Hi,
Any critique would be very helpful. This is a super personal topic and way more complicated than I can get into given length restriction. I'm having the most difficulty wrapping it up and I'm not sure if it all makes any sense. I don't know if this is terrible or not. It feels cliche because its my life! HELP!

In essence, I was no different from most teenagers. I was rebellious, moody, and sometimes mean, especially mean to my Mom, who I treated with special cruelty. It had always been just the two of us, so when I got old enough to fit the stereotype of awful teenagers, I knew what pressure points to lean on. I knew what to say, or what not to say that would upset her most. I knew every weakness, vice, and secret: drugs, alcohol, anxiety, depression, chronic pain.
And me.
She depended on me as much as a prescription for the care of her illnesses, and to alleviate everyday stresses like bills, laundry, and groceries. But most of all, she depended on me to love her because I was her whole world.
Years ago, one night in November, she was especially drunk on a cocktail of alcohol and painkillers and it was probably the worst I’d ever seen her. I couldn’t help but feel disgusted because she was supposed to take care of me, not the other way around. Disgusted because she was brilliant and talented, and it was wasted every night in alcoholic stupors. But there I was. She could see the contempt on my face and she started to scream and cry, stumbling around the house accusing me of not loving her. Yelling at me.
And I said nothing.
In the face of her distress, I didn’t move an inch. I let my feelings of resentment keep me rooted to the spot as an act of defiance. With tears all over her face and unfocused eyes she looked at me and sobbed, now begging me to love her. And still I said nothing, but stared at her with dead eyes. Then I turned around, slowly walked to my room and unceremoniously shut the door in her face.
It was a calculated risk, and I couldn’t think of a more horrible thing to do. She needed to know that she was in the wrong, not me. That by standing against her in silent defiance, I was asserting my right to be treated fairly. And her behavior was not fair. She was the adult and I was a kid. It was not ok that I was the only one to take care of her drunkenness. It was not ok that she depended on her teenage daughter instead of getting real help. It was not ok that I could feel everything that she felt.
But the effort was in vain. I was fourteen and that was the last interaction I had with my Mom before she died later that same night.
Her death and the circumstances surrounding my life with her set in motion choices, decisions, and events that I never could have imagined otherwise. Without a doubt, that was the darkest and worst part of my life, but it shaped me into the person I am now. A woman who’s calm and rational under stress, who’s independent and resilient because that’s what I had to be, and who wants to use her education and knowledge to help others.
My Mom won custody of me in a court of law despite allegations by my father of her being “an unfit mother”. I don’t wish things were different, but this knowledge proves to me how murky and grey the interpretation of law can be, and that a single ruling can have far reaching consequences.
I couldn’t save my Mom, but she still inspires me to use my experience and talents to make an impact: to stand in defiance against injustice.