TW- Wanted to put a trigger warning. This chapter contains self-harm, and substance abuse.
The last time I saw my mother was fifteen years ago. And I don't even remember it. Right when I was born she died. I killed her. Not on purpose, but I quite literally did. It's just been me and my dad. Until recently it has just been me. My dad went on a two year trip over the world. He is a professional photographer so he moves around a lot. He just doesn't care to take his daughter with him. Which is totally fine because I never really did ever think that one picture told the whole story. He says "One picture can tell the whole story, but one story can't describe a whole picture." Which I think is complete bull. But it's whatever. I miss her. The thought of her anyway. I only have a framed picture of her on my nightstand. With her blonde hair soaring through the wind on a clear sunny day at the beach. Of course my father took that photo. God I miss her, even though I have never met her. It's like a part of me or rather a piece of me is gone and will never be able to be found. I just wish she was here. To help me. Things in life would be so much easier. I imagine. Why wouldn't it be? I would have a mom. I never had that connection with any parent not ever. My dad has always been distant emotionally with me. I think he hates me. He was so inlove with my mother why wouldn't he be? I took that away from him. The love of his life. Gone. Just like that. I can't even imagine what his face looked like. The expression on his face, the way his heart would have skipped a beat or rather practically stopped. They told me he was in shock. Sitting there in the chair outside the room holding his precious little baby girl. As a nurse came up to him while he was swaying me side to side. Sir, Sir, I don't mean to bother, but I have some news for you. She spoke. Well, what? Has my wife made it out okay? Also I haven't picked out a name for her, and we were going to decided together so just tell me when she will be out. My father said. I'm sorry sir, but I can't do that. Why not? He said confused. There were some complications in the surgery. She spoke. What? His heart seemed to break in that one second. Cardiomyopathy, Sir. She spoke. I'm sorry I'm not really a doctor or a nurse or any medical professional at the moment so could you please explain to me what that is? He said. It's where the chambers in your heart get enlarged and it becomes a struggle for the human body to thoroughly pump the correct amount of blood throughout the body. In simple terms she died of heart failure from your baby's delivery. I'm so sorry for your loss. She said as she walked away. My father sat there in shock. Still swaying his baby girl in his warm arms. In that second he felt that everything he ever had ever wanted simply fell apart. His life crumbled down to pieces. While mine was already broken into pieces. In that moment I knew that being "Daddy's little girl" was no longer an option after I took away his favorite girl in the world. So back to present day. Here I am. No mom and a dad who is never here. I wasn't ever "Mommy's little princess" or "Daddy's little girl" I raised myself. I punished myself when needed or congratulated myself when good. It was a cycle I continuously repeated. Except I couldn't stop punishing myself. Of all the bad I would do or what I did in the past. I couldn't help it. The scars on my arm seemed to fade and then I would paint them again and again to remind myself. "I'm not perfect" I would say. Another scar to love would show on my arm. "Why am I like this" I would cry. And then another and another. To make all the emotional pain turn into something that could make it go away. Physical pain. The physical pain instead of dying on the inside. Except I was still dying inside. I thought if I did it enough it would go away. And sometimes it would go away, but not for long. For maybe two weeks I could be perfectly fine and then it would hit. That depressive episode. Where nothing else mattered. Nothing. So a couple more scars were added to my collection. Oh how I wish it was only a couple. I figured out that this pain never really went away. That everything that I was doing was a distraction. Happiness was a distraction. And that's when I knew I could never stop. Because the feeling of being nobody and the thought of this pain never going away hurt. It hurt me. So much to the point I was done. I took so much that night. I almost did it. I still wish I did. He found me. The person who cared so much for me. He took me there, to the hospital and waited till I woke up. I was in handcuffs when I woke up. Like some kind of prisoner. He looked at me with an expression I had never seen before on him. He was disappointed in me. It was the first time he had ever seen my scars. He never knew. I didn't want him to. He found me one night. Opening my apartment door and coming inside. He found me there laying on the ground with a bottle of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He ran over to me and picked me up. He threw me over his shoulder put me in the front seat of his car and drove me to the hospital. All I remember from that night is when those doctors rushed out to get me. "She took some pills. I think she tried to kill herself. Please I need your help she is my best friend." He said crying. He couldn't lose me. And I couldn't lose him. But I couldn't stand being in pain. I had the thought of seeing my mother again. Just that thought. Just an imagination.
