The first time I pushed her back, to give me space, to get rid of her vice grips around my arms leaving bruises she smiled as if she had won. She started pitting me against my father. My father never hit me but when she cried wolf he would come running, tail between his legs in fear that, if he did not, she would break every window in the house or ramp up the terror.
At age 14 she kissed me, she put her tongue in my mouth and I could taste the alcohol, it was one of the most violating things I have ever had done to me. I don't believe it affected my sexuality as that aspect of me was nonexistent until I turned 20 and had sex for the first time, for seven hours straight with a pause of twenty minutes for food and a shower. Literally fucked her dry but I was still broken and there were no emotion to it, just carnal pleasure. I found out I couldn't cum if there were no emotions involved so I went back to doing energywork.
There physical violence did slow down, as if she got off on being hit but there were still fights on the regular. I dreaded weekends because she would get drunk and start a fight that took its tolls on my body and soul and the day after when she had sobered up she would make breakfast and smile as if nothing had ever happened.
I was emotionally dead by the time I was thirteen, I felt nothing. There was a void where my heart should have been, a hollow nothing. I had never felt love and had become a sociopath per definition due to upbringing. I had grown a bit more, enough to meet her eyes and when she started her circus acts I would, while not go all out, certainly not hold back. An eye for an eye. I still don't know if my words hurt her. I don't think so. One time somewhere during this period, or maybe I was twelve, I managed to reach whatever semblance of humanity was behind her cold dead eyes, I asked her why she was so mean, I forced her hand in this, I asked why she kept hurting us and she started crying, reeking of alcohol, big crocodile tears which I first didn't believe, but she kept at it and made me pity her, I wanted to believe her so bad, she was my mother after all. I hugged her and I felt.. something, that maybe there is hope.
The day after it was all forgotten and upon realizing it was all theatrics, what little remnants of emotions I had almost all died then and all the emotions I had for her was gone, she was now nothing to me.
She stopped being as physical because I would punch, push and kick her back, never with true intent to hurt as one punches when shattering someones cheekbone because every time I struck her it hurt me more than her and she knew it.
The alcohol and aging didn't do her well, by the time I was fourteen she would gasp for breath lying on the floor in her own piss because of the copious amounts of alcohol she consumed, and no doubt because of internal injuries, my father had been starting to push her back and sometimes she would fall in the most serious manner.
Gasping for breath, the first couple of times, we were worried that she would die but we quickly started hoping that she would and I considered smothering her with a pillow while defenseless, I would have gotten away with it, again, I couldn't, I am not like her. She never died. The old lizard was tough as nails.
Aged 15 I got a computer, for school, and I found the chans, it is thanks to anonymous that I am still alive, it brought me company and friends for the first time ever.
By the time I was 16 I was done. I had been fighting her and depression since forever and decided that, now when my two year younger sister could fend for herself and in turn our youngest sister it was time to take care of myself. I started looking inwards to resolve all the problems she had caused and dropped her completely, she was not in my world, not in my presence, where she walked was air, I would not reply to her, I would not acknowledge her. She was for all intents and purposes dead.
While I was fighting away suicide my two year younger sister would do what I never could, kick our mother when she was down. My sister made our mother fear for her life and soon after she left the household, when she returned two months after, having visited her drinking buddies she was fucking on the regular she was not let in by my sister, denied at the door she left again and we didn't hear from her until she wanted money. Dad took a loan on the house and bought her out.
For a year there was complete silence in the household, nobody dared to say out loud the thought that it was all actually over. We spoke in soft voices, afraid that anything loud might wake up some ghost.
I was so incredibly broken and only through sheer willpower and self hate did I purge all that I was to became something else, a person that can feel, one that can love.
Do unto others what you want done to you.