salty tears

two.

january 11th | 11:28 pm

I wish to have never said, "I love you," to my mother. She's not deserving of it. She doesn't even love me, so why should I? Why bother negotiating with a monster?

The only thing she's good at is insults and throwing you off-balance by picking your flaws, one by one. That and her addiction to alcohol. You never know what type there is in my house. We have all kinds thanks to her. The solution for us, as a family, is to simply ignore it. Just don't acknowledge it and you're good. Whoever needed a good mother anyway? Not me, not my brothers, not even my father. We do just fine without her help because she's never offered her help. I'm sure if she were to offer it one day we would just brush it off.

This faithful day has brought me a rain of insults. Told by the pure mother that I, unfortunately, have. It was like a war of insults. We kept hurting each other and it felt as if I wanted to stop and apologize to her. I didn't. She didn't deserve an apology. Her family deserves one. They need it the most and most of them don't realize it. I can handle simple things because they're harmless. I can handle "stupid" and "idiot". I can't handle other things beyond that. I can't handle being called the person who destroyed the family. It's not true. Writing about it now, it enrages me so much. I feel like I want to burst into a ball of fire.

I am a sensitive flower. It baffles me how I didn't cry the first few seconds of the fight. I almost always do.

The house is quiet. My room is hot.

I opened the window. It feels much better now. The breeze is pleasant and all but I want to close the window. I don't know why. There's no good reason to make myself uncomfortable so why would I? I'm thinking about so many things. It's hard to keep track. It's why I write. To at least have some order in my life because it's all slipping to chaos. I need someone to tell me it's going to be okay because I only believe others and not myself.

I sometimes wonder if I walked into the house and found my mother dead on the ground. 

I keep coming up with these ideas and things I would do. Maybe I'd feel sad? Would I run toward her body or would I just stare at it? I want to imagine that the first thing I do is put away my bag because it's heavy. Then maybe I would walk up to her body. I would try to look for a pulse but find none and then I'd call Olly, my oldest brother. He'd probably tell me to call an ambulance in the meantime while he drives home.

Maybe he would say something like, "keep calm Allie."

Too bad I would already be calm about it all. Calm because the headache has finally disappeared.

It's a shame that I look much like my mother. I've always wished for brown hair because the blonde hair makes me look too much like my mother and I don't want to be like her. Someday I'll dye it. Maybe before her funeral, so nobody makes remarks about how much we look alike.

What a shame that death can easily hide as a bottle.

Hate is a strong word, but the right word to describe how I feel about my mother. And it's all because of a stupid bottle. I wonder how she'd be like if she hadn't been a drinker at all. Maybe she'd actually go to those useless school concerts and applaud after each song we sing horribly. But she'd keep a smile on her face because that's her children up there and she loves her children, even if they sound awful while singing. It's almost possible that she would prepare us a nice breakfast some mornings. Even if it's some mornings, I would still appreciate it. Maybe we could have done all of those things that girls do with their mothers like go shopping. Buying dresses could never hurt, except for my dad's credit card, but regardless we'd just laugh and live life.

But I can't have that because of one stupid bottle. It only took one to corrupt her completely.

I'm crying about the mother I wish I had. I have to stop myself for a bit before I drown myself in my own tears.

I'm going to leave now, go to bed and cry once more. One thing I wish I had: a loving mother.