What is she doing, I thought. Is she trying to get some sympathy whining like there is no tomorrow, I was annoyed; I hated people who whined and created a huge scene. I truly detested those kinds. I shuddered at that thought. I would never want anyone to know what I am going through. I'd like to handle my troubles myself at the most I'd ask for help without the drama and the waterworks.
"Don't judge," screamed the other voice in my head. "Some people can handle their emotions well, while others can't, you don't have to be mean. I know that you have created your own set of dramas".
"But I've never been so weak or vulnerable to cry in public. I have never cried like this in my days of misery", I protested. "Maybe not this much but I have seen the water works,' said the voice inside.
Faces appeared before my eyes, red eyes, swollen face, chin cupped in the hand - Oh this was when grandma passed on I thought. She was the only soul who really loved me with all my flaws.
Time out, facing the wall, pig tails in a mess - a picture of loneliness and despair tears streaked dirty face. The world was against me then, I thought, I was just six, no one loved me no one cared enough to correct me.
One thought lead to another, I learned to cry into the walls; in time I became a wall myself. By the time I was in my teens I learned to bridle every feeling, ever expression to a wooden face and dead eyes. There were hardly any expressions that crossed my pretty, young face. No one knew what went on between those eyes, nor did anyone care.
When Pearl died no one even bothered with me. I had lost a companion, a friend and a partner in crime. All eyes were on mother, all sympathy, hugs and love went towards father and mother. It was as if I did not exist.
What would a girl of ten understand about death the women said to each other as they spoke in low voices. She would play and forget they whispered. They sent me out to play, I played and laughed, but to sleep alone in the same room where Pearl once slept, filled me with dread. Pearl came back night after night to torment me. If I wandered to mother's room I would be sent back with , "Don't bother her child, she is a tormented soul. To lose a child so young is not easy, she is losing her mind" No one cared that I was losing her mind then.
A couple of years later father ran away with another woman, leaving mother and I to fend for ourselves. Mother sewed night and day. Her sewing machine became her only friend. She loved it more than she had ever loved me or Pearl.
At 15 I found happiness in anyone who offered me some kind of solace. I became an instrument of pleasure, a door mat and a nobody about whom no one really cared, even those that professed love and offered marriage.
At 18 I was pregnant. Mother eyed my growing stomach suspiciously, I couldn't hide it anymore. She dragged me by my hair and called me vulgar names. She even spat on my face and swore that I wasn't her child. She left me in the home for destitute women where I saw myself in the mirror for the first time in a long time.
I saw the child of six in that mirror. I broke down and cried for her. I was sorry for all the abuse, neglect and maltreatment she had faced and punished some more for bad behavior when she cried.
I was crying, beating myself in the stomach hoping that the child within would die. Where were these tears all these years I thought, what had become of that wall that had no emotions.
I didn't need sympathy or attention all I wanted was to let those tears run until I melted into insanity. Then, I would not feel anything anymore.
This is my first submission to The Ink Well community. Check this link if you'd like to write for this week's prompt Mirror
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