I didn’t even shed a single tear when they called me. Her lifeless body lay before me on the bed. I felt something that I couldn’t quite understand, I felt everything and I felt nothing at all.
She looked peaceful. She looked dead. I wanted to leave instantly.
I felt pleasure and I felt pain at knowing that my mother had just died. Pleasure that she would no longer be a part of this world, pain that I could no longer spit it in her face that I blamed her. But the pleasure did not last and I guess it was just a figment of my imagination because she would always be a part of MY world, while the pain only intensified as my life became more miserable and silently spun out of control….
I was 20 years old. All that I could think of doing after the funeral service was getting high. I needed to forget. Everyday I needed to forget! Every moment was worth forgetting! So I tried harder and harder to forget…..
She had called to see me. She wanted to make peace with me I guess. A final goodbye or something like that. Maybe it was redemption that she needed. Maybe she just wanted to run her fingers through my hair. But I refused to give her the goodbye, the peace, the forgiveness. So my mother died without having seen her only child. I loved holding the power to do that, to cause such misery within my hands, but again, the pleasure of triumph was short lived.
I refused to feel grief. One does not grieve over a person who causes them pain! A mother does not allow someone to touch her daughter the way that he did. But did she even know? I’ve wondered this for all my life. I’ve tried to reason with my heart and my brain. My heart would whisper that she was not lying, that she really didn’t know and just when I was about to forgive her my brain would scream that she did! I needed to blame someone, I needed to blame her ….
I remember leaving the funeral early. My high was awaiting me! I lived on the edge, fearless, afraid of nothing, not even death. In fact, I searched for it in every dark alley and abandoned building trying to score my next fix. I awaited its ugly face every single day. If I died at least I wouldn’t think, at least I wouldn’t feel, at least I wouldn’t be….
I made mistake after mistake knowing that each wrong step would only lead me further down the spiraling stairway to a darkened dungeon, still I stepped that way. No one loved me anyway. No one cared to even know the real me. No one cared that I was alive and surely no one would care if I died. Men would always want the one thing that was taken from me, as if since that first night I had a sign pasted on the back of my head reading, “innocence removed – do as you please – no one cares“…..
Then I met him….
To be continued…