|Blood is not thicker than water
|I hope you found the escape hatch since you wrote this. Your story was painful as fuck to read because it brought back all sorts of shit about my bitch-mother that I try in vain not to think about. I'm sorry you've had to live with this your whole life. I have a couple of suggestions, but first I'll offer just a sampling of what my she-witch had to offer..|
My mother wasn't always physically abusive, just every night beginning with her first drink around 6:00 p.m. I often characterize her as Plain-old Witch by day, and Evil Witch From Hell by night. Nights were hell but days weren't always a fun ride. My siblings and I were her house slaves and she was the irritable master. I don't recall any violence when she was sober, but even if she didn't drink at all, I'd still be scarred for life by her. She had an uncanny ability to dash all hopes and dreams, squelch outward displays of happiness, and keep us in a perennial state of Stockholm Syndrome. No sheets on our beds but she had them; we slept on thrift-store box-springs with no mattress on top, but she had a mattress; she didn't give a shit whether we bathed or wore clean clothes, but she'd scream at us if she ran out of clean clothes; we fetched whatever she wanted whenever she wanted; we rolled her cigarettes and caught hell if she ran out; there were no books in the house except the one she was reading; (etc. ad-nauseam). I wouldn't have been surprised if she made us wipe her ass.
Just one anecdote out of thousands to show what she was capable of even sober: When my brother got his very first job, as a busboy, he came home excited about showing us his first paycheck ever. My mother flew into a rage, snatched the check from his hands, and laid down a new law: any money that we make is owed to her. The look on my brother's face when she did that still haunts me, especially because, looking back, that was the day she broke him (long story).
So maybe not exactly a good witch, but at least she waited until that first evening drink to open the Hellmouth. She was a widow, and she made sure to constantly remind us that we were to blame for all the hardships of suddenly having to raise kids by herself. After one drink, her resentment turned to bursts of screaming, slapping and making us do housework until 3:00 a.m. (whether it was a school night or not didn't matter). She would often be triggered into a violent rage (and the usual slaps and housework-punishment) for just saying you were off to bed and wished her a goodnight. Never figured that one out. Thanksgiving and Christmas were festivals of child abuse. She seemed to be more cheerful on holidays, but after she downed her first drink, something, anything, would set her off, and she'd do shit like throw the turkey on the floor, tip over the Christmas tree, throw presents (if we had any) out the window...... and on and on. For my entire fucked-up childhood, my sibs and I walked on eggshells around her, but still managed to trip one or two landmines EVERY fucking night of my life, until I moved out.
I could write a thousand pages, but back to your situation. Again, you have my deepest sympathy. Here's my suggestion: Leave. Estrange yourself from her. She's not your mother, she's a bitch that doesn't deserve the time of day from you. "Family" means nothing in a case like this. Do whatever you can to purge her from your life, and from your mind. Easier said than done, but look at it this way, it's YOUR life - own it and free yourself. I keep a picture of my mother on the wall just so I can flip her off as I walk by it. Therapy. If feels good. Blame her, shame her, and try to forget her. If you were still 16-years old, I would encourage you to file a petition for emancipation (or whatever the law allows where you live). But you're not 16, you're an adult, and your future is yours, not hers. If she wasn't related to you, would you live with her? If the answer is no, then get the fuck out and struggle along until you make it on your own. Good luck to you..
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