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She came home high last night. It wasn’t my mom. It was just a shell of a person with the monster trapped inside of her.
Ellen Hopkins couldn’t have been more correct with the metaphor in the book Crank. Meth isn’t a drug. It’s a monster. It’s pulls in it’s victims and takes over their souls. It’s the monster in the closet that you were always afraid of as a child. It’s the boogie man that nobody sees, but everyone knows it’s there. It brings darkness to a beautiful bright day. It’s the elephant in the room. It’s a sickness. It’s a terminal cancer. Meth is a monster and it will steal your moms soul.
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This is the first time that I’ve seen her high in over a year. Mainly because I haven’t been around her enough in the past year. There were a lot of signs and feelings that I’d forgotten about. Maybe my mind just suppressed them. As soon as she walked in the house, it all flooded back to me.
I forgot how weird her voice gets. How there’s a brief pause in every sentence that doesn’t make sense to the average person. I forgot how grey her beautiful blue eyes become. The blue always faded when she was with the monster. It’s like it sucks the color right out of her eyes. It sucks the beauty right our of her soul. I forgot how stern her voice becomes and how blank her stare is. The signs are obvious to the child of an addict. When I told my friend she asked me, “how do you know when she’s high?” I told her, “It’s my mom. I just know.” Maybe it’s my instinct or maybe it’s because of the years of seeing her this way.
I was instantly sick to my stomach when she walked in the door. All of those childhood feelings came back to me. The feeling of abandonment. The feeling of uncontrollable anger. The feelings of loss and disappointment. I just wanted to tell her to get the hell out of my face, but I knew that wasn’t the right way to handle the situation. I just stared into her eyes, although she couldn’t look me in mine.
I can’t help but to think the worst. What if she brought drugs into my home? Into my happy, safe sanctuary! What if she’s back to her old selfish, lying, cheating ways? Will she ever get her life together? Should I confront her? Should I give her an ultimatum? Should I give up? Should I back off?
How is a child of an addict supposed to act, feel, and react? I am an adult now, but it still stings just the same. It still hurts to remember my childhood. It’a still embarrassing to see how her addiction has affected my adult life.
It made me who I am today, but it sure would have been nice to have an actual childhood.
Thank you for reading another volume in the Pretties TCOAA (The Child of An Addict) Addiction Series. This is a series to raise drug addiction awareness. I decided to begin this series when I realized how many people were curious about me being the child of an addict. This was just life for me growing up. I never realized until I became an adult, that I didn’t grow up like everyone else. Yes, I had friends with parents that were amazing. I knew that my childhood was different, I just didn’t realize that it was interesting or a learning experience for other people… Read the Full Back Story here