Mother cares about me. I see the way she behaves, the way she goes that extra mile. I know she loves me, specially when I am being difficult. Well, more than usual.
I hate myself. The way that I was born. I am not like everyone else. Mother says I’m special. Am I? I don’t think so. I am out of ordinary, but I would never call myself special. I am bad and my condition makes it so bad for everyone around me.
Despite all the patience in the world, no one can handle me for too long. There is only so much one can take when it comes to taking care of me. I reckon that I am more difficult than a child should ever be. But even right now, with my eighteen years of age, I am but a baby in the world’s eyes. I cannot do a single thing by myself. In my mind, I can think like everyone else. Even so, the connection between my brain and my mouth is not enough. Not even close. I cannot speak properly. I cannot walk. I throw tantrums every so often. But it’s not just my body that is broken.
I try to forget, but I can’t. I remember every single detail. Mother left me in the care of uncle. He was nice at first, but when it all — me — became too much he cracked under pressure. Some would say that my clothes were too revealing. Some would say that it was my fault. Most would never know. But in reality, uncle’s hands found their way up my legs. If anyone would walk in he would say he was changing me. That I am so broken, I couldn’t even do that by myself. He trailed my skin slowly and as he touched between my legs, I trashed my body around trying to stop him. One of his hands hit me in the face and I cried.
Unlike others, I sounded like a dying whale. Guttural noises followed by wet trails that were left by tears. Uncle told me to ‘Shut it’. I couldn’t. Not really. His words echoed around my brain for so long, trying to stop me from crying but my body was broken. Or so I told myself. The wheelchair was out of reach. My legs wide open. He had all the things he needed. He took my panties away. I knew Mother should have never bought such nice ones. One of his hands found its way up to my breast. I cringed. Or my brain did. I had no control over my body. His penis penetrated me and more tears followed. I was all alone in the world. Nobody understood me. Uncle’s voice made sure to reassure me of that. I hated that. His poisonous mouth found its way to mine. His tongue was in my mouth and I bit him. It was an accident. I swear it was. But Uncle didn’t believe me. He pushed himself harder. He made sure that everything hurt and that he wouldn’t leave much of a mark. Mother would see me afterward, wouldn’t she?
When he finished he left me there crying. He placed my underwear back on me and went back to watch TV. Mother arrived around an hour later. She thanked him for watching over me. ‘It’s always a pleasure.’ I hate him. Mother would never know. His smile was too fake, how did she not see it? Mother asked if everything was all right, ‘She caused another scene… Nothing out of the ordinary. Don’t worry about it, I handled it.’
Mother would never know. Mother even thanked him. Even now, when Mother is telling me he is dead. ‘A car crash, can you believe it? Oh, what will we do without him? He was so supportive of you.’ I can’t stop myself. I cry. The dying whale comes back and Mother thinks I am sad. Mother’s words trying to reassure me ‘He is in a better place now, dear’ only do worse. No one will ever know. Only my broken brain and broken body will tell the story.
