Mom cried last night due to Dad's anger towards me. I did nothing wrong so I didn't feel burdened but somehow I felt that he would beat me up when he reached home. Mom kept on crying. She called him a few times leading to her crying even more. I consoled her, hugged her. Then I went to shower. When I came out, it got worst. Her sobbing didnt stop. She began to wail, then she began scream. I stood there, unmoved. 18 years. I went to take her meds and sat beside her. 13 years. She kept sobbing. I sighed and placed the meds on the desk beside me. And I sat there silently watching her.

I just watched her. The way she is stretching and squirming like a fish pulled out of water was just hypnotising. I just watched her. I could feel her scream travelling from her vocal chords into the air and piercing into my ear drums, into my brain. There, the scream just swivels around in my head like a slow motion hurricane of wisps and magic. I thought of Sybil. How we were so alike. How we had to endure the torment of living through this, year in year out for our entire lives. How when she gets better we forgot about the traumatic moments like this and easily forgive her. How we can get self-denial at times. All the time in fact.

I just stared at her. Then fear crept in. I remembered that I was alone with her. I remembered that it was late at night. I forgot that she could do anything to me. I blacked out. Demon! Demon! Terror, terrified, anxiety! I was a child. A child of age 9. I went to the sofa and sat there. I stared into space just like how I used to. Help. I needed help. I wanted to leave. I wanted to walk out from this life and just run away. Im sick of being taken for granted. Everybody thinks everything is ok. Everybody thinks that I will get over it. The truth is that I don't. Dad looks at it in a mental and spiritual kind of way. I look at her in my kind of way. As much as she needs help. I do too.


Dad came home from work but I was already asleep. He did not beat me up. He never did.