This life is mine, and I am my own

I'm trying to be somebody. I'm not trying to be somebody else.

The pain I am feeling at the moment is indiscribable. I never, ever want to paint myself as vulnerable and insecure. I always want to be the girl who can hold her head up high and shake off all the troubles she has just like water.

You know that accidents happen.

I know that it's not my whole life. These brief bouts of pain that hit me when I'm not fully ready won't last for ever. This is just a rough patch, right? I'm paying psychologically for my mothers problems. I can't blame her for it all though, can I? It's not her fault that she's addicted to something that is slowly destroying her. It's not her fault.

I try and console myself with that. I try and say to myself that she is not in the right state of mind to think about who she is hurting. But this isn't true. Not even slightly. When she picks up that bottle of gin when she gets home from work, she is perfectly sober. She must know she is going to hurt us. She must know just how much she changes from my perfect, loving mother into a monster. How could she not see it?

I'm tired of fighting. I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of being her verbal punchbag. As much as I have wonderful friends no one really knows what it is like. No one has that. Their parents don't morph into unrecognisable people. When mum is drunk she is like a stranger.

Urgh. So this is me. If you stripped me away of my fronts you'd see how lost I was. How I don't know what to do most of the time. How I hurt myself to justify it all.

I hate it. Why can't it not affect me? I wish so much that I could just breeze by and not give two hoots whether she lives or dies. I am almost at peace with the fact that my mother will probably die young due to liver failure, or some other equally horrific disease. I know that she is falling apart, and all the times she goes to the doctors or moans about something to do with her health it is the alcohol that is doing it to her. It's knocking years off her life, but she can't see outside her green bottle.

I'm angry. Yes. I am angry at her for being such a selfish bitch. She doesn't want to see how we hurt. We've fucking begged her to change, to get help. But all she does is turn her back on us. I hate her for it. I hate her so much. Never have a felt so much hate. But then accompanying the anger and the hate is guilt, just as prominent.

I'm sick of feeling.