It has rather been an extensively enduring and uncomfortable ride from possessing the fortitude to choose my career over this brainchild of matrimonial amalgamation since my under graduate studies to, actually becoming a PhD research scholar. Even though, I was one among handful who made it through to the PhD programme out of 100s, but you didn’t seem quite happy to hear it. Nevertheless, when we decided to meet on that weekend since I guess I thought it was high time we discussed our distinctively contrasting careers, but habitually, our decisions led to one fight over another. But that Monday. That Monday I was determined to fund my own education because it meant the world to me. So, that Monday morning, I proudly paid my fees at the University, relinquishing the unnoticed 44 missed calls on my phone from your impetuously impulsive roommate. Before I could take another breadth, I found myself standing in front of your blood-soaked body. You lied there, unmoved as I repeatedly whispered “wake up please”, trying to breathe. Aghast and aphonic,, I lost my voice. As I stood there, unbelievably stunned, I couldn’t articulate with my dry mouth and frozen hands. You just lied there, lifeless on a metal bed, motionless.Running back to the toilet in an unnecessary urgency, I sat there, anesthetized. Weeping eventually for a few hours before I walked out, shivering. I called my mother and elucidated everything. But here's the funny part, by the time she arrived, my tears had temporarily dried and I was forced to wear my counselor's hat to console my mother and your roommate.
Your mother had always been an absolute brute to me because I was unconventional and more educated than you. But that day, when I had to make that call to inform her about you, she didn’t metamorphose emphatically. She in fact, barbarously accused me of being the reason behind your death. “He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for you”, she said, as I irrepressibly choked. I had progressively and regularly forgotten to cry or mourn because my responsibilities as a 'daughter' would frantically restrict me every time I took a breadth. I remember when you had lured me to overcome my addiction of drugs and alcohol, but I went ahead and killed myself anyway, contemplating it would help me cry at least, and it did. As I spent over Rs. 40,000 on hard drugs and alcohol, I wasn't remorseful for even a second because guiltless and irresponsibly despite my broken arm, I wanted to bleed to death like you did. Orphaned and abandoned more than I should have, but I was determined to join you in heaven or hell because that's how much I fucking loved you. 8 months have passed and I’m still unwelcome at social drinking gatherings because, “How much more will you cry for him, Sonia?” is the only question that echoes. How could I tell, not just my closest friends, but also my family that I haven’t mourned, because I haven’t been able to? It still hurts me to walk by his house or check on his parents once in a while. My heart weeps when I’m being blamed for what happened to one of the most important persons in my life. I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell them. Because I’m a “psychologist” and a PhD scholar. I mean, what could possibly go wrong with these two?
But just as you acted unemotional and cold throughout my existence in your life, I became that person today. I became unemotional, manipulative, selfish, cold and contriving because my scars haven't healed and my heart is still shattered into more pieces than you left it. It probably always will be.
Seen you soon on the other side.
With Love,
The Girlfriend Who Mothered You.
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