she called the cops on me.

Flashback September. My mothers car (tiny little thing that it was) had lifted off the ground in a big gust of wind right into a tree. The car had been a standard. My mothers first day with ehr new car, an automatic, was my sisters birthday. After the party my mother drove Allyson home. My mother, intending to shift gears, went to put her foot on the clutch. Of course, in an automatic there si no clutch. Hello brakes! And Allyson called the cops because my mother was apparently driving drunk, even though the only thing she’d eaten for drank since that morning was a movie theatre soda and a soda at lunch, both of which Allyson witnessed. I was pissed. I told my mother (for probably the 20th time) not to let my sisters associate with her. My mother ignored my advice as usual.

E: What happened?
M: Manda and I got into a fight at dinner about using the phone. She can’t be on the phone when we’re eating. I took the phone away, and was going to give it back after dinner. Allyson showed up right in the middle. I wouldn’t let manda get up from the dinner table. Allyson was just getting some stuff she had left here over hte weekend. Manda got mad at me. And then Allyson called the cops because I was slow and angry. I haven’t slept since I woke up yesterday morning. Of course I’m slow. And I’m cranky. I’m tired and cranky. Manda’s talking with the cop right now. She’s still mad at me, Erin. She said she hates me.
E: She’s just angry.
M: But she said she hates me.
E: She doesn’t. She’ll be over it in 20 minutes.
M: But the police man!
E: Manda isn’t going to lie because she’s mad at you.
M: But she said she— Here he comes. I’ll call you back.

And she hung up on me to talk to the officer. In the end, everything is fine.

But I’m still bullshit pissed. She can insult me. That’s fine. She can steal from me. That’s not fine, but it’s tolerable. She can even beat me up, and I wont do a thing. But I swear if she does another thing to me, I will find some sort of retaliation. I don’t know what I can do, legally, But I’m SUPER FUCKING PISSED OFF! At least I know (or hope) my mother has decided to listen to my advice and NOT allow her in the house again.

And you know what? I already know I can’t do shit legally. You know why? Because guess who she learned all this bad behavior from? Daddy dearest, who would probably call the cops on me for harassing a minor, or some other ridiculous charge.


Hate isn't a word I take lightly. But see the title of this post? There are only two people in this world who I can honestly say that about. She is one of them. This has been a long time coming.
________
Allyson is a fake name. I will not post her real name. I may hate her, and I doubt that I'm the only one, but it's still not right to say that many mean things about a person.

Custody Battles. FML

“There’s a weight over me today
It’s something I have to say
I love you too much to leave
Don’t like you enough to stay”

That’s the intro to a song I heard today. Though the song is about lovers, many of the lyrics fit well with what I’m feeling for my mother right now. I love her. I really do. But I don’t trust her, and I don’t even really like her.

Sure, this sounds like any other teenage rant. I know that. But that’s what I am, just a teenager. A nineteen year old girl trying to keep the peace in her dysfunctional family from 800 miles away.

My mother called me today and asked me to speak on her behalf in the custody hearing that will happen in late June, for my youngest sister, Lauren. I can’t do it. Nope. Not gonna happen.

But I don’t know if I can tell her “No” either.

I need to interrupt a little and go back. You, reader, whoever you are, don’t know the story. I’m not going into the details, not yet. Eventually maybe I will, but for now it’s enough to know that my mother is an alcoholic, who lost custody of my two sisters June 1st of last year. After a lot of shuffling around, my sister Amanda, age 12, ended up in a foster home, and my sister Lauren, 10, ended up at my aunts house.

My mom’s been sober a few months now, and they let Amanda go home. Lauren doesn’t want to go back to my moms house. She wants to stay at my aunts permanently. She likes that they have a ‘real’ family. That they all like each other; my family wasn’t like that. My mom was angry all the time, and Amanda and Lauren fought a lot. I avoided arguing, but even that was hard. To be honest, I think its best for both of my sisters if Lauren stays at my aunts. But no way would I ever be able to tell my mom that. I am afraid that if I did, she’d get angry, get stressed, and fall back to drinking. I know that she’s having a hard time staying sober. I don’t want to push her any more than necessary.

But Lauren is happy where she is. She’s thriving. She went from a C/D student to an A student. She’s playing basketball and loves it (my mom always refused to sign her up for any activities, even though Amanda got to do many.) I don’t trust my mom to stay sober, and Lauren, of all three of us, suffered the most from that.

Amanda does unbelievably better on her own. Without a sibling nearby to compete with. She needs attention, or at least, can’t share it. “Just because I don’t want it, doesn’t mean you can have it,” is her unstated opinion. She is very independent, but also competitive.

As much as I think it would be best for my sisters, I don’t think it would be good for my mom at all. She wants her baby back. I’m scared. I’ve decided for now, I’m staying out of it. I wont be involved in the hearing. My job, as always, is to pick up the pieces at the end. Whoever doesn’t win can be comforted by me. That’s what I always do. I don’t take steps because I’m afraid.

Am I making the right choice?

I wish my mother hadn't put me in this situation. I can't call her, because she'll want my decision. How can I explain it to her?

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Song credit: Look For the Woman- Dan le Sac vs Scroobius Pip

The History of Erin Boat

It’s not necessary for you to read this, but I had to write it anyways. I tend to let my past effect my present a lot, and so getting the whole story out there and written.... it feels good to tell it all, even if it is just a very short summary of the major events in my life.

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I was born late in 1990. When I was two my parents divorced. I grew up in three places, all of which felt like home to me. The first was my mothers. She had primary custody of me. We were quite poor, though in my early childhood I didn’t realize it. On some occasions my mom wouldn’t eat for a few days, so that we had enough food for me to eat. At the time, I thought that was normal. We read a lot of books together. That’s what I remember most; her reading to me.

My second home was my fathers. I only saw him every other weekend, but that still felt like a lot to me. Some of my greatest childhood memories were with my Daddy. Back then, I would have said he was rich. Looking back, I think he was probably just middle-middle class. He was rich my comparison, and he “spoiled” me terribly. I was never really spoiled by it though. He gave me anything I asked for, but I was so grateful. And he played with me, and took me bowling and all kinds of other fun things. Sometimes he’d take me to work with him, and for me, even that was fun. He was a flooring contractor in the early ninties, but by the end, he had stopped doing it because of his knees, and instead owned and ran many small apartment buildings. It was a slow transition

My third home was my aunt and uncle’s house. I spent the weekends when I wasn’t at my dad’s, at their house. I loved them like they were a second set of parents. I never called them by their names. They were always Auntie and Uncle. We did all kinds of stuff. We went to the beach a lot, I remember. I had my own bedroom at their house, which was, and still is, called the Rose Room, although it has since been redecorated and no longer is full of roses. Uncle used to draw for me. I used to bake with Auntie.

When I was 5 or so, my mom met a man, who at the time I was okay with. When I was 6 my aunt and mother both gave birth to girls, exactly one month apart. I had always wanted a sister, and it was like getting two at once. I thought that was the greatest thing ever! I did everything I could to take care of the babies.

As time went on, my mom started drinking more, and my sisters dad started withdrawing more. I spent a lot of time taking care of the baby. I was okay with that. At some point, DSS got called and we got taken away, sent to my aunts. My mom quit drinking. We went home. After that, my aunt and I slowly drifted apart. At first I didnt realize it, because it was a slow process, but by the time I was in 8th grade, I hardly ever saw her.

My mom got pregnant again when I was 8. I was just as excited as I was the first time. My best friends mother also was pregnant. Once again, I got a sister born exactly one month apart from another baby I knew. I thought it was cool that both my sisters had a ‘matching’ birthday.

My youngest sister had some birth defects, which required surgery. My ‘step-dad’ (title given because it’s the closest to what he was. The two were never actually married) was getting more and more withdrawn, so heavy into drugs. My mom lost her job, because they wouldn’t give her time off for the baby’s surgery. Tensions grew in my house. After my sisters 3rd major surgery (there were also many minor ones) my mother and step father hardly got along. One night he smashed one of my mothers favorite decorations. I told my best friend. Somehow the elementary school guidance counselor heard that I said he hit my mom. It wasn’t the case, but when the guidance councilor called to talk to my mom, it made my mother realize that it was only a matter of time. She kicked him out.

An out of work mother, a healing baby, a troublesome toddler (though thats no surprise. All toddlers are troublesome) and a nine year old girl who occasionally thought about running away from her family because she was so unhappy. I was so unhappy. I wasn’t good enough. Mom never paid attention unless it was to tell me to take care of my sisters, or to do the dishes. She found a job. We needed a babysitter. My mom met a woman who had been a live-in nanny for many years with many families. My mom offered her a place to stay rent-free in return for watching the kids, and keeping the house clean.

And that worked fine for a while. My mom stopped drinking again. Our nanny was great. She kept the house clean, she played with the babies, and with me. I still had to help out, but not as much. But I still felt worthless. My stepdad had never failed to remind me how insignificant I was, when he was still in the picture, and I never got over it.

He stopped visiting my sisters. I was angry at him for ignoring his babies. Time moved on. Kids at school hated me. I was depressed. I started considering suicide when I was 10. When I was 12, I got unbearably close to trying it. My best friend unintentionally saved me. I will never ever forget that, and I can never thank her enough. In fact, I don’t think I ever really tried. I was always too embarrassed, but Chels, if you happen to read this, thank you. Thank you a thousand times.

My dad moved into the town my mom lived in, and they got shared custody. Technically the papers said I was to spend half my time with each of them. It worked out more that I could go to whichever house, whenever I wanted. I was happy. My dad build a great big, beautiful house. It was big news in the town. I sometimes over heard strangers talking about “that big new house off school street.” We were the only new house near there. It was amazing. My dad was a show-off. I loved my new home. He sold his apartment buildings because they were too far away, and started a construction company.

I spent a lot of time online and made a lot of friends there. Time passed. Our nanny stopped cleaning because she was “tired of being the only one doing the work.” Even after she stopped cleaning, even when she wouldn’t even do her own laundry, she still complained about doing to much. When she didnt do things, it defaulted to me. Okay.

I started high school, at a different school than most of my friends. The only one who I was with was Chelsea. I made new friends absurdly quickly. It was stranger for me, who had always been unpopular, and it made me really nervous at first. I was afraid they’d leave, or were playing a prank. Eventually I got over it. My mom got a promotion, and we moved to a bigger, nicer, less leaky house.

She had to work a ton more hours, now that she was a manager. It was stressful. She started drinking again. At first it was a just a little after work, but she couldn’t control it. She started drinking more. And then even more.

My father lost his house, the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of high school. Though his company always had work, he was almost famous for undercharging, and giving free extras. All it took was a few customers to rip him off even further, and he was gone. He had a second house, but it was in the middle of renovations. We moved into a house with the floors torn up, only some walls, and no ceilings. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

High school happened. My grades were lowering. I was stressing. The nanny now no longer wanted anything to do with the kids, though she was still living rent-free. Once again, her responsibilities defaulted to me. My mom was always at work, or drunk. Fine. I could keep a 6 bedroom house clean, and take care of two kids. That was fine. But doing that AND homework? I couldn’t handle it. Whatever free time I had was spent relaxing. I felt like I just had too much to do. Maybe if I had been better at time-management, it would have been easier. It was never a strong point of mine.

Summer 2006. The economy started to go bad. As a vacation destination, we felt it. One of the first things people start cutting out of their budgets are expensive vacations. At the same time, my mom decided it was time to get a job. Instead of saying “You should find a job soon.” she surprised me. It was August first (the day after was the nanny’s birthday which is how I remember) and she woke me up at 7am. Usually I didn’t have to wake up until the kids did, which wasn’t until 8:30 usually. She said “You have until tonight to find a job. If I were you, I’d start now.”

By nightfall, I had applied at 20 different stores within walking distance. Without a car, I hadn’t gone much farther, and that had taken all day. Despite all the applications, I still didn’t actually have a job yet. That wasn’t good enough for my mother, who was drunk. She told me to get out and not to come back until I had a job.

It was a tough year. Sometimes, she’d call and apologize. She’d ask me to come home, and say she was sorry, and that she’d been unreasonable. But at the slightest mistake (such as not reading her mind and therefore not doing her laundry for her) I was kicked out again. I spent the better part of my junior year of high school at my dads. It was nice, but he still didn’t have heat, or ceilings, (though he did have walls) and at one point he got his water shut off and the turn on fee was a few hundred dollars that he just didn’t have. You see, another thing people cut out of their budgets are unnecessary contracting. Windows might get replaced if they were truly smashed (about a $100 job) but no one will build an addition.

And somehow, things sorted themselves out between my mother and I. She needed my help running the house, and there I was, despite all the ups and downs, still willing to come back. I needed my sisters more than anything.

Coming back was a shock. The house was more of a mess than ever, and no matter how much I cleaned, I couldn’t catch back up. It was horrible, and honestly, disgusting at times. Even worse was my mother. She was drinking more than ever and it was frightening now. She yelled at my sisters for stupid things, she yelled at me. I talked to my dad about it, but asked him to stay out of it. He respected my wishes, so I thought. But then one day he told me he had called DSS. I was angry at him for quite some time about that. I felt betrayed, and scared.

They came and looked around. They told my mom that she should “maybe drink a bit less” and to get the house cleaned up. They mentioned that “the older one ought to help get it straightened out. Teenagers may hate cleaning but they can do it and should. It would be almost impossible for you to get it done on your own.” It pissed me off. It WAS nearly impossible to get it cleaned up on your own. I didn’t like that I wasn’t getting any credit, and I really didn’t like they used the word “maybe” in from of “drink less.”

Nothing much changed. Jeffrey finally came to visit me. He was one of the people I had met online many many years before, and somehow, had let me fall for him. It was an amazing week, which changed my mind about everything. I realized that I couldnt just idly sit by and live my life around my mother. Now I had something I wanted, something I was completely sure about. I talked to the family councilor DSS made us see. They talked to my mom. She was supposed to stop drinking.

Slowly, she weaned herself off. There were a few slip ups, but she was doing better. I was confident that after I graduated, I could go down to Virginia with Jeffrey, and my sisters would be fine with my mom. Before that, I wasn’t even going to go away to college (though I often lied and said I would) because I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving my sisters in the care of an angry drunk.

The day after my senior prom, Jeffrey got down on one knee and proposed to me. I had known it was coming, but wasn’t sure when. I had to tell my mom. I was afraid to, afraid she’d freak out, afraid she would drink. My fears proved correct. I felt horrible. Blamed myself. One of my sisters told the school. DSS came back. My mom lost custody. I graduated and went to Virginia. I couldn’t have the phone number to where my sisters were. I was freaking out. They were my babies. They had been my responsibility off and on since I was 7. Who were they to tell me I couldn’t talk to them. Then they got moved into my aunts house. Relief, until the older of the two started lashing out. Threatening my cousin, disobeying my aunt and uncle. Shouting. My aunt couldn’t handle her. She went back to the foster home, but this time, I could have the number. Her anger faded, and she started thriving on being the only kid in the house. It was great for her.

And my mom was doing better, so long as I called her every couple days to check in. My sister in foster care moved back into my moms house. My other sister didn’t want to. And that’s where we are at the start of this blog. I’m in Virginia. My mom is sober. My father is still trying to put his house back together. One sister is at home. The other is at home in my aunts house, the way I was when I was little.
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From March 2010 until August 2011 I kept what I’m going to refer to as “Part One” of my blog. During this time there were some ups and downs with my mother. She was in recovery for her alcoholism, then fell off the wagon, back in recovery, back off the wagon, over and over and over. I lived with her again for a while, then had to leave for Virginia again, for my own mental and physical health. My sisters have been in and out of foster care. Pardon the lack of details: there are hundreds of blog posts from that time to keep you occupied if you’re interested.

All that time I spent trying to make things happy for my mother, my sisters, my family in general, and I neglected to take care of myself until, slowly, I morphed into this near-stranger whom I hated. I stopped blogging between August 2011 and February 2013 because I hated myself. I didn’t take care of myself. I didn’t care to, because I didn’t like myself well enough to care. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t care about much of anything. Nothing seemed worth posting about. Inside my head was, to put it nicely, a shit hole.

Finally, I woke up, realized what I was doing. I’m not the same “Nineteen year old nutcase” that I was when I posted that as my tag line. I’m a 22 year old woman who spends a great deal of the time hating herself, and hating the fact that I hate myself. So now, I’m writing “Part Two” of my blog. It’s my mental health journey, and maybe some fun life tidbits. I don’t know what it is. But it’s something I can hang on to, something to hold me accountable. Something that maybe will help me turn back into someone I can tolerate.

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Photo taken by Nicole S. Fishkind, master photographer and dear friend.