By Sara Eddie
My mind hides in a dark, deep, horrid place. There is no way to escape. Everywhere I go, it follows me. Right when I think I’ve gotten away..its there again...I’m there again, that place again. See my mind, is very strange. Most of the time, my thoughts are eating me alive. I haven’t done anything wrong, I don’t think anyway. I cannot remember. Why do my thoughts consume my mind to the point where I want to die? It is so clustered inside my brain, I just can’t escape. All I want to do is break free from it.
Let me tell you something, being neglected as a little girl was not the ideal way to be raised. I have no brothers or sisters, my parents didn’t even want me. My own parents.. they did not want me. How could that be? So I grew up hating my life, and everything about myself. My mother was an alcoholic. She would hit me across the face, above my left eyebrow, when I spoke to her, without being spoken too. She told me that I was stupid for having the idea cross through my head she would associate with me. But isn’t that what a mother is supposed to do? Love her child. Love them for everything they are, and who they are going to be.
Neither of my parents ever tucked me in at night. Worst of all, there was no heat in my room, and I never got new clothes to wear. My blankets were run-down, so I would fall asleep at night to my own shivering.
My father worked a lot, he was always traveling. When he was home, he was in his office. Nobody was allowed in there, and to talk to him, you had to knock on his “office” door. Even my mother. The only time I saw my mother and him with each other, was when he was striking her across the face, bruising her, cutting her, and making her bleed.
Every day before I got on the bus to go to school my mother would tell me something like, “Remember you don’t deserve to have a good day, and if you can stay the night somewhere else, then do it. So I don’t have to deal with you.” School was my only escape from it all.
My teachers would try consoling with me about it, but I didn’t want their condolence. I was always afraid they would judge me, but now I realize they knew it wasn’t my fault, it never was. They had seen cases like mine before, the abused, neglected, and unwanted kid. But that’s all I saw, just another case. Not important. Not special.
But now, I’m older.. Just turned 28. My mother died two years ago. Drunk driving. She collided head on with another car because she was in the wrong lane. She killed another person to, an innocent person. I can’t say I was sad about it..because I wasn’t. It’s a terrible thing to think about, isn’t it? Not caring if your mother, the same person who gave birth to you, dies? I felt worse for the other person.
Well, my mind doesn’t help me at all. It plays tricks on me. I don’t understand why. My brain goes in a million different directions..I’m happy when I should be sad, and sad when I should be happy. I get mad randomly. I have medicine I’m supposed to take. But sometimes I don’t feel like taking it, so I don’t. That’s when I feel better, when I don’t take it.
When I take my medicine, I feel more like my mom. I start to feel my brain going back to the days when I all did was watch her drink. I only wanted one thing, for her to be proud of me. Was she? I don’t care. She’s gone. I don’t realize it when I start doing it. Drinking, that is. It comes and feels so good, so wonderful. When I drink, I don’t have to talk to other people. I absolutely despise talking to other people. Sometimes, I think I see things. In my house, in my room when I sleep. Some people call it paranoia. But not me, I know who is there. It’s my daughter.
My daughter got taken away from me, the doctors took her away and I haven’t seen her since. They put her in the ground..they did this to her. They tried to get me to go away for a long time, but I didn’t have too. There was a nice lady that helped me not have to go away..and that is why they want me to take all this medicine. The nice lady told me I have to take it if I don’t want to go away. The doctors may have took my little girl away from me, but it was a policeman that told me it was my fault the doctors had too. The last time I saw my baby girl, she stopped breathing. She was at home with me, we were playing. I turned away from her for one minute, to check on her food I was making. I look back at her and she is laying face down, not breathing. They say I poisoned her, my little girl. I could never do such a thing, she choked on a toy, I swear. But they don’t believe me. Why don’t they believe me? They know about my parents, they think I am just like them. But I’m not. At least I don’t want to be. Did I do this to my little girl? It’s all so fuzzy now. They said they saw her bruises. I am not crazy. I was not a bad mom. I WAS NOT A BAD MOM. So I hear her, at night. She is calling me. She wants me to go with her. I miss her so bad. I think about it. I can never bring myself to do it, to go with her. I haven’t taken my medicine in a while now, a month maybe? The bottle and pills have been my best friends for longer that that now. And it will continue to be my friend, because it is the only one that understands me. And I have to stay here, because my daughter needs me, she needs me to talk too, and I have to be there for her. Why can’t I see her? My baby girl. I keep drinking, that is all I can do. I keep imagining things. From the last day I saw my baby girl. I remember how she made me angry. She wouldn’t stop crying.. that’s all I remember.