Aerials

I witnessed firsthand her struggles right down to the needles, the bags, the razors. At the beginning, I was too young to understand completely but, that changed, as I got older. The Hermits would tell me, ‘Oh, Mommy is just sick, sweetie.’ ‘Don’t touch her things; it’s Mommy’s.’ Even then, with my six-year-old mind, I knew something was dangerously wrong, but I did not question them; it was law.

She had been in and out of rehabs, support groups, and sober states more often than Hollywood celebrities had. As the season's fashions changed, so had her habits. She jumped from one to the next, Cocaine, Speed, Weed, Alcohol, Cutting, Heroin, Bulimia, Pill popping, Meth and other forms of self-mutilation. As I said before, you name it, she’d done it. In middle school, I always remembered coming home to her apartment with her passed out on the couch or in her room high or with someone else. Strangers were always in our house coming and going as they pleased. It was quite scary to me. The thought that they could snatch me up and take me away from my mother, haunted me. I loved her so much, though she had her addictions and problems. She was still my mother after all. I used to think she was too high to care, but one night some random guy came looking for me. Luckily, my mom took care of it before anything bad could happen. Thank god, she was fresh out of rehab for a few weeks or I would have been completely fucked. It was rare for her to be close to a normal healthy state.

My father was a man I never understood. He lost faith in her after her sixth major drug relapse, and her first attempts of self-mutilations. I was fourteen then. He was tired of a woman who was drowning herself every night in her own emotions, her own issues, and problems. He was tired of trying to fix someone who according to him, could not. He was sick of not feeling loved, and eventually he had an affair. It either was with some blond secretary at his office, or the first affair with an intern or something. I never paid too much attention to that, nor asked for the details. I lost track of keeping up with that information. When my mom found out, she flipped. When my Aunt Melinda brought me home from a school event that night I was glad she stayed to visit. She was the one that found her in the bathtub trying to drown and bleed to death.

That week and months to follow, I stayed with my Aunt. She sent me off to some shrink, in the thoughts that I could not handle the situation and I would end up going off the wall and pull something over dramatic, over the top scene because of the whole situation that I have been dealing with my whole life. Oh, of course, I would have chosen to do something off the wall at that moment in time but not during the thousand other traumatic situations that I had seen. The Adults never understood the fact that I grew up dealing with it and seeing it all. I guess if I grew up with what I saw, it must mean I was so sheltered and this was so shocking for me to see. Well, so far, I had not turned fucked up or anything, so they should not worry so much. Still, they love me so I guessed they must.

I would never say that event was not traumatic, I never felt more afraid than I did that night. I never wanted to think that I was so close to losing my mom that night. She may have been a fucked up addict but I loved her. She was my mother, I was her child, and I could not abandon her in that state. I could not lose her. However, in a weird way it did not get to me the way you think it would. I guess from so many times I saw her practically overdosing it became instilled in my head that after she is though it she will be better. Even knowing that, I still could not entirely grasp that event. My head was spinning, I felt sick as the medics took my mom out of the house. I could not stand to see her on that stretcher; bleeding. Even to this day, I still absolutely positively hate blood. I have a hard time watching gory movies or anything with excessive amount of blood without thinking of that night.

For a moment, everything went blank. I could not remember what happened before and barely remember what happened after. My head was spinning, my mind was racing, I felt sick, and I was scared. It was too much. Moments later, I remembered opening my eyes with the black floor tiles in my face. My confusion, my racing mind and that sick feeling came back. The thoughts of What happened? What is going on? Where am I? What happened? What is going on? Where am I? What happened? What is going on? Where am I? cycled through my head as my stomach pain got worse. I felt like throwing up, I couldn’t take the pain and my throat felt the burning sensation that I would get before I threw up. I was trying to answer those questions, which didn’t help. My aunt was at my side seconds later. I had fainted.