Of this I am certain. At the young age of 16, she became pregnant, and to her, it was a relief. The fetus that grew inside of her was an escape route out of her father’s house, and away from his heavy ruling hand. The man she was with, the 26 year old black man, made matters worse. He was stronger than her, and faster, with so much anger it seemed to swallow him up at times. But he was not her father, he was completely different, and yet, the same. I was an angel, a blessing, and yet my entrance to the world was not so peaceful. My grandmother spouted off words like Adoption.

My mother said she loved me too much to give me away, but I believe that she wanted attention, and so, nine months later, I was born. Christened after a family member, and her favorite Greek name, Alexas was a brightness in part of my family’s world. My aunt said that she was never having children because she didn’t need them with such a beautiful niece. My grandfather, the bully that he was, felt nothing but joy and I held him in the palm of my hands. All the while, as the family clustered around me, the new baby, my mother…. My mother sat back and watched, with a satisfied smile on her face.

But my mother did not know how to love me.

My mother, I pity her, because she missed so much of my life. Party after party, drugs and alcohol consumed her life and soon, the vibrant young mother she had become, slowly diminished before our eyes. I, being only a child of two, hand no idea that my mother lacked the necessary tools to love and raise a child. But now, being seventeen and having much more common sense than she, I know. I know that she did not know how to love anyone, simply because she did not know how to love herself.

Because of my mothers’ addictions, all my life I have had two homes, many different schools, and friends scattered around the state. I have been to AA meetings and NA meeting. I have lived in Half Way Houses’ and Our Houses. I have seen so much and lived with so much that if I were to tell people, they would not believe. In fact, I know they would not, because I have told others, and was laughed at.

I believe, whole heartedly, that my mother does not know how to love me. That she believes I am her biggest mistake, because she has told me so. All I have ever wanted was a mother like the ones you’d watch on Disney Channel. With so much love and discipline to give, they raised their children to have respect and trust in themselves, and I envied them so. Unfortunately, life is not like T.V., and fairytales really are just fairytales. I am not a Princess, and I will never be.

I know my mother loves the idea of me, she likes to brag to others and say that she raised me to become the woman I am becoming today and she makes me so mad. All I have ever wanted was her love, her trust. When I was young I craved her attention and now, my lust for my mothers’ attention has faded and all I am left with is the anger and it terrifies me.

I just want her to love me, as I love her. But maybe, I don’t need her. I can look about the room at my family and see how much they hold for me. I can see it in their eyes, feel it in the hugs and their laughter warms my body so much that they drive away the chill that my mothers' distance has left within me. I am surrounded by them now, my cousins playing a video game, my two aunts’ laughter flowing through the house, my uncle trying to read what I am typing over my shoulder and the love that radiates from them calms my heart. It is now, as I type these last lines that I realize that their love is all I shall ever need.

I am going to be just fine.