Oh, you're back. I'm glad to see you've made it this far. The next few chapters of my life lead up to something that is still fresh, and something that I'm still trying to understand. Although, if I'm being honest, I don't think I ever will.

Living with my mom started to become unbearable. She was constantly hovering and being a pain in the ass, and I’m not just saying that because I was at that stage in life. I’m not just saying that because she’s a mom and it’s their job to annoy us. She would constantly pick little fights with me and get under my skin, but it was always my fault at the end of it. As a child, as we grow, mistakes are inevitable as long as you learn from them. My mistakes, whether I learned from them or not, they were her ammo. I think there was resentment towards me for a couple of reasons:

1. I discovered I was bisexual. She was completely open to it with my friends who were bisexual or gay, but I think deep down she had an issue with her own daughter being in love with a girl.
2. I was more of clever bitch than she was. I will admit that I am pretty nasty when I’m mad, but so was she, and she met her match.
3. I’m also my father’s child. One of her biggest issues with my brother was the fact that the kid is 100% our dad. She always said she wanted to “smack the Cebuly right out of him.”
4. I didn’t really need her as my friend anymore because I was wanting a mother.
5. I was picking up on her addictions and wasn't afraid to say so.

She started dating this guy named Peter, and he seemed alright. He worked at a night club/venue, though, so that meant there was alcohol. She was at his house one night and swears up and down she wasn’t drunk, but managed to fall down some stairs. She messed up her foot pretty badly and was down for a really long time. Peter ended up getting chronically sick as well, so they would both just sit on the couch and drink. Since her foot was so messed up, she was given pain meds. Her memory was always kind of questionable, but it was getting terrible. She would tell me the same exact thing multiple times within one conversation. I started to get really concerned and attempted to approach her about it. It’s difficult enough to try and tell your mom that you think she’s addict, but it’s even more difficult when your mom thinks she can do no wrong.

She didn’t want to listen. I tried to approach her with concern, but she always felt attacked. The argument was always, “It’s my house and I’m an adult. I can do whatever I please.” That was frustrating. It was like asking to go do something as a kid and being shut down with a ‘no’ and ‘because I said so.’ I started to resent Peter because it was becoming apparent to me and everyone else that he played a part in her addictions. They had a mini-fridge in their room that only ever held their alcohol. We had to put a padlock on the fridge downstairs because she started stealing ours. It made me feel like she was putting him and addiction before me and I hated it. I moved out.

I had some friends still living at the house with her. That was a quality both she and I had that was a bittersweet one, and that was always taking in the friends who got kicked out. From what I understood, they saw her problems, too. Whenever there was disagreement between her and them, there I was, mediating the hell out of it. No one could handle her the way I could, and I honestly don’t blame them. She was crazy and mean. She would hold things over your head and immediately threaten to kick you out. I moved into the city and then shortly after, I moved down to Florida. The one thing that I had to make sure of was that my brother was going to be okay. I would have NEVER left if he felt that he wasn’t going to be able to handle the next few years alone. He gave the green light and off I went.

They all stayed in the house and I wasn’t there to mediate. Shit would hit the fan and I would get called, then I’d have to deal with it 600 miles away over the phone. It wasn’t productive. I was starting to see that her alcoholism was being fed, but then it was getting complained about. It was a vicious circle. I would get told that my mom was saying bad things about me by them, then my mom would say they were saying bad things about me… It was just very intense. I was made to feel like I was crazy. Everyone would claim that those things weren't said. It was hard to believe that things like that were getting said about me at all by the people I cared about, but there was clearly some sort of resentment in the mix because I packed up and left. I dreaded phone calls from my mom because they always resulted in a screaming match and cursing each other out. Getting called a “hateful bitch” started getting really old.

My mom had a really awful quality of not only being a hypochondriac, but she was a hypochondriac for surgery and mental illness. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. I think she liked being seen by a psychiatrist and surgeons because she got medicine out of it. The incident with her foot went on for a couple of years. It just was never getting better. So that time frame of when I had a good mom, when she was idolized by us for being a super hero with great work ethic, was history. That person did not exist anymore. I think she got comfortable with doing nothing and having it be “poor Beth.” So when she got diagnosed with breast cancer, it was just like, of course. What else could possibly be thrown at us as a unit? She went in for a double mastectomy and they got it all out. She didn’t even have to get chemo. But according to her, she was dying, and that’s what she told everyone.

Peter ended up passing away and I never heard that she was actively going on dates after that. I did, however, find out that she was dating some guy she met over the internet who was maybe three years older than me. There were so many things wrong with this. Number one, you don’t know this person. You have no mutual friends, you have no idea who they actually are. Number two, he’s my age. I am all for not helping who you fall for, but I feel that when you’re a single mother, your kids should always be considered when dating. Finally, she was sending him money. There was always the complaint that they were struggling financially. My grandmother was working to support them and my brother was still in high school. So she was sending my grandmother’s money to some kid she didn’t know when she still had the responsibility of my baby brother. To top it all off, this kid wasn’t the only one. My mom was actually whoring around on the internet and sending money to different men, some not even in this country.

She had tried to come and visit me and it wasn’t good. I made a point to hide all of the alcohol in the house, but she found it and she drank it. She got upset with me when I told her I didn’t want her going to the liquor store and bringing it home. I told her it made me uncomfortable because she was an alcoholic and a pill popper. She accused me of trying to control her and judging her, so she left to go back to Georgia while I was at work. For years she had been preaching to me that it was always her house, she was the adult, and she could do whatever she wanted. She was in my house now, though, and it was still “poor Beth.” It wasn’t my place to judge her because all she had ever done was love me unconditionally. That was her go-to for everything. Loving your child “unconditionally” does not justify being an addict. When that didn’t work, she would throw every mistake I had ever made back in my face.

On Mother’s Day in 2015, I got a call from her that was surprisingly pleasant. She told me she was cancer free and starting to feel like herself again. She was trying to work and she felt like she had a handle on her life. The cherry on top was that she wanted to fix her relationship with me. I was on the tram at Disney, and literally starting crying at the fact that my mother didn’t hate me. My litter glimmer of hope was in full-flame and I believed in what she was telling me, for once. Unfortunately, this didn’t last long. I had gone to visit and suspected that I was being lied to, so I went snooping. I would never go through her things if I didn’t feel like that. She constantly made a point to tell both John and I that she was ALWAYS honest with us. That was a lie, too. I found a receipt from sending some guy in Africa money, I found her asking that kid to be a father to John and I, and I found her trash talking my dad to him; Playing the victim, per usual. I confronted her about it and she lied straight to my face. When I pulled out the evidence, of course it was all my fault because I went snooping. She was so unaware of just how much I knew. I knew she was going to my friend's work asking them for pills. I knew she was stealing my Grandma's meds. I was BEGGING my mom to stop doing what she was doing. I begged for her to stop being an addict, to stop sending random people money when she had John to take care of, and to stop being selfish. Then I was accused of not wanting her to be happy. It’s always my fault, you know.

Our relationship from then on was rocky and unpredictable, but I started to become less and less interested in putting energy into it. It was draining me, stressing me out, and making me unhappy. I just didn’t feel like I had a mother anymore, even more so than before. I didn’t ever want to ask her for things when I needed help because I knew they’d be held over my head later. I was embarrassed by her. I was mortified when she met my fiancée’s mother for the first time. She started getting extremely skinny and didn’t look healthy, which didn’t compliment her already erratic personality. I do think she wanted to love John and I properly, but she just didn’t know how. As much as I favor the opinion of addiction being a choice, she had been there going through the same things John and I had. I don’t know if this was her way of coping or if she just blatantly refused to acknowledge her illnesses. Either way, it was frustrating for us. Having to deal with a parent who isn’t choosing you hits a depth I didn’t know existed. We were watching her self-destruct and it was painful.

I went up for John’s graduation and it was hitting a new low. She just looked like she was, to be frank, on drugs. John told me she was starting to scream at and talk to people who weren’t there. I actually had witnessed this happen. She had locked herself in the bathroom and was having a full-on conversation with someone, but was all alone. Later that night, she tried picking a fight with me in front of Scott. She tried bringing up my dad, which I don’t like to talk about unless I’m the one to bring it up. I calmly replied with, “I don’t want to talk about that.” That then made her escalate into, “You never wanna talk about it! You’re just gonna stick your head in the sand and not deal with death. I have cancer and I’m dying, so you’ll have to deal with death then! Not that you’ll care anyway.” For me, talking about my dad’s death makes me relive it in my head. I hear the gunshot, I can replay when she told us he died, and I can see his purple body in the casket. It’s like that stabbing feeling over and over again. Some people like to talk about it, I’m not really one of those people. She wasn’t dying from cancer because they had gotten it all out. She was, in fact, cancer free. What she was dying from was on the opposite end of the spectrum.

She was screaming in her sleep that night, and when I went to try and wake her, her eyes were already open. She was just lying there, screaming. So it makes you wonder if it was almost like a euphoria or if maybe she was playing possum. It was so hard to tell, but I don’t think it was something I wanted to know either way. She claimed that she hadn’t been drinking lately, but low and behold, I saw her on someone’s Snapchat drinking liquor straight out of the bottle. Our relationship continued on the way it was for only a short time after. I had started going to a therapist in late January because my depression and anxiety were back on the high end again, and the more I went and talked about it all, the more I realized I was getting ready to cut ties with her. The only reason I kept going for this long was because I had a baby brother to worry about. Any and every interaction between her and I affected him in some way. I cut ties 100% when she confessed to me that she had attempted suicide by pills.

I was so irate I could barely form words. My mind immediately jumped to: What if John had found her dead in her room? He’s been through enough, as we both have, but I just felt that that would push him over the edge. I told her that was the most selfish thing she could ever do, and I didn’t want to speak to her ever again. I was done. I was done begging her to be a mother, to be clean, to put John and I first. There was nothing I could do or say to make her understand the pain she was putting us through. Being emotionally and mentally abused by a parent is indescribable. I don’t think there is an adequate combination of words that could describe my pain through that. I didn’t feel good enough for her. I had already struggled with self-worth with all my other relationships and with my dad. I didn’t understand why I, her daughter, was not a good enough reason for her to take a step back and at least try.

The next interaction I had with her was over a Facetime in June. John had made the call to me, which I automatically knew something was up because he never called me that way. The screen loaded to her standing in front of his door, and he was telling her to move. Now, if you know my brother, you know he is one of the most kind-hearted people in the world. (Side note: he’s perfect.) They just continued yelling at each other and he said, “And you wonder why nobody wants to be around you.” It was a breaking point for him. He was unbelievably patient all this time, and now he was erupting like a volcano. The Facetime ended and I started to worry. What seemed like an eternity went by and I finally got a call. My brother was trying to pack a bag to leave and she wouldn't let him. John would never hurt a fly, but he tried to move her and she bit him so incredibly hard that it broke his skin on his arm. She was intoxicated. She attempted to drive away, drunk, in front of a police officer, and ran a stop sign in the process because she was on her way to turn John in for smoking weed. Your child is trying to leave because he's uncomfortable, you essentially assault him, and then try to get him incarcerated? Due to being drunk and God knows what else, she was the one who was arrested for DUI, running a stop sign, and assault.

She bullied my Grandma pretty badly. My Grandma and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but one day we decided to change that and we've been close ever since. I think my mom despised that. She tried to tell my Grandma all the time how much I hated her and didn't care about her. I was constantly having to tell my poor Grandma that that wasn't true. My mom got a hold of her after being arrested and asked my Grandma to bail her out, but the answer was no. She and John have been close his entire life, and my mother hurt him. There was no telling what she was gonna do if she got out, so they came to stay with me for safety and didn't tell my mom.

She stayed there for 30 days and finally got out. She went to stay with a family friend and that's when it really started going downhill. That person wasn't really aware of just how bad she was. She was still drinking and she had the audacity to drive under the influence with this person's child in the car. That was that final straw and she got kicked out. Mad was an understatement. To make it clear, she took a knife out of their kitchen, went and sat in their driveway, and attempted to find the main artery in her thigh so she could bleed out. Let's review: She drove drunk with someone else's child in the car, she tried to kill herself in their driveway after being kicked out; But let's add a very important detail to this... She was a registered nurse. If she actually wanted that artery cut, it would've been. This was attempt number two.

She was admitted to a mental hospital and released two days later. Attempt number three came into play when she was in a hotel room and tried to stab herself in the chest and slice her wrists open. Not only was she a registered nurse, she was a cardiovascular nurse. She knows where her heart is, or maybe she just didn't. She was then admitted to another hospital and had to see a specialist for the damage she ensued on her wrists. There was no attempt to get better, there was no attempt in acknowledging her mistakes. Maybe I'm the asshole kid for cutting out their mom, but she was toxic and she didn't care she was hurting us. I knew she wasn't getting help because of the blocked voice messages on my phone. She sounded drugged every time. I knew there wasn't any coming back from this. I knew she wasn't going to get herself together, but there was a small little glimmer of hope. I was desperate for her to prove me wrong and get it together enough for me to have the want to invite her to my wedding. I was scared and I didn't know what was gonna happen.

You always see other people going through loss and dealing with grief and you can never imagine what they're feeling. You just think how it could never possibly happen to you, and you wouldn't even know what to do with yourself if you did. I never imagined I'd be going through this. Flashing back to when I felt loved and put together, I never fathomed in my wildest nightmares this would be my story. I wrote her a letter for closure. I did my best to explain how she made me feel and why I felt that way. I tried so hard. I even said, "I'm not writing this for you anymore. You can take this however you want, but this is for me. This is for my closure. I don't need you to get better for me, I need you to get better for you." Of course, that was attacking her. She called my Grandma and blamed her for stealing us away from her, and that I was still a hateful bitch.

I was at the gym on January 16th, 2017. It was a Monday at 7:15pm, and came out to my phone with 5 missed calls from my brother. I suspected why I was being called, but didn't run with it just yet. He didn't answer, so I called my Grandma. All she had to say was, "Taylor." And I responded with, "She's dead, isn't she?" I just knew. Final cause of death: Gunshot to the head.

I was numb, I didn't understand. How could someone who claimed to love us unconditionally, disregarded everything we've ever expressed, and chose to just give up on us? Just gone. I'll never hear her call me 'Peanut' again. I'll never hear her weird sneeze that she does, or listen to her swoon over Nikki Sixx. But at this point, was I ok with that? Had I already accepted this? I thought losing John and I would've been a turning point for her to get clean, and was in a morbid sense. As selfish as you think suicide is, her demons have finally drowned. The voices in her head are finally silent. Was this her way of making it better? Despite those things and to answer that dark and twisty question, suicide doesn't end your pain. It simply, but relentlessly, transfers it to those around you.

She always tried to tell me I wouldn't care if she died. She said I wouldn't give a shit and I probably wouldn't even cry. I did, though. I cried, and I still do. The person she was staying with then said she was fine before he left for work. He said he had no idea that she knew where his gun was. He didn't know how tenacious she was. He said she always kept her room locked, but she did try to drown herself in a whole bottle of whisky once. I cried at the thought of her sitting on his couch, with the gun in her hands. I picture her staring at it, possibly sobbing, wondering how it got like this because, in her mind, she had never done anything wrong. She was that mentally ill that she didn't understand. I can't imagine how she felt placing it against her skull and pulling the trigger. It saddens me that she was alone, but she made it that way, and I can't allow myself to feel responsible.

Maybe you've reached the end of this and you've found an understanding with how my brain has processed this. You've put yourself in my shoes and maybe would've made the same choices. Or maybe, you completely disagree and you think I'm awful from walking away from my mom. That's fine, that's your opinion. My mother was manipulative and made others think we are awful. If you feel ballsy enough to tell me so, just know someone already beat you to it and blamed myself, John, and my Grandma for this. I, we, walked away from something toxic. We put our own emotional, mental, and overall welfare first and refused to fall victim to her verbal attacks. You can brush a punch to the face off any day, but the piercing pain of words from someone you love is irrevocable.

This story is for those on both sides of suicide: To the ones who feel that weak, know that there are people who love you and who truly want you to get help. Don't push them so far that they can't be pulled back in anymore. To the ones who are trying to comprehend the fact someone chose to leave them, we have to accept that we'll never truly get it. All we can do it fight for what we want and what we need for ourselves and that other person, but we have to know that we always won't be triumphant. You can only do the best you can with what you've got. You're only alone if you choose to be.