This has come to my realization multiple times, but I haven't really done anything to really put a stop to it. I thought i would built up a tolerance to this sort of thing, but turns out I just end up putting up with it for years and years to come, only to effect me now as a young adult.
You can call me Sanchez, 19 year old Native from Alaska. well, in Alaska is more like it. My mother is a sweet women in her elder years, but growing up and being raised by her, i have had to put up with the same problem all my life.
It's not all the time my mother consumes alcohol, maybe 3 times a week. But when she does, it's.... harsh. Alot of people don't understand that alcohol effects natives differently from white people, as it hasn't been in our culture for as long others. It is not a part of our lifestyle. I do not know how it effects peoples personality in the lower 48, but I think I have seen enough shows like "World's Dumbest" to get an idea.
The first time I remember my mother drinking was when i was.... 8 years old, maybe? She would constantly drink bud light throughout the evening, and growing up i would hate to see that goodamn blue can in her hands. how she acted, she got meaner and meaner by the sip, starring at me and insulting me, saying things like "I am just trying to figure you out, why you looking at me like that." Then she would go to bed and cry, howling like a walrus, so loud i can hear it through 2 closed doors in my house. This Scarred the shit out of me, as I didn't know what was going on.
But that wasn't the worst one. The next time that was burned into my memory was she got into a drunken argument with my (step)-father (not really sure if he is my real father, but didn't bother me enough to question it). She was yelling, drunkenly trying to punch him, yelling curse words and accusing him of cheating when he was "going to the bar." Bring the retired drill sergeant and infantry guy he was, he tried his best to calmly handle the situation, trying not to resort to violence and talk things out. She ended up throwing clothing out the door onto our front porch, chairs, pots, pans, anything that wasn't bolted to the floor (Lived in an RV 5th wheel, snowbirding to Yuma every winter). This was traumatizing to me, and honestly the first time i have witnessed (one sided) domestic violence firsthand.
This had really changed my view on her drinking. Now that i had seen how bad it could get, I always feared seeing an open Bud Light can in the house. This would automatically trigger my feeling of fear, and fall into a crying fit. Not only did the sight make me cry, the sound of a can opening would also cause me to sob. This resulted my mother telling me to go to my room and cry, as she was constantly annoyed with this three times a week. I would end up trying to go to sleep just to avoid any possible drama.
Me and my father tried talking to her about her problem on multiple occasions. She had quit drinking bud light, all is good, right? Wrong. She just moved to stuff like mixing vodka in grape juice mix or red wine, etc. Disguising it as juice.
This went on for awhile, she would mix up her alcohol near my bedtime, drink it, go to bed, cry a bit, go to sleep. This was ok with me, as i wouldn't have to be around her when she was drunk. As a child, out of sight, out of mind was enough for me. Although I did sort of train myself to be cautious and listen for that distinct sound of a vodka bottle cap being untwisted and liquids being mixed together.
Fast forward to when I was in the eighth grade. I had just started to come out of my shell and make more friends. Since my mother thought i was more mature, she had started drinking around me again, earlier in the night, but not in the afternoon, like i was when i was a child.
Wasn't really a problem with me, since I just kinda out up with it. I'd just go to my room and try to sleep, staying ever so vigilant, listening for those drunken heavy footsteps and stumbling as the night progressed.
Here's where it got to it's worst point: One night in December of 2011, I hear very heavy stumbling and the sound of objects breaking. I open my door, out of instinct, just to see if my mother was alright.
There she was, motionless on the floor, with an open bottle of vodka nearby her. I was trained in a junior EMT course in the 6th grade, so naturally i check for pulse and breathing. She was stilll alive, thank god, but to this day, I regret this decision.
She gets up, yelling out the word "YOU FUCKER! GET AWAY FROM ME" as she trying to kick me while still on the ground.
"Here, mom, I'll help you to your room"
"NAH, LET GO OF ME, LEAVE ME TO..." (collapses).
I carry here heavy, unconscious body to her bed. Facing down, as she would always sleep whist drunk. I return to my room to go to bed.
11 pm rolls around, and my mother comes in, this menacing look on her face. "Go to bed, ananaang" she slurs.
"I am in bed, mah." I say.
"NAH, YOU AREN'T IN BED!"" she yells.
This circles on for about a minute before I have had it. I get up, yell at her to go back to her room.
"NAH, I'LL STAY RIGHT HERE UNTIL YOU GO TO BED!"
My heart races, fearing that she might do something to me, I push her out of my room, and try to close my door. She pushes on the door, trying to force her way back in.
"nah, go to bed"
"I AM IN BED, GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM!"
"NAH!"
She opens me door, grabs me by the shirt, and pulls me towards her. i push her back, causing her to fall on the carpet. She cries, I help her up, and she pushes me to my room, and fully cocked sucker punches me twice in my cheek and my eye. I push her back, shaking and realizing what just happened, I immediately grab a coat and the keys to one of our storage buildings on our property. I got to a building my father was restoring about 400 feet from out house and put a refrigerator up against the door. in hopes of keeping it closed in the case of my mother following me, fearing she might harm me even more.
I call up my father, who was in Arizona at the time for business. I tell him what happened, acting all frantically and talking a mile a minute.
"It's ok, son. I do not want you to do anything you will regret, but incase your mother acts stupid and looks like she is gonna kill you, the shotgun is in [placeholder location]. Don't resort to that, if she harms you again, call the State troopers."
Right as he is saying this, I hear a loud, bashing sound on the front door. It was my mother.
"AHHH! SHE'S HERE! SHE'S HERE!" I scream into the phone. I immediately run for the door, the refridgerator falling over. I push my body against it to help keep it shut. I here my mother dropping F-bombs again, calling me names.
Then she becomes el toro loco and rams the door with the inertia of a speeding locomotive, and pushes me and the fridge and opens the door. She falls over face first onto the floor, wailing and crying.
I see this chance to bolt for the main house. Across the slippery snow on ice, back to the main house. I shut both doors, the mudroom and the main door. I grab a phone and call the state troopers. Crying, the 911 operator tries to get my address, as this happens, my mother comes back and tries to open the locked door with a key. I throw the phone onto the floor, still with the operator on the line, and rush to the door. I push my thumb on the lock handle, trying to keep it locked. I can feel the excessive force of her turning the key, but i managed to prevent her entrance. She pounds on the window 3 times, giving up and saying "FUCK YOU" before she storms outside.
I cry. I cry and cry and cry. Wishing this was a nightmare. I can hear the operator on the landline saying "Hello? Sanchez, are you there? Speak to me honey, everything is going to alright, State troopers are en route to your location. Sanchez? Please remain calm." I will never forget those words ^(tears up, sorry, this isn't easy for me to talk about)
Minutes pass by, I hear a knocking sound on my door. I see a light shine through. "State Troopers, this is Deputy [Placeholder], we got a call from Sanchez about a domestic violence report." I couldn't be more relieved.
After sobbing in front of the two troopers, I manage to spit out what happened. One of the Deputies took a photo of me, of the bruises i sustained. He asks me if i had any relatives closeby I can stay with. A majority of my family was up in anchorage and my home village. So i had nobody.
they call up my father, they ask him if he had any friends close by he could trust. Next thing i know, i am being escorted by a trooper to a cruiser. He put me in the back with a towel and hot cocoa. As we walk, I see 3 or 5 trooper vehicles around our property, i couldn't tell because of the darkness and all the flashing lights. My dog barking at every one of them. I see 3 troopers at a trailer, all three standing at the door, where my mom was staying. I heard them say something along the lines of "Ms. [Placeholder], we just want to ask a few questions". More f-bombs were dropped. That was all i seen before i was driven to my fathers friends place.
I stayed there for 2 days before i was put on a plane going to Yuma, where i would stay with my father and continue school until my mothers sentencing and probation was up.
Fast forward a few months, and i fly back to Alaska. I arrived just in time to catch the last month at my old middle school. I started the day after i get back. Like nothing ever happened.
that was in 2011-2012. As soon as my mother's probation was up, she goes right back to drinking. It wasn't as bad as it was before, but every time she drinks, I still fear for my life and get flashbacks to that god-awful night. It's been such a big issue, my father eventually got tired of putting up with her drinking and moved into tha building we renovated. Even today, at 19 years old, it still effects me.
As if now, I am trying to save up enough money to either go up to AVTEC to get my welding certs, or to get my own place. Education is important, and I would love to get a career somewhere in the oil industry, or, my true dream, working up on the slope. But I simply do not know how much more of my mothers drinking I can take. Sure, it may only be 3-4 nights a week, but the stress it's put me under all these years, it's actually starting to make me feel sick, and i worry about my mental health.
To this very day, i keep asking myself: was there anything different I could've done? Could I have been more persistent? Would things be different if I didn't call the troopers? How will she be when I am gone and moved out of the house?
I wish I could put a tl;dr here, I am sorry. I can't. It's just.... been a heavy issue I've put up with throughout my entire life, an issue I think I could've resolved better. but couldn't.
Edit: tl;dr: Mother had a drinking problem, drank straight vodka one night, got charged with assault on a child, did nothing to resolve the issue as it continued afterwards.
Submitted August 29, 2016 at 03:40AM by Ouisha http://ift.tt/2bK7vKH offmychest
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