Mothers

Mothers are supposed to be there for you. Wipe your eyes when you cry, do your laundry, and help you get ready fir prom. Right....? Sometimes I feel as though I don't even have a mother. As though this big whole in my life was created, that day she started drinking. The alcohol soaked breath....the loud voices, the hitting...the crying. But...then....it got better. For awhile. I felt as if it would all be okay. But...it happened. The knife...the cuts...the surgery, the long wait for her to get out of the hospital. Bob yelling at me, "She's fragile!! You either have to be civil with her, or get the fuck out and find somewhere else to stay!" ...She's fragile?! SHE'S FRAGILE!? What about me? Huh? What about me? The teenage daughter that's lost a mother. No. She's not dead, but she's dead to me. No. I do not hate her. To hate someone you have to have loved them in the first place, and i have not loved that women for a long time. So. Fine. I'll be civil. I'll bide my time until I'm eighteen. Just know...that I am not fragile anymore. I WILL protect myself, and my little brother from that drunk bitch, and nothing you can do will stop me, because she may say she'll get better, but deep down, I know she won't. I've known for a long time. And this time, I won't give in.