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The Belly of the Beast: Growing up With Addiction
Mechanical sun rays caress my face with motherly tenderness. I'd been sitting here since blacks and blues stretched across the horizon and my legs felt stiff as I stood to meet the sky. Thanking god for another day was easy. discovering thankfulness for the rest of life; That was the hard part.
Looking back it seemed that everyday of my life was consumed by the monster. She stood at a beautiful 5'8 with sand colored hair and green cat's eyes. Her movements were calm and lucid, making her look almost human. Her transgressions were painted over daily with sephora blush and mark by mark eyeliner. Rosewater masked the odor of adultery and eyeshadow colored over eyes full of pain. She was cut from a different fabric and her beauty created the illusion that she was perfection; when in reality, she was anything but.
I was always told my mother was "sick". It just never occurred to me that it wasn't just the pain they were referring to. She was pinned under the weight of addiction and her descent to hell was slow and steady, allowing all who loved her to watch from the sidelines.
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