Carved life lessons
Very far away, from another dimension, the persistent pounding sounds. Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. Is it my own voice? Am I calling? Am I screaming? Is it my subconscious begging for help? Do I think about the time I first went to school and my mom left me behind? Or is it others... his other children's voices? My children calling for me.
There are no comments. Not from others, nor from myself. I can't do it either: respond. Not just the pain. It hurts, sure, I don't feel like a mommy at all. I'm not worthy of that title. It is also not meant for me at all, I tell myself. As long as I hold on to that, it's gonna be fine eventually. I don't have to feel like a mother anymore, I don't have to endure so much pain anymore.
Another attempt to turn around in my bed failed. Everything fails. Even my powerful mind abandons me, I need it so much, I must survive. Fight or die. Those are my choices. Dying is not an option for me. Even if I'm not considered a mommy, I'm a mother anyway. Somewhere a kid of mine is walking around, somewhere there's a girl who doesn't know anything about waiting for someone.
Helpless, I'm waiting for myself. I have to. I can't do anything else. Totally paralyzed.
