“Do you really have the audacity to live? I will kill you!”
Mothe—I meant Miriam, swung a newly sharpened machete blade right at me.
It was relentlessly aimed at me, swinging as if to kill me slowly, albeit the fast motion.
And I did just sprinkled some hope that she did. Even if I was afraid of being killed, I just hoped that she would kill me to end my misery.
Yes, I know that I have been the opposite of remorseful for my own life, disregarding any will to live. But I am afraid of being killed. I am afraid of anymore physically inflicted pain that I just want to die immediately—not through the most slow and painful manner.
“Shut up woman! You are not my mother anymore! And I would gladly kill myself, on my own accord! So, shut up! Shut up or I’ll make you!”
I shouted, therefore attracting the busy eyes and mouths of our neighbors who like to feast upon any issues within the community. Soon, the crowd gathered; trying to snoop around to get the latest information about our grand commotion.
“I cannot believe you. You would do these things to me?! Wow. I cannot wait to never call you my mother again! Oh wait, now is the right time. Especially, you almost fu—”
Before I could even finish my sentence, I felt the sting of her slap. I admit, I deserved that. I went below the belt.
However, isn’t it much damaging if you’re being dismantled in front of the crowd through verbally abusive words? I’d rather choose the machete blade than emotional and mental pain that the sole cause is my own mother.
“Shut up! You don’t know the choices I had to make! You don’t know things! And I just wish you would die already!” Her screech was made known to all. Attempting to swing the machete again, her current boyfriend tried his best to subdue her.
“You should be thankful!” Miriam, spat those words out with such venomous threat that I could see her anger being beyond extreme.
I have seen her angry, I have been beaten by many things all throughout my life that a simple list couldn’t cover it all. As my mother is predominantly of Asian heritage, of course she was able to cover the basics. Her own hands? Check. Slippers? Check. Dad’s thick leather belts? Check. Random household objects that has a handle? Check.
But as for the weird things? EVERYTHING.
Plastic chairs? Check. Kitchen knives? Been pointed at me already. Everything and anything that she can and would throw at me? Definitely, she had done it all. A swinging machete blade is new; surprisingly, she could still be creative. I thought it’d be the same things. Turns out redundancy got no place today as she was determined to kill me.
I was afraid yet glad. And I do not know what else to do or say.
“Thankful for what? You should be thankful! You lost my father 2 years ago. You’ll lose his only and beloved daughter today.”
I threatened her, fully knowing that she triggered the Operation: A Permanent Goodbye to start.
I rushed back inside, to my room and locked myself in.
According to her, I have been much of a burden ever since my father died. But has she ever checked up on me? On how I was taking the loss? Even if it was a mere two years ago, it still hurts. Knowing that I should’ve been more expressive and vocal of my feelings; that I appreciate and greatly love my father.
But I’m too late. So what about it? Did she check on me when I was on the verge of death, knowing that suicidal thoughts would swallow me whole? No, she didn’t. Because I made sure that she was blind, too blind to see the signs that I was suffering from anxiety and depression. I couldn’t be upfront about it! Heck, I couldn’t tell her that it wasn’t me being lazy and unhelpful. I was covered by depression, my heart had this unexplainable void that keeps on gnawing the insides of my being, I was stuck and trying to escape through things she couldn’t understand.
If only she’d understand…
I had to become strong, when I was weak and frail. I had to become my own mother figure when she couldn’t completely function. I know that I wasn’t the perfect daughter to my own father; I admit those inconsistencies I had. But we were both mourning. And now? After all the hardships that I had to go through.
“Ha. This is insane. I’m going insane. I’m going to be insane.”
I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.
I want to die.
It keeps on repeating and repeating and repeating.
Until I lost it.
_________________________________________________
Oh, how frail and delicate are you
Sweet but poisonous nightshade
You fell for your own poisonous trap
Life or death? It is your choice.
Oh, ode to you, poisonous beauty
Are you excited to extract revenge?
Are you feeling the ecstasy of knowing
That your death, your blood is on her hands?
