Broken Record

Day 1

I wake up and look at the ceiling. It reminds me of myself, blank, empty, and sad. I sit upon my bed and look at my night table that has a note on it.

“Don’t forget to take me! :)” I look down to see the pills right next to it. I roll my eyes, take the pills, and throw them out the open window. I get out of bed and go to the bathroom.

I walk into the bathroom and open the cabinet. Toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss. The only three things in my life that don’t disappoint me. I take my toothbrush and toothpaste and brush my teeth, thinking about how bland my day is going to be.

I go back into my room and go to my closet. I look through my 20 white t-shirts and my 10 pairs of black jeans. All the same, but with different wrinkles from all the times, I wore each of them. I pick the shirt and jeans with the least amount of wrinkles and get dressed.

I head downstairs to the kitchen. Bacon, eggs, and 2 pieces of jelly toast, “my favorite”. I go to the kitchen table and begin eating. It tastes fine, but I wish I could make pancakes and waffles.

That’s what he used to make me every morning.

I look at the burn mark on my wrist and remember 6 years old me in the hospital room on the verge of death and change my mind. That one attempt of making pancakes myself was enough trauma for a lifetime. I finish my food, put my dishes in the sink, and walk to the living room. I go towards the couch and prepare to sit down when I see another note by my usual seat.

“You have school today so go...please :)”. I grab the note and tear it to shreds.

Why does she keep trying to control me?

I sit down on the couch, grab the remote, and turn the Tv on. The cable was off.

Great, now I really have to go to school.

I go to my room, grab my book bag and walk out the door.

Day 2

I wake up and look at the ceiling. Another day with the same problem, the same emotions, same despair. I sit upon my bed and looked at the nightstand to see the note.

“Don’t forget to take me! :(” I look down to see the pills. I roll my eyes, take the pills, and throw them out the window.

“Tik Tak”. I look out the window and see another note.

“Don’t throw me out please!” I look down at the pills on the floor. I stare at the pills, open the window, and throw the pills out. I get out of my room and go to the bathroom.

I go into the bathroom and open the cabinet. Toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss. I close the cabinet and brush my teeth while looking in the mirror.

Those small marks on my face finally healed from last week.

I finish brushing my teeth and go back into my room to pick an outfit. I look through my clothes and I see a note on the back of the closet door.

“You’ll look more presentable for school today.” I check my shirts and jeans and half of my clothes have been replaced. There’s an outfit that has a note on it saying “wear this one”. I slam my closet shut and sit on my bed.

She needs to leave me alone!

She’s only trying to help you, why won’t you let her?

Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about.

I sit on my bed for 20 minutes and stare at my closet.

What am I supposed to do now?

Well, you could wear an outfit and eat breakfast.

Or you could just shut up and let me think!

Well, you know the solution to get me to shut up.

No! I’m not doing that!

I jump out of my bed, sprint to my closet, take out all the clothes, and throw them onto the floor, stomping them out until I get tired. I go through my closet and pick out an outfit.

This one should do it.

I get dressed and go into the kitchen to eat breakfast. I go to the living room and try to watch Tv, but fail. I grab my bag from my room and head over to the school.

When am I going to go to a school where I’m not looking at as a psycho.

Day 3

I wake up and look at the blank ceiling. Today I’m going to see my therapist. I look at the night table and see a note.

“Take me!” I look down at the pills, look towards the window to see another note.

“Don’t throw me out!” I go to open the window, but it’s locked. I look around the room and see a trash can. I take the pills, throw them in the trash, and head to the bathroom.

I walk to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror, pale, empty face with battle scars all over my forehead and cheek. I open the cabinet and see another note.

“Did you take your pills?” I step back from the cabinet. My one place of control has been compromised.

She knows how I feel about her invading my space!

She’s only trying to help you know.

I don’t care about her “wanting to help me”! I know the truth and I’m not falling for it!

And what exactly is the truth? That she wants you to get an education? Not want you to be hearing voices in your head all the time?

She wants to control my thoughts so I could be her personal robot!

What did the therapist say about this? Your mother is only trying to he-

STOP TALKING!

I slam the bathroom cabinet shut and punch the mirror, breaking it into deadly pieces. I look at the mirror, seeing the rich red blood ooze down to the bottom, dripping into the sink slowly like molasses growing. I shake my head to reassure myself and go on with my routine. I reopen the cabinet, get my toothbrush and toothpaste, and brush my teeth. Ignoring my teeth turning red from the blood.

I go into my room with my bloody hand, go into my closet, and touch all of my white clothes individually. Giving each shirt a unique pattern of destruction for my therapist to question in our next session.

I pick the best-designed shirt and jeans, put them on, and go into the kitchen. I walk into the kitchen and the table is set up differently. There’s only a note.

My eye starts to twitch as I think back to my 6-year-old self, walking home from school with a note on the kitchen table. The note was always an apology for not having food ready with a $20 bill attached to get the regular mashed potatoes, mac and cheese with chicken Tv dinner from the supermarket.

“Didn’t get a chance to make your food this morning, here’s some money to get Starbucks or whatever :)”. I snatch the $20 off the note, rip the note into shreds and leave the remains on the table as I leave to get breakfast.

********************************************

I finally arrive at my jail cell. I open the door and see her, Dr. Hermina. She’s giving me the “compassionate” look she gives all her clients. It makes me sick to my stomach. I fake a smile towards her and ease my way down to the couch. I look around the room, it’s changed since our last session. The change made me want to poke my eyes out, but I kept quiet about her ugly 5-year-old drawings of roses and mountains. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

She looks at me. I look at her. We stare into each other's eyes for 2 minutes. You would think we were communicating our love for each other. Then she broke the beautiful radio silence by speaking.

“So how have you been feeling lately?”

“Well, my mother forgot my food again and used money as an apology like usual.” Dr. Hermina writes that down and looks back up at me.

“How does that make you feel?” I look down at the ground.

“Upset obviously.”

“Why?” She inches closer to me as if shortening the distance between us would make our connection stronger.

“She knows how I am with cold food...it reminds me of the past.”

“Have you ever tried talking to her about this?”

“About what?” I shift my body. I know where this is going, and I don’t like it. She tried to crack me last time, but it didn’t work.

“About opening yourself up to your mother. Letting her know how her actions trigger you”.

“All she does is force those pills down my throat so I could shut my mouth”.

“That’s not the reason why I prescribed you those pills. You know better than that...right?” She gives me the death stare, waiting on my response. We both know the answer to this question, but I would never dare say it out loud.

Day 4

I wake up and look at the blank ceiling. I sit up from my bed and look around the room. A note on the night table and the window. I get out of my bed and look for the trash can. It’s not in my room. I look at the night table with the note and pills on it.

“Take me now! >:(” I rush to the window and frantically try to open it, nothing. I tear my room apart looking for a trash can, nothing. I spin around in my room, begging for an answer to my problem, nothing.

I run to the bathroom to brush my anger away.

She’s doing it again.

I brush my teeth with passionate anger. I brush until I see blood dripping down the sink.

Too much don’t you think?

Yeah, thanks for the advice Captain Obvious.

I stop brushing my teeth and clean my mouth, embracing the new battle scars I put on my gums and admiring the others from last week. I go into my closet and pick an outfit. I get dressed and look back at my nightstand. The pills are still there. I go towards my nightstand, throw them to the ground, and stomp on them until they become white ashes that blend in with the carpet.

I slowly walked down the stairs, trying to see if she’s there. I take a peek into the kitchen and see her shadow by the stove. She’s cooking. I attempt to quickly walk up the stairs, but it was too late.

“Honey, come downstairs. I just finished making breakfast.”

Good lord, I don’t want to do this again. Last time she almost cut my arm in half.

If you would just listen to her, you wouldn’t have all those scars on you.

I take a look at my arms and see the scabs and healed wounds all over me.

If she wasn’t such a bad parent, I wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place!

She’s trying to change and you’re not letting her-

She’s not changing! She still the same old prick she was when she-

“Honey get down here now! The food’s getting cold”. I walk down the stairs and slowly enter the kitchen. I see her sitting at the end of the table, hands folded into each other, with her smile a kid would make after getting away with breaking fine china.

“Eat your food before it gets cold”. She points to the plate right next to her, but I don't want to move. We stare at each other for a minute, her smile slowly turns into an angry frown.

It’s about to begin.

I walk up to the plate and try to grab it, but she grabs my wrist and twirls it downwards. This pulls me down to face her eye to eye. She looked me in the eyes.

“You didn’t take your pills again...”

“How would you know?”

“Who do you think locks the windows and took the trash can away?” She’s staring me down. I can barely look at her, but I have to keep my composure.

I see her slowly go into her pocket, and I attempt to make a run for my room. I swing my wrist out of her grasp and sprint to my room. I race up the stairs and almost make it to the top when I feel something hit my head. I fall down and try to get back up, but she pulls me by my leg. Step by step each wooden tile slaps my cheek and chin, giving me small marks that just went away two days ago. I make it to the end of the stairs and she turns me around.

“Open your mouth so I can give you your medicine!”

“You mean my poison!” I frantically move my body to get out of her grasp, but she’s too strong.

She’s always too strong in this phase.

“This is to calm you down so you won’t act like a fool in public”.

“It’s a weapon you use to silence me from confronting you for being a terrible mother!”

“I work long shifts to help support us both!”

“You always liked being at work more than you liked being at home because it reminded you of dad while he was stil-”

“Shut your filthy mouth!” She raises her hand and slaps me repeatedly until my cheeks start to bleed. My head starts spinning, and I see 3 demons in front of me that’s supposed to be my mom. She grabs my hair to lift up my face and brings me 2 centimeters close to her face.

“I work long hours because your father's death put us in a lot of debt! I try my best to cook for you every morning to make up for forcing you to fend for yourself when you were younger. I’ve apologized for my past mistakes already. When are you going to let the past go and move onto the future?” I blink my eyes a million times, trying to clear my vision. I go 1 centimeter closer to her face.

“You apologized 10 years too late. You made a 6-year-old go to the supermarket every night to buy herself food, while you were at work chilling with your friends. Then you would come into the house, stumbling to get through the door, making a scene that always woke me up at 4 am. Then when I would ask if you were ok, you would yell at me with your hot alcohol breath and tell me to go to bed and mind my business.” My mom looks down at the floor, reliving her shame.

“You stopped taking care of me after dad died. You were gone both physically and mentally and blamed it on me. I will NEVER forgive you for that. 10 years of mental pain and heartbreak from a mother who forgot how to love her kid, and thinks pills will help ease her pain when all she wants is love from her one parent that’s still alive. Instead of giving me love, you give me a therapist and pills, while forcing me to go to school for ‘people like me’. I’m not mentally ill as the rest of those kids. I belong in a regular school with teachers that don’t treat me like I’m a damaged 5-year-old girl!” I stare at my mother as she stares at the floor. There’s silence for a moment.

This moment lasted longer than the last one. Maybe I finally got through to her.

Do you really think that’s what happened?

Would you please stop being negative for one minute!

I continue to stare at my mom and quickly notice she’s staring at me now.

“Hearing those voices in your head again huh?” My eyes widen with fear.

I told you.

My mom takes the pills out of her pocket and brings them towards my mouth. I shut my mouth and mumble scream as loud as I can, praying someone can hear my cry for help...but no one hears me. Instead, my mother picks my head up and bangs it against the ground, making everything go black.

I see nothing.

My mother’s hands open my unconscious mouth and force the pills down my throat.

“I’m not the one hearing voices in my head because their mother ‘gave them emotional trauma’”. She drops my head and picks up my body, putting it in the place she calls a bed but what I think of as a casket.

“If you were to take your pills as I suggest, then you wouldn’t be hearing my voice nag you in your brain about how messed up you are. Guess you’ll never learn and always be a broken record”. She puts the covers over my body and walks out of my room, gently closing the door behind her.

Day 5

I wake up and look at the ceiling. I turned around to see my mom at the door.

“Hey honey, how are you feeling?” she looks at me with a smile. I stare at her and smile back.

“I feel great”.

She gives me a thumbs up and closes the door behind her. As she’s closing the door, my fake smile turns into a depressed frown.