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It always felt like there were so many things I could change if I just weighed my options differently. Like, damn it! Really, Paisley? It was such an obvious answer, with two obvious outcomes. How didn't you see this coming?! It was right in front of you!
None of the choices I had made were easy at all, though. The most important, recent ones sat on my chest for what felt like ages before I could find the courage to shove them off and tell them to find a better seat. Before I could find the courage to tell myself that enough was enough and how I felt mattered, too.
Right now, I didn't want to matter anymore, though. I wanted to take myself back to my room and have decided against telling mom about everything.
Mom's loud sobs filled the room as she held me tight against her. "Oh, I'm so sorry, baby. I failed you, I failed at my single most important job, baby."
It was a miracle I'd been holding it together anymore. She was sobbing into my chest like there was no tomorrow and I was sure that she really didn't want to see a tomorrow, anyway. Not after what I'd just told her.
"Please." she pleaded, tightening her hold on me. "Please, God, forgive me."
She was speaking to the ceiling and shaking like a wet puppy after its first bath, and I couldn't stand to sit here and listen to her for a minute longer.
"Mama, it isn't your fault," I assured her, rubbing her back smoothly.
Her sobbing became louder. "Oh, but it is. I brought that devil to you! I brought him into our home and he tried tearing it down from the inside out and I didn't even bat an eye. Babe, I should've known better, done better. You deserved so much more than that kind of..."
She trailed off, yet another thunderous sob reverberating through the entire room.
It felt good getting it off my chest, letting mom know that how I was acting was more than some poor attempt at teenage angst. What didn't feel good was how tight she was holding me, almost rendering my lungs useless. Nothing about the tremors rocking her body against mine as she hiccuped and prayed to God on my behalf felt good. Or normal, because this type of stuff wasn't normal.
What I had been through wasn't normal. Mom crying to me and cursing herself for being a 'terrible mother' wasn't normal. None of this was normal.
I wanted to get out of this room, get out of this house. I'd never seen my mom crying, and I hated that the first time I was seeing her cry was because of me, or rather something that happened to me.
Maybe it was dumb, but a part of me felt undeserving of her tears. All I could think about was every time I did something wrong, said something disrespectful, and been yelled at. I was looking at myself the way I thought she would look at me right now.
