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Christopher Michael

"Christopher Michael"
 
It was always just a name.
Of the brother I never knew.
Who died when he was a mere babe.
He was from my mother's first marriage.
To a mean and abusive man with a Polish last name.
 
Christopher Michael.
No pictures of him.
And my mother doesn't know where he is buried.
She told me that he died inside of her.
When I was young and too innocent to know what death was.
When I got older she told me the truth.
That my brother.
My older brother that would always be a mere 5 months old.
Had died from SIDS.
 
Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
 
He turned over in his sleep.
And my mother found him the next morning.
And she cried and screamed.
Her first husband accusing her of hurting the baby.
And she cried and cried.
And was put in a hospital eventually.
 
As I got older.
And I was abused by my mother's boyfriends.
And became more and more suicidal.
I started to be cruel to my mother saying things like:
 
"I wish I was like Christopher!"
Or, "You're the one that's let all your children die!"
 
And she'd cry.
And I feel good for a minute.
Because a split second she hurt.
Just as much as I did, inside of my mind.
Or when her boyfriend or third husband would hit me.
Or kick me.
Push me to ground.
Make me feel less human.
And make me want to die.
 
But than I got pregnant.
And the baby was born.
My son named Gaige.
I love so much.
And when I thought about my brother.
Whom had never been.
I realize that I had been so wrong.
So wrong.
So wrong.
 
Because to imagine.
Going to check on a baby.
And him to not move.
It scared me in way.
I can't even express in words.
And so I made a silent promise to never ever use my dead brother against my mother ever again.
And I didn't.
 
But that didn't stop her from doing it for me.
 
"You never care about my disorders and problems, only yours!"
 
I screamed.
When I refer to her PTSD, I meant what her first husband did when he abused her.
Never Christopher.
Never Christopher.
 
"Tell me Annie, what do you know about my past?"
 
"That's you made bad choices."

 
Still referring to her first husband.
Abused in relationship.
And did not leave.
That's a bad choice.
I know I made the same one, only with a girl instead.
 
"Right, I had child die on me Annie-- That's must have been a really bad choice!"
 
That's not what I meant.
How is that when I never bring up my brother?
She can as an excuse for having troubles?
But I can't bring up the fact that her cruel words make me cut.
And bleed.
She can say that I'm not a good mother.
When she hurts over a dead baby.
So much she has a mental disorder.
But my cuts don't mean anything.
And my tears are nothing.
Does she not see me?
 
I made a story about a girl.
Whose had a little brother that died from SIDS.
When she was seven.
And by eight her parents had split up.
And her mother ignored her.
To the point that she hated her little brother.
 
So sometimes.
When my mother doesn't see me pain.
Ignores my cuts.
And my tears are as normal as New England's rain.
I do hate my brother.
My older brother that will never age.
Because my mother hurts over his death.
But pushes me and my problems away.
Written by Page_Writer (Mad Girl)
Published | Edited 15th Jun 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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