Should I be spending money on alcohol at a bar? No. Absolutely not. It’s overpriced as fuckandI’m obligated to leave a tip.
We have no food at home, and our electricity is two days from being shut off if we don’t pay the overdue balance—but what else is new? Living without electricity has become my norm. But that’s not what sent me into the downward spiral of looking for an outlet. It was the call to my work from my little sister, Chrissy, telling me her meds won’t be covered by the insurance because the insurance was canceled.
Because our mother is an irresponsible train wreck who never should have had kids in the first place and can’t handle the bare minimum of responsibilities when it comes to said kids.
I’ve been dealing with bullshit from my mother for twenty-two years—literally from the day I came out of her. They should have taken me then and gave me to someone who wanted me. But then I wouldn’t have my sisters, so… I guess I’ll take it.
I know Diane’s games. I know what she does to get away with shit and get what she wants without having to worry about her kids—or anyone else. But knowing doesn’t stop it from happening; it just means I have to get better at cleaning it up.
This is a new low for her. So much in fact that I was unable to handle it, which is why I came here instead of home to help my sisters figure it out, but I need a moment to think, and adrink—or two. Or five. For ten damn minutes, I need to forget about this shitty existence.
I’m so fucking tired of fixing her messes all the time. The moment one fire is put out, she’s already started another. It’s sickening. Exhausting. I’m just done.
And if it were only me, I would be done for real. But I have siblings to worry about, and I will not leave them to fend for themselves the way I was left.
When Chrissy, my youngest sister at fourteen, called, I told her that I would handle it. And by handling it I meant logging into the system to see what the fuck the problem was.
Turns out Mom missed the date to send in the renewal forms, something she usually is on top of. She needs insurance too, so she can go to the doctor and get her pain pills and whatever paperwork she needs to keep getting disability—the only income she gets but does nothing to contribute to the bills.
Me and my other sister, Cammy, are the ones who pay the bills. Chrissy can’t work not only because she’s fourteen—I mean let’s face it, wecouldfind her a job, but we won’t—but because she has epilepsy and we hardly keep it together while she’s in school.
This is why she needs insurance more than anyone else in the family.
Insurance = meds.
Meds = less seizures.
Less seizures = a healthier her.
A healthier her = me being able to fucking breathe.
Seeing her have a seizure is by far the scariest thing I have ever dealt with in my life, and though I can and will deal with it, I’d much rather her be seizure-free.
Chrissy’s meds are so important, and I’m not sure what we’re going to do, but I do know that I can’t handle it right this second. I need a few minutes to fucking breathe and work through this shit.
Thankfully, I have some time because she still has a week’s worth of pills. It isn’t a long time, but Cammy and I have made a lot happen in less time.
It’s one thing after another in my life. Electricity getting shut off. Water pipe busted. Ceiling is leaking. Rent is past due. Now there’s no insurance.
Fuck my life already.
Because where is our mother? Out with her flavor of the week, being taken care of. Fed drugs. Alcohol. Bought things. While we’re all here, suffering.
If Chrissy was old enough, we’d leave. Cammy and I would take her and go, but we know our mother… she’d rain hell down on us just to spite us.
Jasper, the bartender who I am familiar enough with, puts the mixed drink with bottom-shelf vodka in front of me.
“You look worse than usual,” he comments.
“Hey, thanks,” I say with a smile.
He places his hands flat on the counter and leans closer, giving me a sympathetic look.
“Are you okay? Can I help you with anything?”
Jasper is aware of my living situation—he lived in the same trailer park as me for years. He was lucky enough to get the fuck out when he turned eighteen because he was an only child. We went to school together but never hung out. I didn’t have any friends or even people I “hung out with.” There was always too much going on at home that was embarrassing as fuck or taking up all my time. I’ve felt like a single parent since Cammy was born—when I turned three and learned how to use the microwave, so she wasn’t drinking cold formula. Plus, most of the kids I went to high school with were the same ones who made fun of me since Kindergarten, so I learned to stay away.
“Not unless you know where I can make a quick couple grand.” I pick up the glass and refuse to breathe near it. If I smell it, I’ll gag. It tastes like rubbing alcohol as it goes down, but hey, it’s cheap.