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I get up in the morning and she’s still awake — it’s probably because of all the drugs she takes.
I look into her eyes and all I see is emptiness, with every passing day, I see less and less of the woman who gave me life.
Her face is sunken in and her arms are black and blue — tell me, mom, what does this life mean to you?
Are you happy to be alive? Proud to be a grandmother? Or do the dark thoughts and trauma consume you until you take another?
One shot, two shots, three shots, four? Or is your goal to keep going until you aren’t breathing anymore?
When the phone rings, I immediately begin to think — is this finally the call where they found her dead in the bathroom by the sink?
Or did she get stopped and searched, then charged with possession? Tell me, mom — when will you learn your lesson? I know how it goes all too well: “It wasn’t mine! I’m not lying, I swear. I’m in jail and I need you to come and post my bail!”
You bond out — you’re back on the streets and begging your dealer for a fix. He gives you heroin laced with fentanyl; a lethal mix.
We need you, mom, come on, this isn’t fair! I know the real you is in there somewhere!
The woman who tucked us in and read us bedtime stories has been replaced with an addict and overwhelming worry.
A woman who spews profanity and steals from her children — you need help, mom! If you won’t go now, then when?
If you don’t make the choice to better yourself soon, I’ll find you overdosed tomorrow; probably before noon.
The people around us really don’t understand, they pass judgement on you when they should be holding your hand.
They wonder why don’t we just let you go and accept we can’t save you. But if it were their loved one, would they feel the same way then, too?
Would they call them a “junkie,” “trash,” or “a waste of space”? You’re none of these things, mom — you’re just a lost soul without a place.
I love you mom and I’d fight the whole world for you, even though everything I’ve said is unfortunately true. But the fact that you’re an amazing woman with a beautiful soul outside of your addiction is also nothing new.
You’re just a person fighting a horrible disease, using the drugs to numb you and keep your mind at ease.
One day, you’ll get up and the thought of drugs will no longer haunt you. You’ll be in bed, asleep; dreaming of your life anew — oh, what a beautiful view! It might be a few months or even a few years, but when that time comes, there will be only happiness and peace flowing through our tears.
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"What It’s Like To Watch Your Mom Suffer From Addiction" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 21 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/99959/what-it’s-like-to-watch-your-mom-suffer-from-addiction>.