I didn’t call you on Mother's Day. Have you ever felt so uncomfortable you can’t breathe. Chest pains that bring you to your knees. That’s how you make me feel. I judge myself for feeling this way. It isn’t right, I know. Maybe I was too much to manage. I’m must’ve done something, right? A mother is supposed to always be there though. I remember looking for you and you weren't there. I don't think you ever knew how to be. I don’t blame you. I want to, but I can’t. You weren’t given the proper tools to succeed as a mother. Logically, I know to accept it for what it is. Emotionally, it shows how hard it is for me. I can’t watch or listen to anything that has to do with a mother and child without going through emotional distress. I put other’s feelings before my own. I have this internal battle with myself because I know that by me hardly talking to you is hurting you. It hurts me, but I have to put me first. I forgive you and I love you, but I must do so from a distance. I still carry the pain you caused and I’m fearful that I will never let it go. I’m trying to find serenity.
I'm tired of being afraid. I want to be able to paint a picture with my eyes closed, but you are all I see.
Since I can remember, you've been following me. Most of the time I don't even know you're behind me. You always make yourself known. Wrapping yourself around me, whispering into my ear. A constant reminder. Bed time is the worst. You're on top of me, suffocating me. My entire body is paralyzed. Nothing can wake me up. My jaw hurts in the morning from clinching it all night. You come in different forms. The worst being a silhouette of a man. He sits in the corner, next to the window. I'm sitting in the opposite corner. Curled in a ball. Other than this man and myself there is nothing in this room. Where is all my stuff? Why isn't he moving? Black boxes start to slowly fall on top of me. I CANNOT MOVE! I CANNOT BREATHE! No one is there to save me.