Ally

I wake with a start....heart pounding.... sweat pouring down my face. My hand shakes as I reach out and grab the glass of water from my bedside table. Holding the glass to rest against my forehead, I hope the coolness will calm me down and slow my racing heart.

Reaching out with my free hand, I grab my phone and swipe the alarm off. I’m not in the mood right now for my alarm tone -  Brave by Sara Bareilles. I have had it as my alarm tone since it was released, hoping it would push me forward each day. But, today I don’t feel the need to push forward. I guess for the next week, this is a feeling which will haunt me. It’s been four years since the nightmare of that day happened and it still feels like yesterday.

I remember so clearly, waking up in the hospital and being told my father was dead. Then, being told I had been asleep for 6 days.

I had expected to see my mother sitting beside my bed, but I should have known better. The selfish cow only ever thought about herself so, why did I think losing her husband and nearly losing her daughter would change anything? Shaking the thoughts free, I push to my feet and head towards the bathroom, needing a shower to clean myself of the recurring nightmare.

Have you ever looked at your reflection in the mirror and wondered how you ended up the way you have and not in a good way? I do this every morning, wonder where I went wrong. Was it the moment my father was taken away from me or, was it what happened afterwards when my mother put it all on me? Every day I feel like I’m stumbling through the dark and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake free and pull myself into the light. Pushing the feeling to the back of my mind, I blow out a deep breath.

Thinking of my mother, I better go and see her today. I don’t live at home anymore. When I was released from the hospital, I couldn’t go back to where dad had died. So, I used the money I had saved and moved to a one-bedroom apartment near Merewether beach. It’s nothing flash, it’s actually not much more than the size of a shoebox, but it works for me and it’s cheap. It’s not like I have a lot of stuff.

Reaching up, I take the towel off my head and watch as auburn hair falls to my shoulders. I shiver as a few water droplets slide down my back. After quickly drying off, I throw on a pair of black yoga pants and a brown tank top before sitting on the side of my queen size bed and pulling my sneakers on. I already feel my stomach roil at the mere thought of having to see that woman. I hate going there. Not only does she still live in the same house, but every time I visit, she gives me another reason why everything which happened four years ago is my fault.

I can still hear her voice in my head from the last time I called in... “What good are you? I wish I’d never had you.”

I shake my head as I make my way towards the front door. I try to visit at least once a week on a Saturday because I know my dad would have wanted me to and I guess I believe I deserve the ugly words she throws at me.

Looking up at the yellow painted two-story house, it looks so picture perfect with it’s green lawn and white picket fence, you would never guess at the ugliness which happened that day. Pushing my shoulders back, I swing open the gate and make my way up the path towards the front door. I reach out and grip the door handle. My hand shakes as visions from that day assault my mind once again. The yelling, the pain and then nothing but darkness. As I open the door, I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. After a moment, I open my eyes and allow them to adjust to the dimly lit hallway. It’s like I have walked into a cave with only a few lamps scattered around the place emitting a soft glow. The curtains are drawn closed. Trying to ignore the state of the house, I head towards the living room where I hear the television. I suck in a deep breath as the stench of stale cigarette hits my nose, causing my stomach to roil. It smells like an ashtray in here. This is nothing like the home I grew up in.

“Hi, mother.” I speak as nicely as I can.

Turning to face me from her recliner, I notice her bloodshot eyes and know today’s visit is going to be a bad one. I straighten my back in readiness for the verbal blow I know will come. I move forward and start picking up the empty bottles of alcohol strewn on the floor as well as the overflowing ashtray beside her. I keep my eyes on what I’m doing so I don’t have to see the hate and disgust in her eyes. I don’t need to see them to know that’s the look she is giving me. I can feel them boring into me as I move around the room.

“Why you?” Her speech is slurred.

My stomach twists and my heart feels heavy in my chest knowing exactly what she means by those words. Why did I survive and not my father? I don’t answer because, I don’t know the answer. It’s also the same question I ask myself every day.

“I’m talking to you, you little bitch,” she spits out.

I still don’t say anything.

“You’re such a fucking spoilt brat!”

I suck in a breath when I hear her moving around behind me and cringe, knowing what’s about to come.

“You think you’re so fucking special!”

She pushes me and I try to keep my balance, but it’s no use and before I know what’s happening, I hit the ground hard. Rolling onto my back, I wince as pain shoots up my side. I try to keep the pained look off my face because I know it will only give her more ammunition to use against me.

“Don’t touch me,” I bite out in a voice I can only hope comes out stronger than I’m feeling. Not backing down, I look her dead in the eyes. Something flashes across her face but it was so quick, I don’t get time to work out what it was.

“You’re not worth it,” she spits before turning and making her way towards the stairs leading up to the second floor.

I don’t bother helping her when she wobbles and has to use the wall for support. Instead, I wait to hear her reach the top, quickly clean up the mess I can see and get the hell out of here.

I know my reality, I know what my life has become. I don’t have any friends which is why all I do is work and go home. I can’t let anybody in because nobody deserves to deal with the failure I have become.

I struggle to catch my breath and hear my heart echoing in my ears. I need air. I need to be somewhere which centers me. I need out of this house, out of this nightmare which has become my constant companion.

I just want to breath and live without this weight always holding me down.