I always wondered what I had to do to get your attention. It seemed almost impossible to grab, but I guess that's what happens when you’re so doped up that you see more than one image of me.

Do you remember the time that you overdosed? And as I screamed your name in your face, you didn't even know who I was? Do you remember that? Do you remember seeing the tears rolling down my face as I panicked?

I would be surprised if you did. I thought that would be my last time talking to you. I blamed myself for your near-death experience for a very long time after that. I believed that if I had chosen to stay with you instead of moving out, you would’ve been fine.

But I wouldn’t have.

I haven’t been fine for a pretty long time. You stole pieces of my childhood--you stole pieces of my life that I will never get back. You promised me things that never came to be, and for a very long time, I hated your guts. Sometimes, I still wonder if I do.

I always would ask myself, “why me?” I’m sure there’s a point in everyone’s lives where they ask themselves that, but it seemed that I asked myself more often than others with each passing day. I hated girls who felt like they could tell their moms everything. You couldn’t even ask me how my day at school was. I was fighting for your attention that was already occupied by the drugs within your system.

Family dinners turned into each of us eating in separate rooms. Quality time turned into no time at all. Sleeping every day became a habit. Dishes piled up. Food became scarce. (But yet, you always had money for the poison you bought). You slowly became a monster.

Remember when you acted like the adult? Remember? At 14 here I was waking up my younger brother because you were so drugged up that you slept past every alarm and every yell I gave. I remember walking him to the bus at almost 6 in the morning while you were sound asleep in bed. You didn’t have to work because you lied about that too.

I remember almost falling asleep in class because I had spent the previous night worrying about how bills were going to be paid and what we would be having for dinner. I starved myself to allow my brother to eat while you just slept. “Shouldn’t a girl your age be thinking about college?” I would get asked. I choked on words I wished to say. “I just have other stuff going on right now” would be my reply.

I remember having to walk home in the winter because you were too lazy to find me a ride. I walked by older men who would whistle every time they saw me, I crossed streets that careless drivers drove on. I walked until my lungs became fire and my mind became numb. But oh, I still remember. See, when you’re my age dealing with the stress of someone years older, you don't forget shit like this. It will forever and always haunt you.

I remember when you told me to “suck it up” and that sleeping all day was what lazy people did. It’s funny that you said that because look at you now. You yelled at me for the way I behaved so you had a reason to do the same. People are usually inspired by their parents. They insist on growing up to be just like them. But me? I felt the complete opposite. I wanted to be everything you never were. And I will be.

To the mother who chose drugs over me, I hope that you someday find happiness. I hope that you will be happy once again. I hope you will return to the mother I was once raised by. But most of all, I thank you. You inspire me to become the parent that you never were to me and I will do a damn good job at it. I hope that when you read this, you remember everything and that hopefully, this hits you harder than the drugs ever could.