She doesn’t mean it that way

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

I blankly stare at the wall. Focus on the used-to-be-white colour. Focus as much as I can on anything but her words. If I focus hard enough, I’ll blank them out.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

I hear what she says, but I’m trying not to listen.
She calls me names. Complains about how hard her life is because of me. Becomes a bit aggressive. I just try to focus on the wall harder.
She gestures wildly with her hands. Asks me a question.
I gulp. One word answer. Many word monologue of her. Even more aggresive.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

Maybe it would be easier to accept her acting like this drunk if she wasn’t drunk pretty much every evening that she could.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

While I stare at the wall, I realize how my eyes keep on filling up with water.
I stand still. For a second I don’t breathe. I can’t cry right now. She wouldn’t get it.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t man it that way.

The hardest part is trying to stay calm. Trying not to scream. Not to just punch her. Slap her. Hit her face.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

This is so terribly dissapointing. Because there will be no morning that i will recieve an apology. There will be no evening that she won’t drink if she has the opportunity to.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

I repeat this over and over and over and over again. It’s my mantra to keep calm, to dust anything she could ever say drunk off.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

Harldy anyone takes this serious.
My friends say I should just tell her. She would understand and stop.
I did tell her over and over and over again. She never stopped.
Her friends tell me she doesn’t have a problem. She’s probably just stressed. Things will be fine again in a bit.
She does have a problem. She needs help.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

But what if she does ?
People say that drunk ones are honest.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

The more time passes, the more I think about leaving and just never calling again. She hurt me in ways noone else could ever. The more time passes, the less I’m sure that a simple apology and a promise will change my feelings.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

I blame her when i talk about my borderline relationship to alcohol.
As soon as anyone starts drinking, I start analyzing. Could they be an alcoholic?
I can’t drink “normally” as in without a special occasion. If I drink a beer Thursday night because I just felt like it, I will shame myself. Drinking a beer on Thursday night, feels like the first step towards becoming an alcoholic.
Whenever alcohol reaches my hands and I don’t have to pay myself. I get shitface, blackout, throwing up from the chair I’m clinging onto, falling asleep and waking up to puke, crying hysterically because I hate alcohol – drunk.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

But if she really loved us, would she still drink ?

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

But it still hurts that way. It cuts me deep.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

But I can’t live with hating my mother in the evening and loving her again in the morning.
It’s as if there were two people living inside her chest. It makes me feel as if there were two inside of me aswell. And maybe there are, because it tears me apart to live like this.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it that way.

But I mean it that way when I say that I don’t have the power to keep on doing this.
I mean it when I say that I might just go and never come back. I might just hang up the phone and never call again. Not once.

I’m told to just grow balls, be tougher, stronger. I was strong. I am strong.
But noone can tell me that this is an alright mother-daughter-relationship.

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