My Mother and I

Me:  We have a bottle of champagne that we haven’t drunk yet

My mother: Karen, I want you to stop drinking.

Me:  That’s not going to happen

My mother: Karen, you scare me. You know you are not just messing with your life. You’re messing with my life.

Me: I don’t get drunk, Mother

My mother:  Karen, you get heavily drunk.  You know that your life is not just about you?

Let me stop this conversation right here.  I’m not a drinker.  I’ve been on antidepressants for the last 7 years so I don’t imbibe a great deal of alcohol.  I don’t drink every week or even every month.  I have never in my life been drunk.  The closest I’ve come is at my father’s funeral. My cousin mixed some drinks, my cheeks turned red. I developed a headache and feel asleep.  I think my mother has this opinion that I’m one glass away from drinking myself to death because Whitney Houston’s demise is supposedly related to her mixing the medication she was taking with alcohol.  Now my mother knows, because I have told her, that when I want to have a drink that I don’t take my medication.  But apparently imbibing any alcohol is enough provocation for her to accuse me of being an alcoholic who is drinking herself to death.

After this conversation, my entire mood changed.  I began to feel as if I was doomed, as if my time was running out.  It is a gloom that hasn’t lifted since.  I know my mother’s anxiety leads her to say stupid, insesitive things that hurt my feelings and frighten me, but I didn’t think she could get to me this badly at my age.

Mothers, beware of what you say to your daughters.  

Thanks for reading!

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