I Fucking Hate The Holidays

I hated Thanksgiving and I’m dreading the next wave of festive crap.  I’ve hated them for the entirety of my life.  The hate of them is different than when I was a child.  As a child I hated them from fear.

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I guess in some ways, fear is still the base feeling at play.  Grown up fear is different.

There are parts of me that hate my mothers drunken child rearing and the extra special fun it is being an ACOA.

She’s dead.  My marriage is over.  I can’t thank addiction and/or alcoholism enough for tainting two of the most important relationships of ones life.

She drank herself to death at 42yo.  I was eating strawberry ice cream, it was a snowy, cold February day when the police came to my house.  She was found on someone’s front porch.  She died alone, cold and on her own vomit.  I was just 18.

I’m thankful every day for the obvious.  The obvious is the easier stuff – that shit that drives you crazy, gives you the feeling of being alive.  That’s the good shit right there.  Hold it tight because life is a series of very unpredictable events.  There are people who don’t give a fuck others hurt or need, there are people who can’t and of course, there are people that do.

It was a close call as to whether there would be a turkey on the table this year, or a tree the day after – like every other year.  Our traditions where pretty close to having to be rewritten again, albeit differently, this year, but it worked out.  The turkey was smaller and the tree is shorter, shorter than me actually and I believe will be perpetually crocked because the trunk is too thin for the base.

The children enjoy fucking with me.  “The tree isn’t straight…”.  I don’t like children.

Holidays suck, I try to not feel they suck – haven’t mastered that yet.  Substance abuse is so fucking destructive and its ripple effect is emotionally exhausting.  I’ll always be the child of a drunk, I will always carry traits from growing up with a drunk mother.  My Christmas morning was her passed out half naked, some guy on the couch and presents from ‘Santa’ half wrapped.

Intellectually I know why those trapped in addiction do what they do, say what they say.  Shift responsibility to anything but themselves.   I see the red flags in my own marriage, the ones that say he hasn’t hit his bottom yet.  My own red flags, my own adult child issues that are constant battles.

I got one good Thanksgiving and one good Christmas from my mother.  She was in recovery and sober for 4 months before she died.  She was living in a half-way house, I never had a sober mother.  Before she got clean for those 4 months, she was living on the streets.

She was thrown out of her half-way house for drinking.  She came to my house, she was drunk.  I wouldn’t let her in my house drinking.  Boundaries and all… fuck boundaries.

That was the last time I saw her alive.  She was drunk, I told her to leave.  She died on her own vomit.  Alone.

Last day I had being a wife, my husband was strung out or drunk and that didn’t end well.  I told him to leave too…with the help the police.

Not a daughter.  Not a wife.

Happy Fucking Holidays

-mk

 

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