Estranged Daughter

Last year in April around the time I stopped talking to my mom, I remember it like yesterday I had just gotten finished weeping. I laid on my back, and looked hard at the ceiling searching for a breath to hold onto, I was wounded. This one emotion dear reader, they don’t make names for it, so few people have felt it. All this fucking harm and destruction at the hand of one single person, even in my adulthood she was wreaking havoc on my life. Uprooting the foundations I worked excessively and tirelessly to lay. The very peace I barely managed to scrape up, destroyed in one flick of her wrist. Then it dawned on me dear reader, a thought that turned into a wish. I wish this person didn’t exist. (I’ll save the malice and harm I wish upon my mother for another day.) Think about it though what if she just vanished, never to be seen again. I laid there and my heart beat began to pick up, I think I was inspired. I finally found a breath and it was a steady one, then air found my lungs and my thoughts somewhat cleared. No seriously, if this bitch were to die my quality of life would be exceptional. Of course I’d still need life long therapy and I’d still suffer from CPTSD, but at least I would be free from her and her mess. I thought my mom was going to kill herself that day, my siblings had been removed from her home. For the fourth time and she was alone, our family was so angry absolutely no one was speaking to her. She was shunned, and for once our people were holding her accountable. That morning I had just told her that I never intended on rekindling any type of relationship with her and she didn’t take it well. I sat on the floor and I imagined her blubbering all alone in her queen sized bed. I hoped she couldn’t take it anymore, I hoped the guilt of what she’d done ate her up and made her skin crawl. Then I wished for it dear reader, I prayed for it on my knees. I begged God, Buddah, Allah whoever, to do me a solid and ensure that my mother kill herself. she didn’t.