I love you, but you don't seem to see how much you are killing me.

When you first told me you had been smoking weed almost all of my childhood, I didn't know what to say. I accepted it, moved on. But than you just blatantly started coming upstairs high and wouldn't be able to hold a conversation that I so desperately needed from my mother. Now you don't even come upstairs at all, unless you are going to sleep... but even sometimes you don't.

I am 19 now, and yes I understand, most people have a job and yes, you had a job and kids all by 22. But I am not you. I get up every morning, talk to someone who is thousands of miles away, and sleep. Repeat. I don't want to be where I am, but I am here. I've applied for hundreds of jobs when I only told you I applied for some. I have tried making friends but I am not mentally stable enough to keep them. I bought a car, I only use that car to take your son to school.

And you continue to think that I am okay, that I am fine with your decisions when I have never been more broken in my entire life. You lost my pills because you were high. You've forgotten many things I've asked for and just chuckle and say oops. Not oops.

Do you even know me at all? Have you ever stopped for a minute and realized how much I try to be the person you see? Or do you even see me? Do you see the girl who smiles despite the pain and the person desperate to get a straight answer out of you, that only wants a mother and not a shell of a parent who doesn't seem to care? I don't even know you anymore, and I've never felt so lost.

I love you, Mother, but I hate that I love you.