So...yesterday, my mom died. (A thread.)

My sister delivered the news to me a half hour after it happened. She, my dad, and I were all sort of at a loss for how to respond. My mom has been an inconsistent presence in all of our lives. You'll understand why after reading this.

My mother was a liar, a cheater, an on-again-off-again drug addict, and for as long as I knew her, she did not have control over her bipolar disorder. She spent everyone's money, usually on drugs. She was selfish and often very mean. Abusive in so many of the ways you can imagine

She was also smart, and on her good days, funny. Ruthlessly devoted to her spirituality (she was a Pagan witch) but never expected any of us to partake unless we chose to. She was creative. She was deeply misunderstood. Not welcomed by many because of her spirituality.

It's hard thinking about her because she has brought so much trouble to me and my siblings. She has left so many scars. Not all memories of her are bad, but even the good ones are usually amidst bad circumstances.

My sister recounted a time that she had a lovely, long conversation on the porch with mom. But added that the only reason they were on the porch talking (my mom was usually holed up in her dark bedroom) was because the electricity was off and it was summer. That kinda thing.

My mom usually had a bunch of dogs, sometimes 9 or 10. She did not care for them properly. I did the best I can as her youngest and quietest kid. My siblings had friends and social lives. I had drawing, I had Nintendo, and I had to take care of the dogs.

I had to sit in the dark and draw by literal candlelight sometimes. It's all I could do. I couldn't run away like my brother and sister would sometimes do. I had to stay. I had to put up with it. Otherwise everything would just fucking fall apart. I knew this at 12-years-old.

Ever since I was a kid, I was picking up after her mess. I was keeping her secrets. I was pretending things were normal at home. I was lying to social workers who would come to grill us. I was afraid of everything outside that hellish "normal." So I played along. I had no choice.

Maybe the fondest memory of my mom I have is the one time she acknowledged this to me. She probably only once gave me credit for putting up with her bullshit. She said running away wasn't my style. That I was made of stronger stuff than anyone knew. She didn't say sorry. But okay

The last time I saw her, I think I was 19. I drove up to visit her - she was living with some weird family in VERY north Georgia - and spent a few days hanging out, going to local markets, playing the Wii (of course I brought the Wii with me), chatting with her and her husband.

Those few days came to an end, and before I left, she revealed that she needed money, about $170. I didn't have a lot, but I felt good about the visit and I wanted to do the "right" thing. So I gave it to her. She said she'd pay me back. I wouldn't hear from her for years after.

I was 23 and we got in touch only by email (I wasn't ready to speak to her on the phone). We exchanged a few messages - she was always slow to respond, she rarely had consistent access to the internet - until one day, she just stopped. And that was it. (This is going somewhere.)

She told me I was not one to run away, but it became apparent that she was. And for a long time I was mad. And then after a while, I just stopped caring. It didn't matter. I'd mostly turned out alright. I knew if I wasn't careful, I'd turn out like her, but so far so good.

I talked with my sister last night and when I mentioned my mom's frequent disappearing, I came to a realization, something that is also true for me. Sometimes when you're in the process of failing, you get overwhelmed and you give up. It crumbles you. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

I realized that my mom was aware of her constant failure, and I think I just assumed she wasn't ready to succeed yet. That to be in our lives without doing it "right" or accepting that we could have let her mess up if she'd just try, it was all too much for her to deal with.

And I do this too. There's a reason dear friends of mine haven't seen me sometimes in the past year or more. People who live five minutes away. I don't think highly enough of myself to assume they'd want to be around me, so I disappear. I "failed." The damage is done.

And you know, it's fucking bullshit. Because I am great. I'm a nice, funny, talented person and I need to give myself permission to succeed. I need to try harder to be present. I apologize if you're reading this and you felt like I disappeared. I'll try harder.

I never got to say goodbye to my mom. Like I said, our email chain just ended. She never gave herself enough credit to be better and as such, she never got to know the great person I've become, and she never got to know her amazing daughter either. She's just...gone. That's it.

So please know that you can give yourself permission to succeed. You can give yourself permission to try. You are worth it for yourself and for others. It's okay if you slip up. The right people will understand. YOU ARE GREAT. GIVE YOURSELF PERMISSION TO BE THE GREAT YOU.

Otherwise you'll just be gone. And that'll be your legacy. That you just kept disappearing until you were gone completely.

The funeral will happen after the pandemic presumedly, but I will not go. I do not have a healthy relationship with that side of the family. My goodbye to her will apparently be the one time I hugged her after handing her a wad of cash, only to never see her again. Fitting.

Anyway...I don't know how to end this. I hope you are kinder to yourself. Only then can you be kinder and present to others. I wish that for myself too. Please understand if you see me and I'm a bit weird for a few days. It's...all weird.

Thank you for reading. I know this was long. This is the end of the thread now. Take care of yourself. (And keep washing those hands.)