A beautiful storm *COMPLETE*

Symptoms of the disease

In my heart, I knew that she was sick. Being an addict may have been a choice, but it was like a poisonous disease. It was the medication that shut up the demons. Trading one poison for another. I have never asked why my mother turned to drugs. Obviously, it wasn’t a discussion that any mother wants to have with her child, and especially not when I was younger. But now, the question has taken residence in the back of my mind. Had she always done drugs, even when I was very young? Why did she never choose to get better? If not for me, then herself. I hoped that one day, we would be able to have that discussion. Maybe one day she would finally choose recovery. I knew deep down, that was unlikely. It was more likely for the drugs to finally consume her, stealing her life for good. One day, she would drown her demons for the last time.

I walked back to the bathroom, rushing to get ready for school. I wasted far too much time making sure she was okay. I had ten minutes to get ready and be out the door for the bus. If I missed it, I wouldn’t get to eat breakfast at school. I was thankful that our school offered free breakfast for the kids who were less fortunate. Or in my case, their mom spent all of her money on drugs and neglected her only child. If I missed the bus and had to walk the three miles to school, I wasn’t eating until lunch. That happened more often than not. I feel like I spend more time taking care of my mother now than she’s ever taken care of me. I was able to quickly brush my teeth and throw my hair in a high pony. No need to brush it today. I rushed to my room, quickly changing into a hoodie and some faded black leggings. I packed up my books, grabbed my backpack, and rushed to the door. I stopped as I was passing the couch, hearing a loud snoring. Last night’s f*ck was still on the couch, passed out, just like my mother. It makes me sick seeing these men in here. Every. Single. Night. I sigh. Six more weeks until I graduate. Three until I turn eighteen. This is almost over. With that thought, I’m out the door just as the bus is pulling up. Thank god. I was starved from not having dinner last night.

I walked into school and heard the regular whispers. Everyone knew about my mom. They knew about her tendency to drag men home, some of them being married, some of them parents, some of them didn’t know what they were getting into. They also saw that I had next to nothing. I wore the same clothes I had been wearing for years. If it fit, I wore it. If I ripped, I sewed it. There were rare occasions where my mother would f**k some guy and he’d pay her. She claims not to be a p********e, but I call it as I see it. She’d hand me money to go buy groceries or go to a thrift store for a few new clothing items. I was usually pretty good about stretching whatever money that she would give me. I’ve managed to even save quite a bit. Stashing it away for when I finally leave this f**king place. I just wanted to graduate and get out of here. I had no plans on looking back. I didn’t even feel remorse for leaving my mother, knowing that she constantly needed taken care of. I had accepted a long time ago that nothing that I did would make her change her ways. A person will only get help when they are ready, and she was definitely not ready.

The day went by uneventfully. I finished all of my core classes and headed to art. I loved being in art. It was therapeutic and I felt like it was the one thing that I had going for me. On my way, I was shoved into a locker. Charlotte Thompson. She was popular and high strung. Head of the cheerleading team. Guys constantly flocked to her. I personally tried to avoid her, but apparently not today. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Charlotte?” I tried to be invisible, but I had no problem speaking my mind when necessary. She looked at me like I was insane. “Are you so dense?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at me. I rolled my eyes, which got me another shove. “Your wh**e of a mother f**ked my step dad last week. Now my parents are on the rocks.” she huffed. I could see her nostrils flaring as she spoke. “I’m sorry to hear that about your parents, but I don’t control my mother. Not to mention your step father wasn’t forced into bed with my mother.” She was seething at this point. I’d earned myself a slap to the face. I refused to give her the satisfaction, acting unphased by the slap. My nails dug painfully into my palms. I used this tactic to focus when I was angry. Focusing on the pain. “Tell her to keep her wh**e legs closed. For all I know, she drugged him just like she does herself. It’s pathetic.” I just nodded, rolling my eyes again, and receiving another hard shove. I’m positive that last one would leave a bruise. I wanted to throw her to the ground and smash my fist into her face. I didn’t deserve her wrath, but the thought of staying invisible was screaming in the back of mind. I took a deep breath as she flipped her hair and walked away. I don’t know what she expected me to do about it. My mother may sleep around, but her step dad could have said no. I walked to my classroom and immersed myself in art. After forty minutes, I looked at the stunning landscape that I had painted. I was proud of this one. I hope that I have the opportunity to go to college and pursue an Art degree. I’d need a scholarship for that to ever happen. Sighing, I erased that thought from ever crossing my mind. It just wasn't in the cards for me.