I sat on a kitchen stool in my kitchen, trying desperately not to have an emotional reaction to the text I had just received from my cousin. It was about my mother. “She is drinking again. You have to come for her,” the text read. My first thought was, “Will this ever end? Will there ever come a time when I won’t receive a phone call or a text that my mum is passed out drunk?” A girl can dream, right? Because for as long as I started forming memories, she has always been an alcoholic.

This addiction of hers made my childhood a very difficult one. I could never live in the moment. Even on days she was sober, I always watched her closely like a hawk, looking for signs that she might relapse. I also tried to prevent her from putting herself in situations that would push her off the rails. I discouraged her from attending ceremonies like funerals, weddings, parties, and basically any event that might serve alcohol. I tried my best to prevent her from travelling as well because that would put her out of my sight. I did my possible best but I was just a child. There was very little I could do when she was determined to drink.

Sometimes, she would wait for me to go to school, and then she would go out and drink. Whenever that happened, I wouldn’t go to school in the days that followed. I would have to follow her around as she staggered from one drinking bar to another, just to make sure no one took advantage of her in that state. I also followed her around so I could tell people, “She has had enough to drink. Please don’t give her more alcohol.”  She always hated it when I did that. Once, she got so angry that she said, “You are such a terrible child. You are always preventing me from doing things I want to do. I will poison you one day.”  It was hurtful to hear her say that but I laughed it off. A friend of hers who heard her told me, “Don’t pay any attention to her. You know she is drunk.” My drunken mum, in an attempt to prove that she was serious, grabbed a knife close to her and chased me with it. I was in Primary six then.

My only prayer topic when I was a child was, “God please don’t let my mother drink again.” But nothing changed. My dad had his own life elsewhere. Once in a while, he would visit. If he came to meet my mother drunk, he would quickly leave. Her family knew about her problem as well, but they never tried to help. I have siblings but I am the only one who grew up with her, so the responsibility of taking care of her always fell on me. When I was about to go to SHS, I couldn’t apply for boarding schools because of this. I was scared of what might happen to her should I leave her unsupervised. She was the adult and I was the child but I always had to be the responsible one. I couldn’t make any plans for my life without first thinking, “How will my mother cope if I am too far away to monitor her?”

No matter how much I tried to put my needs first, I would receive a phone call at some point saying; “Your mother is drinking again. You should come home.” Then I would have to drop whatever it is I am doing and go and look for her in bars, “I am looking for my mother. Did she come here to drink?” Whenever I found her she would be too drunk to walk so I would have to beg men to help me carry her home. Then I would lock her up, so she wouldn’t go out.  Sometimes she would cry, “Let me out of here, are you trying to kill me?” There were times she screamed for people to save her from me. Fortunately, everyone in our house knew about her problem so no one raised any objections when I locked her up. There was a time I proposed that she goes to rehab. That day she cried and told everyone that I said she was a junkie.

One thing about her is that she never admits that she has a drinking problem. She rather prefers the term, “sickness”. So instead of saying, “I lost a huge sum of money when I was drunk,” she would rather say, “Someone stole my money when I was sick.” Now, I have read enough psychology to understand that addiction is a mental illness, but how will she ever get better if she won’t look her illness in the mirror and call it by its name? There are days I want to tell her to her face, “Yes, you have a sickness. You are an alcoholic and my entire life has been affected by this, so get better for me.” But I don’t do it. Knowing her, she will get emotional about it and then use it as an opportunity to drink. So I just tiptoe around her and do what I can in my power to keep her sober.

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As I write this, I am in my early thirties. I have moved out of the house and I currently live alone. But once in a while, I get a phone call that she has relapsed, and I still put my life on hold to go and nurse her back to sobriety. At this point, I am tired. I don’t know how long I have to continue doing this. So when my cousin sent me the text the other night, I told her, ”I am tired. Besides, my plate is full right now. So let her drink to her fill. When she gets tired she will stop. And when the hangover kicks in, call me so I come for her.” The problem right now is that I am feeling guilty. She is an amazing mother when she is sober, so the fact that I didn’t drop everything to go to her rescue makes me feel like a bad daughter.

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I spoke to my sister about it and she said, “I understand why you didn’t go to her rescue. You are an adult now. You have your life to live. You can’t keep dropping everything to go and save her from herself. So live your life, and let’s hope she will get sober soon enough.” I want to believe that my sister is right but I can’t shake off the feeling that I have abandoned my mother in her moment of weakness. I haven’t slept well in days because of this. This isn’t something I can openly discuss with even my closest friends so I don’t have anyone else to talk to. That’s why I am here, sharing this with you. Hopefully, after laying myself bare here, I will know what to do.

— Jenna

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