She’s lying on the bed because she’s in pain and her body has finally stopped responding to her signal of move, move, move. She is used to moving: whether to organize the household, organize her son’s day – because he may be twenty but that does not mean he can look after himself – organize her own day and organize her husband’s day.
She is a champ at organizing. Not because she enjoys it. But it is expected of her. She hates that it is expected of her. She hates that she has made herself like this where looking after her humans has become a burden. She hates that the only time she can justify slowing down is by falling so sick that she has no other option.
Tears drip down the sides of her eyes as they soak the pillow under her head. Her husband has checked-in on her. Even her son has unglued himself from in front of his Xbox long enough to check-in on her. But she’s so enraged, she cannot appreciate the gesture. Her mind is such a cesspool, she’s blaming them for the condition her body is in.
She hates this part of her meltdown too. She hates being weak and then lashing out to hide that weakness. Gods how much she hates everything about her life right now.
She must have fallen asleep sometime between her rage, hate and helplessness because when she opens her eyes, she is in her mother’s sitting room. She remembers it well even though it has been years since she visited it. Her mother loved the idea of having a sitting room so she had converted two bedrooms into one in her house and created a small space near her French windows as a sort of nook that overlooked her garden.
As an adult, she has spent many a happy memory, drinking tea or eating brownies, in that nook. Her mother was an exceptional cook and her brownies were like her warm hugs.
She sits on her favourite chair and she can smell the aroma of cranberry tea as if from a memory. She smiles and when her eyes fall on the chair opposite, her mother is sitting there, eyes crinkled in a smile, a cup of tea in her hand.
She wants to cry and fling herself in her mother’s lap but they both have cups in their hands and she is forty now, well past the age of flinging herself anywhere. She says, “Mommy.”
Her mother says, “Poppet. What have you done to yourself? Your dark circles are like craters of the moon. I have taught you better than that to look after yourself. Have you not been sleeping?”
More tears fall but in front of her mother, she does not feel rage. She only feels a well of sadness. “I miss you.”
“Well of course you do. But what about those dark circles?”
She snorts. Her mother could get fixated on things and they wouldn’t move forward until she answers her question. She says, “I think I need help. I feel so out of control at times that I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Her mother sits straighter. “Is Benji not supporting you?”
Oh she hasn’t heard that nickname in so long! Her husband was obsessed with Ben & Jerry’s after having seen it mentioned in multiple movies and shows. Seeing his obsession, her mother had started calling him Benji.
“It’s not him. It’s me.”
“What do you mean poppet?”
She opens her mouth, thinking she’ll give a cool and rational answer. What comes out is akin to word vomit. “I’m weak, so weak. I cannot handle anything. Look at you. So graceful and put together. Then look at me.”
Her mother lets out a sigh. It feels like she has held this sigh for a very long time. “Oh poppet. I was only put together in front of you. Because you were my child and I didn’t want you to see me fall apart. But you don’t have to follow in my footsteps. Bear needs to see you fall apart.”
She rolls her eyes. Her mother and nicknames. Bear was for her son because he had been a hairy baby when he had been born. She wants to lash out at her mother. It’s so easy for her to say fall apart. But she can’t just…
Her body spasms and she wakes up. Back in her room, head still on her tear-soaked pillow. She knows there is wisdom in her mother’s words. Bear has researched people he thinks can help her and made a list of four he likes. She knows she has their support.
But what about her? What about the tower on which she resides? How can she come down? When she has made fun of her female colleagues for buckling under pressure? When she has said mean, horrible things about female colleagues and their challenges?
Ma, she hears her son’s voice, everyone is allowed to make mistakes. Even you. But will you stay here? Or will you do something about it?
She shakes her head. What a day for her son to make sense! She laughs but stops quickly. Her body is still in pain and laughing hurts.
Laughing hurts.
It’s unfathomable but true. So, she calls out to Bear. She needs to do this now, when her walls are lowered. Where shame is hidden and the need to be better is stronger.
She hears him shuffle closer to the door but he doesn’t enter. She knows it’s because she had screamed at him. More tears fall. He’s the braver of the two because he says, “Ma?”
“I think I need help.”
Song: Numb by Linkin Park
Check out the other posts for 2023 here. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z
tales of Suchita 
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