"your mother is an alcoholic,"
my mom jokingly said to
me one night
as she was pouring
herself another drink.
as a kid,
i didn't understand alcohol
or my mother's drinking habits.
she always seemed fine to me,
or at least pretended to be.
i didn't think anything
of the late nights,
or the excuses she sometimes
fabricated.
i smiled at her
and pretending i wasn't
actually worrying inside.
my mother was strong,
she was tough,
and i wasn't one
to criticize her drinking.
and while she said
those words as a
lighthearted joke,
i don't think she realized
i sometimes worried
for my future
and whether my
drinking habits
would hurt me
down the line.
i didn't want
to have to drink
to the bottom of the
bottle to feel something.
nor did i want to have
to drink to escape my reality.
it's a little twisted
and i'm not sure
when things got like this.
and the culture of college
doesn't help people like
me much.
"take another shot"
i take it to ease
the pain,
but i know in
the morning,
it won't make a difference,
i'll still feel the same.
ounces of alcohol,
stumbling legs,
loose smiles,
but things aren't
really what they seem.
i don't have to be
my mother's drinking habits,
pouring a glass each night
after work.
but how much
control do i actually have?
because i already feel
as if i'm spiraling
out of control.