I've always wondered what it would've been like to have a mother. Of course, everyone has a "mother," but an actual loving, nurturing mother.

I would watch kids in my second-grade class when their moms would pick them up from school with a hug. I would look around the classroom, standing on my tiptoes, craning my neck and trying to find your platinum blonde hair among the sea of women with similar do's.

I remember never seeing it.

When I was young and my mother would let me down, I would always ask myself, "why me?" Why did I deserve a different life than all of my peers? I already looked different than my friends: I had ratted, unwashed hair, socks of different colors, and a dirty private school uniform.

All of which screamed of neglect.

My sister and I would finally get taken home by a teacher who pitied us or by the nanny our dad hired during their divorce (he knew of your addiction all too well), and we would come home to our "mother."

Our "mother" who would lay passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a burnt-out cigarette in the other.

I tried my best to help you, even at a young age. I'd swap out your Marlboro cigarettes with fun-sized Almond Joys, and dump your Jack Daniels and pour in some of my apple juice. I would give up the little food I had to give to you, so you didn't have to go hungry. When our dad took us out to eat, I made sure to save at least half of my meal to give to you. When the police came, I would flush your drug supply down the toilet, or hide it in my toys so that when they would barge in, they wouldn't find anything.

I did everything I could for you, and it was sick of you to let your child do that.

Remember the countless court dates? The CPS visits? When my sister and I were being threatened with being separated and put into foster care? The emotional and physical scars your boyfriends would leave on me?

Remember when you left us in the house for weeks on end, all alone to fend for ourselves? My sister was not even 10 years old, and she acted more like a mother to me than you ever did.

You made her grow up during a prominent moment of her childhood, and that was unfair to her.

I guess having kids, pets, and a family rely on you was too much for you to handle. We didn't hold enough value to you to stop you from taking another drink. You blatantly chose to pick up the crack pipe over saving your family, and that's why dad left.

That's why you lost your family.

You could have tried harder for us. You could have chosen us over the coke. Why didn't you choose us over the endless amounts of liquor you'd pour down your throat?

Why didn't you choose us over your addiction, mother?

Don't think I waste my time and breath dwelling on my childhood. In fact, when I do, I choose to remember the few cherished, beautiful memories you and I had before addiction overcame you.

Remember the summer when you actually stayed sober? You spent the whole summer with us, buying us water toys and slip n' slides. I remember being close that summer — the only time in my years of existence I was close to having a "mother."

But that didn't last long.

Don't think I hate you. I don't. I don't like you, simply because I don't know you. An important advocate in my life has recently told me forgiveness is needed for the soul to grow. I have forgiven you, even when you never came forward and owned up to what you did.

I actually even thank you.

Thank you for showing me what a mother should not look like. I've had people in my life compare me to you, both by appearance and personality, and it pisses me off every time I hear it. I wanted to be everything you never were.

I am, and I will be.

To you, my mother who chose drugs over me, thank you for giving me the inspiration to never be like you. Thank you for giving me an obstacle to overcome, and for testing my strengths.

Thank you for making me be a survivor.

I hope that when you read this, that this burns your throat harder than any drop of liquor could, and I hope you see what you missed out on.

Middle school dances, dance recitals, school plays, high school and college graduations, etc., whenever I looked into the crowd of who was cheering me on, I saw my father's smiling face EVERY single time, and for my childhood, that was all I needed. He took on the role of Mr. Mom, so don't worry, my sister and I were still accounted for.

We still chose to have a good life, even when you made your final exit.

I do hope you are happy, and you find happiness in your life. I hope, for your sake, you are healthier and safer than you once were. Although I will probably never see you again and the memories of you are forever tainted in my brain's memory bank, I will choose to remind myself of the good times.

I will always remember you holding me on your lap during that one summer, listening to the Eagle's Hotel California, with the sun blaring down on our sun-kissed skin, as you gently whispered the lyrics in my ear.

I will remember you as that mom, not the one who abandoned her kids for a bottle of liquor and random men.