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A Monster
I'm her flesh and blood, she carried me for nine monthes and then gave me life, she raised me and hoped for so much for me in this world. But I cut her down and make her feel like she is the dirt beneath my feet. She tries her best but when she just says the simplest thing to me, I snap at her. Then we're arguing again, the walls are shaking with the force of an earthquake at the end of the world. I call her names, I throw her past in her face, I tell her all the things she's done wrong. . . "I hate you!" I scream at her and I strike her with my fist, she falls back crying. She's yelling at me to stop but I don't, I just keep hitting her; a part of me doesn't want to stop. I remember when I was younger and she use to hit me as punishment, I remember the times the men in her life would smack me around like a cheap rag doll. I feel all of that anger and I throw it back at her with another blow of my hand. I step back away from her, she's crying and I don't care. There is no feeling for this woman right now, there is no feeling what so ever. But she's my mother. . . How could I have done this? I go into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and look into the mirror. I hate the girl looking back at me, she did this. I hate what I have become. The prey has become the predator, the murdered the muderer, the victim the monster. I raise my fist and smash it into the glass, I wish I could hurt that thing looking back at me then to strike at my own flesh and blood again.
I begin to cry, tears sliding down my face and I fall down to the ground. I hug my knees crying, I hate what I have become. I am the thing that I swore I would never become, I am the thing that I use to hide under the blankets from, I am the nightmare that everyone should fear. I wish for the little silver that once use to slice my skin so gingerly, I wish for the crimson pain to drip down my porcelain skin. I hate what I am, I don't deserve anything. What kind of a daughter hurts her own mother? What kind of a daughter wants to laugh as her mother cries? What kind of a daughter would do the things I do? None. I am a horrible daughter and I don't deserve the woman that I have as a mother, she should never have given birth to me. I should of died that day 17 years ago, I do nothing but cause her pain.
"You'll put me in an early grave" she yells at me. I bite my lip crying, what if I actually did one day? What if I actually did kill my mother? How could I ever think that? Because I am afraid it will happen, because I am scared that one day I will lose control and I will grab the first thing I see and use it against my mother.
"You're always right Annie, you're never wrong. Because if I say you're wrong. . . Well I might get hit again" she says to me. I fight back tears, "I don't want to hit you" I cry. She doesn't hear me, she rather think of me as a monster. As the thing that is going to destroy her. She's the victim here not me, because I don't want help or anything. I do, I want to be a better person, I wish that I could take back all the horrible things that I have done to her. I wish I could take away all her pain and be the one that catches all her tears. But I cannot be that. I am the thing that destroys. I wish that I could hold the monster inside, look the villian deep inside my mind and keep it away from those I love. Every night I say I am going to break this habit, this anger that builds inside of me and claws at my inside until I let it out and smashes my fist into a wall or my mother's face.
Sometimes I want to just give up and let the monster out, let the monster take control of everything I am. Everything that I am or at least try to be. Sometimes I don't want to be better, I don't want to look at my mother or anyone and see another victim. Because only I am allowed to be the victim.
"~I want someone to hurt like the way I hurt, it's sick but it makes me feel better~"
A part of a song pops into my head, a song my mother said reminded her of me. I know why I want to give up sometimes because I know she has given up on me. She knows that I will never get better, she knows that I am a lost cause. That I am a nightmare and that I am going to just destroy.
"Some people are only meant to cause pain in the world for others" quotes my mom about one of the characters in the book I am writing. The character I told her held my anger and everything that I hate about myself. She never realized was what she was saying was effecting me not a fictional character. That's why I got so defensive. But I have no excuse, my mother doesn't deserve everything I put her through. She deserves better then me. I don't deserve anything, except a long pine box and deep dark hole.
I am a monster. The very things that I have feared, that would surround me and make me afraid of my own shadow. I am one of them.
And I can't control myself. . .
~Anne-Marie Elizabeth Burgess~
I begin to cry, tears sliding down my face and I fall down to the ground. I hug my knees crying, I hate what I have become. I am the thing that I swore I would never become, I am the thing that I use to hide under the blankets from, I am the nightmare that everyone should fear. I wish for the little silver that once use to slice my skin so gingerly, I wish for the crimson pain to drip down my porcelain skin. I hate what I am, I don't deserve anything. What kind of a daughter hurts her own mother? What kind of a daughter wants to laugh as her mother cries? What kind of a daughter would do the things I do? None. I am a horrible daughter and I don't deserve the woman that I have as a mother, she should never have given birth to me. I should of died that day 17 years ago, I do nothing but cause her pain.
"You'll put me in an early grave" she yells at me. I bite my lip crying, what if I actually did one day? What if I actually did kill my mother? How could I ever think that? Because I am afraid it will happen, because I am scared that one day I will lose control and I will grab the first thing I see and use it against my mother.
"You're always right Annie, you're never wrong. Because if I say you're wrong. . . Well I might get hit again" she says to me. I fight back tears, "I don't want to hit you" I cry. She doesn't hear me, she rather think of me as a monster. As the thing that is going to destroy her. She's the victim here not me, because I don't want help or anything. I do, I want to be a better person, I wish that I could take back all the horrible things that I have done to her. I wish I could take away all her pain and be the one that catches all her tears. But I cannot be that. I am the thing that destroys. I wish that I could hold the monster inside, look the villian deep inside my mind and keep it away from those I love. Every night I say I am going to break this habit, this anger that builds inside of me and claws at my inside until I let it out and smashes my fist into a wall or my mother's face.
Sometimes I want to just give up and let the monster out, let the monster take control of everything I am. Everything that I am or at least try to be. Sometimes I don't want to be better, I don't want to look at my mother or anyone and see another victim. Because only I am allowed to be the victim.
"~I want someone to hurt like the way I hurt, it's sick but it makes me feel better~"
A part of a song pops into my head, a song my mother said reminded her of me. I know why I want to give up sometimes because I know she has given up on me. She knows that I will never get better, she knows that I am a lost cause. That I am a nightmare and that I am going to just destroy.
"Some people are only meant to cause pain in the world for others" quotes my mom about one of the characters in the book I am writing. The character I told her held my anger and everything that I hate about myself. She never realized was what she was saying was effecting me not a fictional character. That's why I got so defensive. But I have no excuse, my mother doesn't deserve everything I put her through. She deserves better then me. I don't deserve anything, except a long pine box and deep dark hole.
I am a monster. The very things that I have feared, that would surround me and make me afraid of my own shadow. I am one of them.
And I can't control myself. . .
~Anne-Marie Elizabeth Burgess~
Published 29th Oct 2011
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22nd Dec 2011 7:59pm
