Page 12 of Vicious Addictions

Okay.

I’ll read just one passage.

One passage can’t hurt.

Right?

And before I can talk myself out of it, I open the journal to his last entry and, to my shame, start to read.

A good son shouldn’t harbor ill feelings toward his parents the way I do toward mine.

It feels wrong.

Like I’m doing something that I shouldn’t.

They think I hate them.

I don’t.

I could never.

But I let them think that anyway.

What kind of son does that?

Truth be told, I miss my parents. My mom, especially.

God, I miss my mom.

She used to be the one person I could always rely on. The one I sought refuge in when I was scared or felt alone. My mother was everything to me. Since the day I came into this world, she made sure to always protect me.

But somewhere along the line, that became her default setting.

A habit she can’t quite break.

Whereas before, her protection was needed, now it feels like a noose around my neck.

I hate that we’re like this now.

That I can’t tell her what I’ve been up to or the things that I have seen.

It feels wrong not to share these new experiences with her.

But if I told her the truth, she would never forgive me.

Worse…she would probably be on the first plane here to bring me back stateside.

Part of me actually wonders if she is in the right and I’m the one who’s in the wrong.

But how could she ever expect me to be normal when my whole life was anything but?

If James were here, he’d know what to do.

He would know exactly what words to use to talk some sense into my mother.

My father, on the other hand, just does whatever she wants, with no regard for what I want.

It’s as if my needs aren’t a match to my mother’s.

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