Her voice is like a corkscrew, boring deeper into my psyche than I want it to, curving wickedly through my bare consciousness and scarring the barriers Iíve constructed.
I am not thinking straight.
I am not thinking crooked.
What mother would do this? What mother in her right mind would do this? I just woke up, Mom. I donít really know whatís happening. Yet. Iíll get my brain in gear, as soon as you give me a chance. I just need a chance. Iím not your slave. Good morning to you too.
I donít want to think such dark and deep thoughts at this hour in the morning. I donít want to think them. I donít want to remember them when I canít write them down. Because Iíll forget and then those words of hers will stick in my head and Iíll let myself be hurt by her all over again.
Mom, donít you get it?
Iím not giving you a face. My face just looks this wayówhen I havenít made it to the bathroom to wash the reality away. The bags under my eyes are real, I call them night wrinkles. It means I was tossing and turning all nightóagain.
Why donít you believe me? I couldnít sleep. I canít sleep. I donít know whatís wrong with me. Iím not like you at all.
You keep telling me Iím the same, even as you point out everything wrong with me. If I am the same as you, then why am I so different? What did I do? Iíve barely been up for an hour or a half-hour, already you have found fault with my existence.
ďComb your hair again, it looks like a-!Ē
ďYou shouldíve done your homework last night?Ē
ďAre you coughing? You canít get sick now, thereís work to be done!Ē
ďI need you to do-Ē
I should be worried, maybe troubled, but youíve already done it.
Youíve morphed from Mom to Mother and I want nothing more to do with you.
I know the answer to the end of her sentence.
You need me to do everything, Mother, everything that you cannot possibly do. I can feel your eyes on me everywhere.
I feel as if I could scream, but I donít.
ďDishes in the dishwasher, not in the sink!Ē
ďWhy didnít you brush your teeth in the shower? You should do it first thing in the morning!Ē
But I donít like to start my morning with the taste of minty goop. You know this, Mother.
ďYouíre wearing that?Ē
ďWhat are you reading? Thatís trash! How can you-!Ē
Itís only a mystery book, Mother, set in a world where I wish I could visit. A land where dreams come through and fairies are not little sparkly monsters. I liked that world, Mother, I need my book back.
ďStop reading and come help get this work done!Ē
Iíve been helping, Mother! Iíve been helping this whole time!
ďIf you donít stop slacking off, Iíll-Ē
Youíll what? Hate me more? Thatís impossible! Then again, it is you. Iíve been trying my very best. Iím just not working as fast as you want me to, because Iím not sure what Iím doing. I needed a break. Thatís why Iím reading.
ďCompany will be here and this entire house is a mess! I have work projects to complete and your father has-Ē
So Iím playing you again? It feels like a character role-play.
I hate being mini-mom.
I want to just be me.
I want to be clumsy and clueless, with a little touch of insanity. I want to stack the plates cross-way in the dishwasher and color code the frozen food in the freezer. I want to be useful in ways that only I can be.
I want to be wanted.
Sometimes, I think you know this, Mother and then I think you donít.
Iím standing here waiting for your next orders, because I care. I hopelessly optimistic, because every time you push me away, I try harder to please you.
Itís taking everything away, I canít bear it.
Just a little love, Mother. A moment where I can think that maybe you donít hate me. I am not worthless or useless, I am just different. You almost convince of my complete hopelessness, but my heart refuses your answer.
I think I must be strange.
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