My Mother's Door

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Something I've never understood is how someone can stand and look me in the eyes with the statement, "your not a good liar, I know you," so you knew? You knew I was lying? Why did you never say anything? If you can read me so easily, why is it when every day I felt like I was standing on a ledge you never spoke a word about what you say you can see.

People seem to go one of three ways after living a life like mine. Even my therapist has said it, warning me of that second path, avoid it, don't fall into the pattern. I always smile and assure her I could never let myself go that way, I've seen to much to let that happen, but what she doesn't see is how my foot has dipped into that door before. I've took a few small trips a little ways into that wide door, and the next morning i wake up in my bed with that door shut displaying an innocent sign with such neat writing. "Come back soon".

My mother visited this door throughout her life, even before I started my journey into her and my life. As a child this door wasn't something I could always see, it was always closed, but I could see her leave way to it. Her trips would call her at random, through out the day. By the end of it she'd be so tired she'd sway and stumble as we cleaned before bed or placed our things for the next day. I remember the days the door wouldn't open for her, a taunting sign still hanged neatly as the knob refused to open her way in. She had no choice but to bring me along when she had to purchase a key. Sometimes it would be different people who had the key, different prices, different places, but when she got the key she was happy again. She'd run right back to the door throwing it open before we'd even gone home. So I'd sit in a car by myself watching her pass through, listening to the radio sing my mind to a place away from my seat and wait to go home again.

Music became my door, every day any chance I was given I'd go off to let the music carry me to a new place. My earbuds would be in so often it annoyed those around me, saying I never listened, that it's so rude of me, that it's why no one talks to me. I didn't want anyone to talk to me, I never wanted to listen, I wanted my place somewhere else while my body trudged through my day.

I'd feel the heavy weight of my body each time I was made to take the music out, the sinking feeling in my stomach, the pressure in my eyes, everything I was trying to run from would crash back into as I was ordered to do or made to go somewhere my music habits weren't appropriate. I knew my behavior seemed weird to others, the looks I'd see, the ones who'd say it to my face with questions and I heard this when you know it's their own thoughts on you, because no one talks about you. You don't do anything to be talked about, you just walk, sit, work, do the same things everyday. It's what you don't do, never talking, avoiding people and conversation every Chance your given, constantly having music blaring in your ears. I knew I seemed weird, strange, antisocial, even scary to some. I didn't care about that, I never did, all I wanted was my door. My music. My escape.