How she planed on killing me

The blackness

I don't quite remember my childhood, but when I do remember some pieces of it, I see myself being happy. I picture my sister, who always made me laugh with her horrible singing and nonetheless, bad dancing to the most popular song of the century, my grandma, who fed me the tastiest however not the healthiest food, and my dad, who I didn't appreciate enough at the time. I can't thought... I don't seem to remember my mother. I only remember that feeling of her being strict, cold... Just, her being her.
We stopped talking 3 years ago. I said her to fuck the hell off me and she listened. But she has never disappeared. Every time I fall asleep I hope I won't see her at night, but she is almost always there, just, her being her... I feel like a day hasn't passed without me hearing her voice or seeing her eyes made out of glass staring right through me. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to sleep at all, I wouldn't be hearing then how much she hates me, how sorry she is for herself that she had to get pregnant with me, and how much she wishes me to disappear.
It wasn't always like this thought. Every month she would get tired of yelling, abusing, and trying to kill me. Every month she would come to me and call me "Bunny", tell me how much she loves me, how much she misses me when I am at school or outside with friends, and that I should spend more time with her. It was the worst part of it. No matter how much she hit my head on the radiator, no matter how often she choked me or how hard she punched me with her legs, every time she said "I love you" I believed.
She would try to keep me home when I went out, she would tell me I didn't love her enough and wait for me to correct her, to say that she is my everything. The truth is I didn't have friends. I got out just to escape her, just to feel safe, to forget even for a couple of hours that I had to come home. I would stand there ready to leave, put on my shoes, and say very loudly, so she would hear it "Of course I love you, more than anyone else". I had to say it loud, loud enough for her to hear but not too much or it could ruin everything. If she thought I was yelling at her she would have gotten mad, she would have run toward me, and a woman who is two times bigger than me, breathing out heavily would have grabbed me with my t-shirt and shouted "How fucking dare you raise your voice at me, you, stupid slave? I didn't allow you to speak to me like that, did I?". At first, I cried when stuff like this happened, but soon I learned that I didn't have a reason for my tears and that if I wanted to cry so badly she would kindly provide me with a valuable reason to cry. So this time I just waited. There was no right thing to do. If I talked she would smash my head on the wall, cuz I wasn't given permission to talk back. And if I kept quiet she would choke me, because I was ignoring her. So when it happened I waited. Waited for her direct instructions, doing everything that she told me to do because after all, I was still her slave.
       You probably wonder why I have never told anyone, well, I did. I told my teachers at school. They said I was an ungrateful daughter, and that I should study harder, do my household chores, and bring her presents. Well, I did all of that at first. I brought her flowers, and every single day I brought my fucking abuser some flowers to make HER feel better as if it was her who was afraid to come home as if it was her who planned on killing herself, cuz life was not worth living. Don't get me wrong I still that life is overrated, but who am I to judge? Anyway, if only you could see her when I came home with a rose for the first time. You would expect it to make her happy, well everyone but her, I guess.
– Hm... Looks cheap. Where did you get it from? A grave?
– No, I bought it for you, I thought you would like it.
– Well don't go to this store again, they are making money by scamming little stupid, gullible idiots like you. Were you not able to open your fucking eyes and see the trash you are paying for? – She passed to look at my now sad face. – Put it in a vase. Do I have to remind you to cut the end off or you are able to do a basic fucking thing without my direction?
– I'll cut off the end.
– Of course, you will now after I already told you to do so. Eh... No one in this house seems to be able to turn their brain on and think for themselves...