alcohol. saves her, so she thinks. truth is, it makes her beat her childern. throw them up against walls. spit in their faces. call them names. scar their minds forever. the bruises. broken ribs. shes pretty decent most of the time, days and nights. I hate my mother. not really, i hate the fact that she drinks. but its alright, its only sometimes she gets that way. oh well, two more years and im out of there. love you mum.