Reflecting on anger.

When I think about how I've changed the most in the last 10 years, it would be how my anger manifests itself. I still have a reputation for being fearsome, but I'm less inclined to punch someone and more inclined to yell or, more often than not, stay eerily calm.

(Except that time I caught my mom using drugs last August, and I truly beat her. She says I beat the shit out of her. I say I beat the piss out of her. Because I literally did.)

Today, again, I found evidence of a relapse. Lucky for her she wasn't home, so I had time to calm down as much as possible by productively channeling my anger into cleaning. My mother is a pathological liar, and probably one of the most selfish people I've ever known. These things don't make her a bad person, per se, and she is capable of kindness, but not if it came at the expense of her comfort. That is where we're different, and I'm well aware that many of my more permanent characteristics are a complete opposite of her as sheer defiance.

I try to never lie, even when it makes me uncomfortable, because she made me lie about everything from a young age. I have never been drunk, because she's an alcoholic. I've never used chemically-based drugs recreationally, because she's an addict. I've never slept in more than 2 days in a row, because she will literally sleep all day if you don't make her wake up for something. I am obsessive about doing dishes and laundry regularly, because I grew up around disgusting piles of both for weeks on end as a child (and to this day, whenever I'm not home for a few days). The list could go on and on, and it's all in direct reaction to her.

What makes it hardest is that I cut out liars from my life as soon as I can see them for what they are, and yet I haven't yet been able to cut out the worst/most frequent/pathological liar that haunts me. My mother is like the anchor that tethers me to all the most agonizing aspects of my origin story that I am perpetually trying to rise above. I rarely get genuinely angry...irritated, sure, plenty, but never for long...and most of those incidences are on her. What the fuck does she have so hard that she feels driven to escape? She literally has no accountability anywhere in her life. She doesn't have a job, doesn't pull her weight in the house, and is sleeping more than waking day to day. WHAT THE FUCK IS SO HARD ABOUT HER LIFE when she's literally had a caretaker in her OWN GODDAMN DAUGHTER SINCE I WAS 9 YEARS OLD.

WHAT THE FUCK. And really, I know it's not as bad as MANY other people have it. I'm not deluded. My good friend Trisha has a mom that would make you wince to hear the stories. She gets it, even though my story is like the diet version of hers.

But here I am, hours later. Angry, frustrated, betrayed, and wanting to cut the ties that bind. How much better would my life be without her? And really, do I owe her any more of the life that she seems hell bent on ruining?

I warned her today that if she keeps this up, she'll be daughter-less and will die alone.

I'd never said the words out loud before, and I'm finally to the point that I mean them. I imagined a future without the fear, drama, instability, and anger that she brings to my life, and it was a beautiful sight.

"Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering." -Yoda

I'm pretty over being her doormat when I refuse to be that to anyone else. Why is she exempt from the standards I place on anyone else I let close to me? "Because she's my mom" just doesn't cut it anymore.