Watching: Everybody Loves Raymond
Drinking: ice water
I know I've had nights before that I've deemed the worst night of my life (i.e., the night my parents threatened divorce at each other, the night my grandpop died, the night Le Crushboy rejected me) but tonight really, legitimately takes the cake out of all of them. Tonight I have been torn apart by someone I thought would never hurt me over something I was trying to protect them from and now I can't help but feel like it's all my fault and that the repercussions could be catastrophic.
First of all, lately my mom has been drinking significantly more. She downs about three glasses of wine a night and the alcohol makes her act different-- I see it, my dad sees it. I've mentioned my concerns about her drinking to her before but never quite as strongly as tonight. It all started with motherfucking potato salad.
My dad had his graduation last night which went fairly well, but earlier tonight one of his classmates had this graduation/fourth of July barbecue they were holding at the park. She asked everyone to please bring a side dish to contribute to the event and my mom decided to make potato salad. Now, let's just let the record show that my mom does, in fact, make fantastic potato salad. Well, usually she makes it the night before but with all the chaos over my dad's graduation and my great aunt coming down to visit the exact same night, things got kind of hectic and my mom just didn't have time. So she decided to make it today before the barbecue. She was obviously a little more than stressed out with how close she was cutting things, but I wasn't really paying enough attention to whether she had a glass of wine with her at the time or not. Considering the way things went afterwards, though, I would not have been surprised. She was basically panicking making the shit because she was cutting things so close and then was panicking trying to get the container she had said potato salad in into the cooler so it could cool but she was freaking out about the safety of her precious potluck contribution. Once we finally left the house, it took us a fucking an hour drive to get to the park where the barbecue was because we didn't know where we were going, got all turned around, and the entire time my mom was complaining and having a fit and getting all snappy. When we finally got there, things seemed to get a little better. I met a lot of my dad's friends from school and everyone adored the potato salad. The way my mom acted didn't get much better, though. She was sociable, per usual, but she was constantly nagging and nitpicking me, asking me if I needed a refill on my water every five fucking minutes and constantly grooming me by messing with my hair and showing me affection by kissing my forehead and shit all in front of people who are literally around my age. The thing that pissed me off the most, though, was that my mother snuck an entire bottle of wine in the cooler to the barbecue with her and was pouring herself drinks the entire time. By the time the barbecue was coming to a close, it was still early yet so my mom wanted to drive down to the beach to see these fireworks that they were having. It was a nice night and everything but the fireworks dragged on for ages and my mom was starting to get really affectionate and inappropriate towards my dad, hugging him and making sex jokes about the last time they were at the beach (which was this past Monday night-- I was at Ed's for her birthday and my anxiety spiked so I asked my parents if they could come pick me up and take me home but my mom was all like "We're at the beach having a romantic night with candles in the sand and shit which is FAR more important than you are so too bad, so sad, you'll have to wait it out."). On the way home, my mom and dad started having some sort of "discussion" about tomorrow night's plans because the original plan was the same as every other year: going to my guy friend's mother's time share and spending time in the pool and shit with her. Considering I hate that woman with a burning passion and have nothing holding me there now that I'm eighteen, I decided to voice my opinions to my mother and tell her I didn't want to come. Knowing how much my dad dislikes her, too, my mom started assuming he wasn't going to come, either, and she started going off about how she's going over anyways with or without us and that this woman was very hospitable to invite us (not like she doesn't invite us every year) and that she's changed since her days of being an alcoholic spinster living off her ex-husband's alimony checks. I wasn't buying it. My mother was so out of sorts tonight, though, that on the way home she made us stop at Walmart so she could run in and buy ice cream, but she literally got into a five minute argument with us because she was asking us what kind we wanted and neither me nor my dad cared and then she got pissed because we both had our shoes off due to an excess of sand so she had to go in by herself.
While she was in the store, though, I took the opportunity to voice my concerns to my dad, which is where I feel I made a horrible decision and thus was the beginning of everything I did wrong tonight. My dad didn't want to talk about it but I did, so I beat around the bush a bit about how I was really concerned about my mom, her drinking habits, and the way the alcohol shifts her behavior into a snappy, fresh, and defensive bitch. My dad did, however, agree that he saw the changes I was seeing and that he didn't know what was causing them but he wasn't fond of it. When my mom came back, both my dad and I were fairly silent, which raised her suspicions but not enough to be nice to us. Like, she held the bag of ice cream and waffle cones out to my dad as he was in the driver's seat, expecting him to take it, but he thought she was just going to set the bag down while she got in or something, so she got all pissed at him and called him a "lump on a log." The drive home from the store was fairly silent.
When we got home, that would be where I further enhanced my mistake. My concern was eating me alive so I went and talked to my mother about it. Unlike most times when I consult her about these sorts of things, this time I was really soft-spoken and withdrawn but she still got defensive and upset with me. I ended up saying it wasn't worth my time, that she didn't understand and wasn't listening, and she stormed out of the room, no doubt angry with me. That wasn't the end of it, though. My mom was in the living room eating her ice cream, my dad was in his room scrolling through his phone, and I was standing in the hallway stuck in the middle. Nobody was admitting we were all mad at each other but I knew they were. I felt like I made a mistake and I had to fix it, so I dragged my dad out of his room and tried to make my parents make amends like I always do when they fight. There was a small uproar, my mom called me crazy for breaking down into tears and my dad tried to drag me back to my room, saying over and over again, "It's not your mistake to fix" or something along those lines (I was hysterical, don't rely on me for accurate quotations). I couldn't stand letting things be, though, so I pulled my parents together, held my dad's hand and made my mom listen to me. At first, she was yelling at me saying she didn't do anything wrong and that I was crazy but then after a while of explaining myself, she died down a bit and ended up becoming very nurturing and understanding. All I was asking of her was that she please tone down her drinking a bit, like to maybe just one glass a night or something. My dad and I had tried to explain to her that we saw the change in her attitude when she drinks but she doesn't and doesn't listen when we try to tell her (hence the yelling and the uproar-- I swear all the neighbors must've heard her screaming at us). She pulled so many of her stupid tricks throughout the entire argument, though: the "I'm the adult and you're the child, I can do what I want and you can't tell me what to do" and the "One extreme or the other" when I told her I didn't like the way her attitude changed around the guy friend's mother, either. She started going off saying about how she understood I didn't want her to hang out with her anymore and was like "Alright, I'll just stop talking to everyone. I'll stay here and devote my time to you guys. I'll be a hermit. That's what you want." She also pulled the "I'm bringing all of you down with me" by calling my dad a jerk and later on, hitting me harder by saying to me "Well, if we're being honest with each other here, you're too pale and too thin because you don't eat and your sleep schedule is unhealthy", which ultimately was an absolute punch in the stomach for me because who the fuck wants to hear their mother put them down like that? I've been so self conscious now ever since, especially because of my past experiences with eating disorders (in third grade I was teetering on forty pounds and that's all you need to know about it). Once she died down, though, and seemed to accept what we were asking of her, though, I thought the night was over but apparently I fucked shit up again.
After everything, she went back to her bathroom to relieve herself but when I went to say goodnight to everyone, I found her sitting on the toilet in tears so naturally I just *had* to go in there and make sure she was okay. I didn't want to hurt her feelings but she was making it very hard not to upset her considering how worked up she already was just by the accusation that she drinks too much. Nothing ever could've prepared me for the response she gave me, though, which was where her side of the error comes in. She told me that what I told her had moved her and that she felt God or Jesus or whatever telling her that she needed to make a change in her life or some shit and that she was going to make us start going to church every Sunday and she was going to force me to get involved in youth group and she was going to spend the rest of her life devoting her time to and serving the Lord. Now, granted, my mother *has been* a fairly religious woman and her recent rediscovery of Joel Osteen has been drilled into our heads by multiple spur-of-the-moment preaching in times when she thinks we need it but to do a couple 180 like she did threw both my dad and I for a loop. The woman went so far as to break out a fucking bible and sit up in bed reading it. She scolded me for cussing and said it was "a sin". At that point both my dad and I were like "we don't know what the fuck is going on" and I was hysterical because all I could think was "Oh my god, I broke my mother. Oh my god, I've made everything worse. I ruined everything. This is all my fault." At that point we said our goodnights and I headed into my room to try and mull over this entire thing. Unfortunately, the night was STILL not over yet.
A few minutes later, I heard my parent's bedroom door open and a bit of a ruckus in the living room. Initially, I just thought it was my mom grabbing another snack or something but after a few minutes when I went out to investigate, I found my mom sitting up in bed with an open bible in front of her face and the front door swung open (we have a screen door with our front door so it wasn't like someone just haphazardly left the front door swinging open to let burglars sneak in or some shit). I nearly had a fucking heart attack because my first thought was literally "Oh my god, he left." My dad has this bad habit of, when arguments get too heated, he storms out of the house and drives around the block by himself. I've seen him do it many times and I wouldn't have been surprised if he did it again this time, too. But this time was different. He had promised me the two of us were going to stick together through whatever the fuck this was and that we'd figure it out, the two of us, because we were both in the same boat here. And he promised me that this would not end in divorce threats like the last gigantic fight they had (my dad had literally whipped out the phone and was ready to dial the lawyer's number). My mom said he told her he had just gone out to the car to get something but I didn't trust her, so I rushed out to make sure he didn't leave me behind. Fortunately, my mom was telling the truth because a few minutes later my dad came in with whatever it was he left out in the car and reassured me he wasn't going to leave when I broke down in tears again. So we said our goodnights again and I headed back into my room. The night STILL was not over.
A few minutes later, I heard the bedroom door open and shut yet again and this time I jolted out of bed and rushed to see what was going on. My dad had a pillow tucked under his arm and was grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch-- he said he was sleeping out there tonight. My mom came out a few minutes later and the reasoning behind that all came clear now. My dad had left the room to sleep on the couch because my nose-in-bible mother told him sleeping in his underwear was indecent and that he should put clothes on. She told him to come back to bed but he said that he wasn't going to sleep in there with her until he learned who this new person sleeping next to him was. That was when I just about had it. I gripped my mom's wrist hard and pulled her back into my room, explaining to her that this was NOT my intention when I came to her about her drinking-- that that was all I was asking, that she tone down her drinking. She scolded me for cussing and said it was "a sin" and that there would no longer be any cussing in this house and then continually would not listen to me when I tried to tell her this not my intention. That's when I discovered my mother is the devil, though. After about an hour and a half of me crying so hard I thought I was going to puke several times, she stood up and told me the whole Jesus-freak thing was nothing but an act. She said she was pretending to get back at me and my dad for apparently treating her so horribly. THE ENTIRE THING WAS A FUCKING ACT. She said she "Back to the Futured" me (because I've been growing more and more in love with those movies lately and I guess she felt the need to throw an alternate universe her at us out of pure, unadulterated spite). I was glad to have "my mother" back (even if she did say "Fuck you" to me when I told her to cuss to ensure she meant what she was saying because at this point, my trust in her was completely broken) but like I said, my trust in her was completely broken at this point. She had technically emotionally abused both my dad and I by playing these stupid mind games just to get us to feel bad for caring about her like we were. She went out and told my dad it was all an act and that he could come back to bed in his underwear and shit and me and my dad just looked at each other like we both knew we had been completely thrown through the ringer in such a short time. I asked him if he was mad at her but he just said he didn't know what to think anymore. That's when the night ended. We all said goodnight to each other and closed ourselves off from one another in our rooms and haven't spoken since. I've cried harder than I thought possible tonight and am still in shock that none of this is a dream. I don't think I'll even be able to sleep at all tonight with the fear of what's going to happen tomorrow. I'm scared that when I wake up, I'll find my parents sitting at the kitchen table filling out divorce papers or one of them up and left with the car or something. I'm so scared of them divorcing each other after this that it makes me legitimately sick. I can't even get through typing that without breaking down into tears. I just hate this. I hate seeing this. I hate dealing with this. I hate the fact that my mom has put us through this. I'm so hungry right now but I don't even want to eat anything. My anxiety has spiked up so high I literally broke out in hives on my right forearm and every little noise I swear I hear in the house has me so high-strung, I'm so afraid it's someone moving out onto the couch or sneaking out in the middle of the night and never coming back.
The problem, I think, is that my mother must be going through some sort of mid-life crisis or something. That must be what it all boils down to. She got mad at me the other night because I got on her case for her drinking three glasses of wine but not my dad for drinking three bottles of beer. What she fails to understand is that I have never seen my dad drunk in my entire life before and I know he knows his limits and drinks responsibly. Plus, beer has less alcohol content in it than wine and he only drinks when he knows he isn't going out later. My mom, on the other hand, has a history of being drunk. A few years ago, on the fourth of July, we spent Independence Day, yet again, with the bitch, and she got my mother so drunk that she puked all over herself on the drive home. I saw it all. I was about nine years old. Ever since that night, the fourth of July gives me so much fucking anxiety because I just know there's a chance that same thing could happen again and I hate it. It has effectively ruined the Fourth of July for me and every year I get so tense, I find myself heavily monitoring my mom's drinking and constantly hounding her to the point where she gets pissed at me and the bitch is just like "Oh, stop it, Amanda, she's fine! She can handle another glass!". Like, no, bitch, she can't. If I had it my way, she wouldn't even be drinking at all. Which brings me to my next point of aggravation: every time she drinks too much and her attitude shifts, I always feel like I have to mother her. She acts more like an eighteen year old than I do, therefore effectively robbing me of my youth and activating my maternal instincts. I am CONSTANTLY mothering her because I don't trust her enough to not do something stupid. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is? Trying to mother your mother when you're only eighteen? Like, I absolutely want kids but not until I'm MUCH older. I never asked to have my mother technically be my child at this point in my life. Yet here I am, with this sort of sick responsibility thrust onto my shoulders where I feel like I constantly have to make sure she's not doing something stupid or hurting herself because of her fucking drinking. I never wanted to admit it was this bad before but after tonight, I think I can officially say my mom is officially an alcoholic. And that absolutely rips my heart in half. I hate having to fucking deal with this, but the absolute problem is that I just care way too fucking much.