She’s yelling, but I’m not hearing a word she says. I have a smile plastered on my face despite whatever it is she’s ranting about this time. I lovingly look to my brothers, make eye contact and try to telepathically send them the message “It’s going to be a good day.” How could it not be? It’s our birthday week and we’re celebrating today. The three of us share birthdays within 5 days of one another. Birthdays mean happiness, cake, ice cream, presents, time with my mom and dad and brothers, it’s freedom. My optimism will quickly be shattered by my mother’s rage. I cannot contain my excitement as she sits the three of us on the kitchen floor and hands each of us a chocolate cupcake. A treat! A chocolate one at that. I can smell the sugar and, as my mouth starts to water, I can already taste the creaminess of the icing. She instructs us, “Look at me and take a bite!” I can’t believe it. I hadn’t wanted to think about the possibility that this was a joke, but for a split second it dawns on me this could be a cruel trick. She told us to take a bite and look at her. So, I glance to my right at my younger brothers and watch as they raise their cupcakes to their mouths. With the largest grin on my face, I turn back to face my mother and take the biggest bite out of that cupcake. *Flash* The camera goes off and the second it does I know I’m in big trouble. The look on her face. I’ve seen that look far too many times and I know exactly what it means. My stomach churns and I immediately feel acid rising in my throat, and I make a conscious effort to keep that single bite of cupcake down. “Put that down! YOU were not supposed to take a bite! I told you, you’re in trouble!” She quickly crosses the kitchen, yanks the cupcake out of my hand and slams it down on the table. I don’t know what I did this time but, then again, I rarely do. Whatever it is she thinks I’ve done, it’s bad enough that I’m not allowed to have a cupcake for my birthday. This is all a bad dream. We’ll forever have this picture-perfect photograph of the three of us looking so happy and enjoying our delicious birthday treats. That’s what everyone else will see. Everyone but me. I’ll always remember what this day was really like. I’ll never forget this feeling deep in my soul. How it felt having hope for a normal moment and having that come crashing down. I’ll never understand how I am such an unlovable, bad and unworthy child. I try my hardest to please her, make her happy, do everything I can to avoid making her mad, but it never works. If I am breathing that means I am pissing her off. My sheer existence is all it takes to send her over the edge. Back to my ‘room’ I go. As much as I really wanted to devour that cupcake, all I can think about is her and why she doesn’t love me. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t realize how much I love her. I begin to reach between where the wall and carpet meet and pull off a piece of white that I use for chalk and draw yet another picture on the back of the door. I draw the two of us together, holding hands, and underneath write “I love you mom”. Surely, she’ll see this and maybe it will change something. Maybe not.
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