At 12 o’clock in the midnight, I got a panic attack. I was listening to a newly released song on the music app when suddenly I saw a series of post on mothers. Sometimes, I think the universe doesn’t want me to heal at all.
I was palpitating, sweating, crying, shivering. The memory of 18 years flashed infront of my eyes and I couldn’t hold back. I wanted to hurt myself again. I wanted to see blood coming out of my skin to soothe my bleeding heart.
I’m replying to my friends texts normally. I sent support message to one of friend who urgently needs it. I smiled at my roommate when she passed by me. One of my friend told me that his mother came to visit him and how happy he was. I felt good for him. But somewhere I envied that happiness. I know I should not. Probably, I’m really a bad person. One acquaitance of mine posted her parents wedding anniversary celebration video on Facebook and I felt terrible. I cried, cried, and cried.
I hate mother’s day. I hate seeing people posting about their mothers. I hate when they talk about their mothers infront of me. I hate seeing them talking to their mothers. I don’t need anything. I just want my mother back for once. I wish I could hold her again in my arms. I wish I could sleep on her laps one more time.
Everytime I think that I’m getting better. Life proves me wrong. Something or the other happen which push me back to darkness. I hate myself at time for envying others for the thing I once had and now I can never have it. Sometime, I still wait for her call. I don’t want to go back home as the walls and pillers of my house reminds me of her. I don’t know when this pain will stop hurting. I don’t know when my eyes will stop searching for her in every face. I don’t know when that day would come when I’ll wake up and not say “why did you go so soon, Mumma?”