For you: my mother, my friend, my hero.

It’s 5:26am in Mexico, when I am awakened by the heaviest dream I’ve ever experienced. My entire conscious body is heavy, and sad. I was weeping uncontrollably in my dream, laying on the floor in the middle of the hallway weeping. Brittany, my best friend, had arrived at the wrong time, or in my case the right time, and was bear hugging me from behind, her body being the only thing keeping me from dying it felt. I woke up feeling those tears. It was a feeling I had only felt a few other times in my life. When my grandmother died, and when I found out my dad had relapsed the first time. A heaviness I could never explain if I tried even my hardest.

I got out of bed, trying to shake how confused my body felt from this dream, trying to find a lightness in being awake and it not being a real dream. I used the bathroom and crawled back in bed next to Breesha. In such a daze, I think sleep writing really, I wrote these words capturing my dream. I have not read them since I wrote them, until this moment. It just felt too heavy to relive it, especially in such a magical place:

I woke up from 4 hours of sleep, feeling I had slept a lifetime cus the dream was so bad. My mom had relapsed, was back at a house with Dave. Trying to lie that she was just looking after him but I could tell in her eyes, her body posture, and her energy. I couldn’t even bring myself to walk through the hallway. I collapsed on the floor, shaking and crying uncontrollably. Snot running down my face. I kept thinking over and over again, shes going to die. She isnt going to become a user again, shes going to overdose and die. (this is a true belief of mine even in a conscious state) Everything about her presence was different. Her presence was cold. (I never realized how cold her presence was for so many years) Her eyes sad. She was obsessive, trying to pretend her way through wanting to share a conversation with me about how she didn’t use again, but having such an obsessive presence about her to end this conversation and go back into the bedroom. Leg shaking, shifting back and forth on her legs. I felt this feeling before, cold sad selfish addict. You could see deep in her eyes years ago on some days, how much she wanted to escape herself. Trying so hard to crawl out, to become the person she’s been the last two years. But this cold obsessive part of her took over again, and standing in front of her, trying with every cell in my body to keep my composure, I felt it before I knew it, without her even having to admit it. 

The pain was more than I could handle in my dream. How wild a feeling. To feel such pain in a dream. I awoke in the jungle, with a heavy heavy heart and soul to remind myself that mom is okay, shes more than okay shes great. This was my first relapse dream, and the last one I hope I ever have. But it’s a reminder that no day of peace and happiness with her sobriety is promise, and that dark heavy alternative is right around the corner. So I must believe, I must support, I must pray. (Damn sleep writing Kelsie, you’re good.) 

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Today, my beautiful mother is graduating from treatment court. A program she was required to complete after her last period in jail. Not only did she complete the program, but she excelled. She was requested to do an interview for the newspaper because she was such a success to the program.

My mom was a bad addict. Real bad. That doesn’t mean she was a bad person, or a bad mom. She was such a helpful and kind person to anyone she met, and was a great mom in many situations. She left me really meaningful cards in every suitcase I ever packed, hidden in pant legs, and underwear. She came to all my graduations. She always cooked me the best meals, (sometimes took hours, but I was never hungry, hehe). But she was a prisoner in her own body the entire time.  When I say her sobriety and her above and beyond work at such program is a miracle, it’s truth.

Three year difference

“When I focus on what’s good today, I have a good day. When I focus on what’s bad, I have a bad day. If I focus on the problem, the problem increases. If I focus on the answer, the answer increases. “-Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous

To be able to share all of my favorite memories, and all of my dark periods is, IMG_3826[1]a miracle. 

People ask me often, “how do you not feel anger, or resentment, or a bitterness towards her”. And I suppose I could, I’m sure I have many reasons to. But at the end of the day, I’m too damn busy immersing myself in the indescribable time I have with her now, to remember how bad the older days were.

I’m too busy laughing with her.

I’m too busy taking goofy selfies with her, or yoga handstand pictures.

I’m too busy having dance parties with her.

I’m too busy calling her with heartache to get real true genuine mom advice on.

I’m too busy being a daughter to the most beautiful strong fun mom there is.

Who’s got time for bitterness.

I am so proud of you Momma.

You are the grandest person I have ever met. A real role model, my hero.

I’m so sorry I can’t be there today, but you know I’m there in every way spirit and soul.

Love you forever.

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what a hot momma.

One thought on “For you: my mother, my friend, my hero.

  1. What a beautiful picture, I’ve read your words Kelsie. Very inspiring, thank you. Glad you and Mom are both doing well. 😀

    Like

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