She always pointed out that I troubled her - right from the moment I was born.
I made her go through labour for 2 days, she said. I was torturing her even before I was born.
She punished me for years, for not living up to her mark of excellence, for speaking out, and in a few cases - she made sure to mention - for just existing.
It did not help that my father was mostly absent. I took to thieving from others to fulfil my needs, I lied, I tried to kill myself (you'd be surprised to hear how much a 6 year old kid knows about suicide), and I ran away from home more than a few times.
I understood quickly that she was narcissistic, unstable, and sadistic even before I was 6 years old. After that, my main job was protecting my brother from her wrath.
Looking at him today, I am proud to say that I succeeded; but looking at what I have become, I am not so sure.
When she died on this day 13 years ago, I didn't cry. Everyone thought it was due to shock, but I alone knew that it was a strange sense of relief. Honestly, I didn't care.
Even to this day, I can't bring myself to care about anyone, and the ones I do care about - feel that I don't.
And when that happens, I hide. From her, from my feelings, from the ones who care about me, from speaking.I have tried to get out of it, think differently, but nothing works. The scars aren't healing.
I can't blame her though. It is because of her that I discovered a love for reading, an outlet which let me escape into some other world where I am a mere spectator. I started writing, because I could say whatever I wanted and not get punished for it. Even today, I find it easier to write about what I feel that to say them out aloud. She gave me an outlook which enabled me to laugh at the worst that has happened, without which I couldn't have survived. But the best thing she taught me was what NOT to be, and how NOT to raise my children, if I ever have them. I guess I can call her 'an inspiration'.
I could think about the hardships she went through, and feel that she had no other option. But I can't.
No matter what, I won't feel bad about losing her.
I'm not sorry any more, mom. Rest in peace.
I made her go through labour for 2 days, she said. I was torturing her even before I was born.
She punished me for years, for not living up to her mark of excellence, for speaking out, and in a few cases - she made sure to mention - for just existing.
It did not help that my father was mostly absent. I took to thieving from others to fulfil my needs, I lied, I tried to kill myself (you'd be surprised to hear how much a 6 year old kid knows about suicide), and I ran away from home more than a few times.
I understood quickly that she was narcissistic, unstable, and sadistic even before I was 6 years old. After that, my main job was protecting my brother from her wrath.
Looking at him today, I am proud to say that I succeeded; but looking at what I have become, I am not so sure.
When she died on this day 13 years ago, I didn't cry. Everyone thought it was due to shock, but I alone knew that it was a strange sense of relief. Honestly, I didn't care.
Even to this day, I can't bring myself to care about anyone, and the ones I do care about - feel that I don't.
And when that happens, I hide. From her, from my feelings, from the ones who care about me, from speaking.I have tried to get out of it, think differently, but nothing works. The scars aren't healing.
I can't blame her though. It is because of her that I discovered a love for reading, an outlet which let me escape into some other world where I am a mere spectator. I started writing, because I could say whatever I wanted and not get punished for it. Even today, I find it easier to write about what I feel that to say them out aloud. She gave me an outlook which enabled me to laugh at the worst that has happened, without which I couldn't have survived. But the best thing she taught me was what NOT to be, and how NOT to raise my children, if I ever have them. I guess I can call her 'an inspiration'.
I could think about the hardships she went through, and feel that she had no other option. But I can't.
No matter what, I won't feel bad about losing her.
I'm not sorry any more, mom. Rest in peace.
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