Have you ever felt rejected? Abandoned? Left behind? The pain that you carry in the deepest parts of your heart, can spread and slowly, so slowly, devour you – engulfing you in a black mist. And the girl, sleeping to the lullaby of your voice, will wish to never wake up, to never get out of her bed. You look at her, blame, anger and hatred revolving around your head and that’s when you realise that she’s the reason why your depressed… the reason why your life crumbled like the many buildings in the Blitz.
I remember awakening to the piercing sound of loud sobbing. Loud wails that immediatealy shattered my young heart. Sleep still had its spell on me and I slowly tottered around in my hello-kitty night gown, rubbing my tired brown eyes. A sore, tingling feeling was what I felt in the back of my dry throat. I had caught a cold again.
“Mummy?” I whispered as I walked into the corridor. The wailing continued. “Mummy?”
My brown eyes flung open.
“Mummy! Mummy!” I shouted.
I saw the glass frame flung against the rose wall-papered wall. I slowly crept towards it as if it was a taboo curse. Then I saw it. Damien.
I closed my eyes, as his own stared into mine. Although it was just a picture, I was always haunted by him. Damien was a cruel, heartless man. He was violent. He hated me too. He was physical to Mother a lot, especially when it was my fault. His unshaved face and insane glint in his eyes told everybody that he was a madman. Tearing myself away from him, I walked down the passage of the corridor. Mother’s wails pierced me like a dagger. I wanted her to stop. I would say anything to comfort her. As I tottered around the dining room table I found Mother crying at the door of our small London apartment. I gasped, for Mother’s lips were puffy and cut. Her face bruised from beating. The proud magenta coloured skirt she always
wore, was burnt and singed at the edges. “Mummy!” I whispered, as I slowly walked over to her. I extended my small arms and I tried to hug her. Her puffy eyes eyed me with hatred and she cruelly pushed me away with tremendous force, the look of hatred on her face made me scared.
“Damien…!” she sobbed loudly, curling herself together into a ball away from my face. Tears started to spring from my brown eyes. My heart was so painful. “Mummy!” I screamed, tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t understand why she was crying even though I do now. Then she slowly paused and looked at me, her eyes still full of anguish.
“Would you be better without me? Wouldn’t you?”
I was young, 3 & frac12; years old in fact. I wanted to stop the tears cascade down her sore cheeks. I wanted her to be happy with me. I nodded my head vigorously.
“Yes, Mummy! Yes! Yes!” I said eagerly, waiting for her to hug me. She didn’t.
‘Mummy, why aren’t you happy?’ I panicked, ‘what’s sad?’
And then I thought, ‘do you love me?’
She wailed in despair and grabbed my arm. I smiled at her through wet tears. Her nails gripped onto my flesh, and pierced me. Droplets of blood slowly came into view.
“MUMMY!” I howled.
Mother’s grip on me loosened and I wriggled loose.
I ran to my bedroom. Confusion and sadness welled up inside me.
I knew I was different from all the other kids I saw. They had Mothers and Fathers that hugged and loved them. I always asked God at night, even up to tonight, ‘will my parents ever love me?’ I’m not even sure.