The World That Was Mine (Part I & II)

XII

Another bottle smashed against the wall. That was number 3 I think. I shrunk further into my 8 year old body, shielding myself from the spray of glass. Moms sobs echoed through the living room, but I couldn't feel empathy. Not after this. It was the 4th time this week she was having a meltdown like this. Where she went into an inconsolable rage, that would seem savage to anyone witness.

"Why did I leave?" She wailed. I tried to justify her actions by saying it was her medicine that made it happen this way, but she seemed to be even angrier when she ran out of it. "Why did I have you?" She screeched."I wish you were never born! You are a mistake!" My heart beat was irregular as I remained crouched behind the chair. "I should have stayed with Jonathan." She said that name a lot. She never told me who he was and when I asked, I received a slap to the face. My mother rarely struck me so I knew I shouldn't ask again. It seemed to be a sore subject for my mother. "And the kids." I could hear her starting to slip into unconsciousness. "The..the kids." She mumbled.

And then she was out. Like a light that had caught fire, she had once glowed proudly but with time she began to flicker and spark, eventually erupting into an uncaged ignition that burned everything in its past. But eventually she would go out all together.

I both dread and anticipate the day she does.

I'm more afraid of living as a mistake then dying as a failure. I was told my whole life that I was a mistake. But I was determined to not allow her to label me before I even got the chance to decide who I was. I was determined to become something that she could never call a mistake. But she was dead and it didn't matter anymore. The only person I was proving my worth to now was myself.

Sitting up in my bed, I wiped the dripping sweat off my forehead, pushing my hair off of my sticky tear stained cheeks.It was a common flashback. A scene from my childhood that seemed to not only repeat itself in my memories but in real life as well. I took a deep breath and slid off the bed, throwing on some workout clothes. I needed peace. I needed release from my own mind.

A mistake, she called me time and time again. Each time the sharpness of the phrase became less, like a knife wearing down with every use. I sought to prove her wrong while she was alive but it was no use. She didn't notice a medal or an A+ anymore than she noticed me myself.

Walking down the stairs, I looked for my running shoes almost frantically. I was falling down the rabbit hole. Slipping into my mind where I felt trapped by the insecurities my mother had implanted in me.

The second my shoes were on I was out the door.

I ran.

I ran from my nightmare, or rather flash back, I ran from the stress of my life in general, I ran from myself and my thoughts. I focused on the sound of my feet hitting the pavement, on the burning sensation in my thighs and calves, and the cold morning wind biting at my cheeks. As I picked up speed I lost balance and tripped over myself, landing on my face. My breathing was ragged and unsteady as I sat on the sidewalk.