(It is important that this post is shared everywhere please)
I loved what was left of her.
An odd women; she bleached her hair until it felt and looked like dirty straw. Her diet jumped from cake, to carrots, to cider and then – oddly – crab cake; making her figure hard to describe. Not fat, not skinny, not even a bit tubby, but nevertheless had excess skin around her making her presence weighty.
Even her mother recognised an abnormality within the ‘said women’s’ personality. Like I said, she was odd. Strange fuses sparked and blew in her temple which I cannot explain and the way she usually acted was so terrifying you did not want to be around her most of the time. Violence struck, – more often than it should have – tears were shed minute by minute from the victims such as myself but not from the barer.
People were always fooled by her fake front. She exceeded in changing faces to suit whom she was with and where she was, ‘a constant display of monologuing’ I called it. Lies seemed to roll off her tongue as if she always spoke true, and these unbearable traits frightened me as I mistakenly believed them again and again.
Embedded in this evil anatomy are qualities I almost always forget, but remember fondly.
Her toxic cackle is contagious in addition to her rare, suspicious spouts of generosity and consideration. Maybe there are those times where you are lucky enough to look upon her and see a glimpse of sweet nature and innocence, but for the moment we will think of her as a complex structure.
We no longer speak, she and I, as distance suited our relationship best. I adore her like any other daughter would as parts of myself are reflected from the little she has.
Mother, you have taught me well in my last 19 years and I thank you for that.
My abuse journeys beyond these simplistic, restricted words; the details do not and should not be more important than the actions you or I take to prevent these situations happening.
Speak out, give support, share love.
– Jessica Ruth Sierpowska –