Friday, March 5, 2010
I rather would have been an aborted fetus in heaven for aborted fetuses
My mother left without a trace. I was still a kid, a cute kid (there are pictures to prove) with pig tails and band-aids on my chubby knees.
Still, she couldn't love me. She never wanted me. I was an accident, and due to her upbringing she was unable to see abortion as an option. It didn't matter how soft my skin, how blue my eyes, how peachy my cheeks and how dimpled my smiles.
Until recently I felt that I rather would have been an aborted fetus in heaven for aborted fetuses, looking down on the mess other people made (and keep making).
My mother had big dreams. She wanted to become a famous photographer. She wanted to sail the world. She wanted to make a difference for other people.
Becoming a mother aged her ten years in 9 months. Her once perfect breasts begun sag with gravity. Her hips and belly became branded with fiery stretch marks. Her face became wrinkled from frowning. And her mood-swings started tearing her apart. She couldn't stand my weeping. Said to daddy it was the worst sound in the world.
One day she drove off in the family car. She left a note. It didn't say much. It just said that she was sorry and that we shouldn't look for her.
p.s images borrowed (as often) from: http://ghostwerld.wordpress.com/