avatarBarbara Carter

Summary

A young individual grapples with trust issues and anxiety after their mother deceives them by hiding a letter from their loved one, Will, leading to a cycle of fear, despair, and unanswered questions.

Abstract

The narrative revolves around a person who is tormented by the betrayal of their mother, who hid a letter from their significant other, Will. This act of deception triggers a deep-seated mistrust and a series of obsessive behaviors, including feigning illness to stay home from school and intercept the mail before their mother can. The protagonist's world is consumed by the fear of further deceit and the longing for a letter that might never come, symbolizing the hope of rekindling their relationship with Will. The emotional turmoil is exacerbated by recurring nosebleeds, a physical manifestation of their internal distress, and the mother's paradoxical behavior of showing concern during these episodes while simultaneously being the source of their emotional pain. The story is a poignant exploration of the impact of parental betrayal and the struggle to maintain hope in the face of overwhelming adversity.

Opinions

  • The protagonist feels that their mother's actions have betrayed their trust and may repeat the deception.
  • There is a sense of helplessness and desperation in the protagonist's inability to confront their mother about the hidden letter.
  • The protagonist perceives their mother's concern during their nosebleeds as disingenuous, given her role in causing their emotional distress.
  • The act of hiding the letter is seen as a deliberate attempt to sabotage the protagonist's relationship with Will.
  • The protagonist's anxiety and fear are palpable, as they are depicted as being consumed by the possibility of their mother intercepting more mail.
  • The protagonist's emotional state is described as being on the brink, with the lack of correspondence from Will being interpreted as a loss of interest or affection.
  • The narrative suggests that the protagonist's pain and tears are being suppressed, potentially leading to an emotional outburst in the future.

How Can I Trust My Mother After What She’s Done

She deceived me once, will she do it again?

Photo by Anderson Rian on Unsplash

The above is the link to the complete series of stores. Below is one from the series.

My Mother hid my letter from Will, and I feared she’d do it again.

Every morning before leaving for school, I reminded Dorothy to try and get to the mail before my mother.

After school, I checked in with Dorothy before going off to my building. Every day when there was no letter, I sunk deeper into despair.

I worried even more on the days my mother got to the mailbox before Dorothy.

To ease my worry, I often stayed home from school, telling my mother my stomach ached, which it often did, so I was not really telling much of a lie. Though why should I care about lying to her? She didn’t care about deceiving me.

Constant anxiety gnawed at my insides, like a nest of rats.

Sometimes I told my mother my head hurt and I couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork. Again, not really a lie. But I liked to switch up my reasons for staying home from school.

When all else failed, I deliberately missed the school bus.

Often, I wondered if my mother checked the closet to make sure the letter she’d hidden was still there. Did she know it was missing? If so, did she suspect me?

I also wondered why she had saved his letter instead of lifting the lid on the wood stove and tossing it into the flames. All these questions swirled inside my head and went unanswered.

On the days I stayed home, I watched for the mail driver. Posed and ready to pounce. I watched as it disappeared up the Sleepy Hollow Road. Waited fifteen minutes until it came back into sight. Waited for the few remaining stops along the paved road before reaching our dirt road and our mailbox.

That’s when I rushed down the stairs. Out the front door. Across the lawn before my mother had a chance to get there.

Each day became worse.

Disappointment either came when I made it to the mailbox and found nothing, or when I came home from school and Dorothy told me no letter had arrived.

The worst was when Dorothy hadn’t made it to the mailbox before my mother.

My obsessive worrying had me continually checking the closet hoping to find another letter there.

But always, I was left with nothing. Nothing but a never-ending nightmare.

I sank lower and lower into hopelessness, certain that no letter from Will meant he’d given up on me and moved on.

Sadness overwhelmed me. I fought to hold back tears and wondered where all the tears I refused to cry went. Were they stuck somewhere inside me, lost in a deep well? Would they eventually find a way out?

Were my tears going to break free to create a flood someday?

There was no solution to my problem. I couldn’t talk to my mother and I couldn’t confront her about the past letter. Couldn’t ask if she’d hidden another one.

I knew she’d deny it anyway, call me crazy and say I was making it up, that I was creating a problem where there wasn’t one.

Even though Will’s grandmother’s house was a five-minute walk away, I couldn’t go and knock on the door. I couldn’t look the number up in the phone book and call either. I wasn’t capable of such action.

All I could do was remain silent and stuff my pain deep down inside my gut, the same way I’d buried it all my life.

Fear ruled my world. Everywhere I turned, things got worse. I couldn’t blow my nose because I was too afraid it would set off another nosebleed. I held my sneezes in. I was super conscious of every action, and careful not to bump my nose or blow it too hard.

But no matter how careful I was. The nosebleeds still happened and nothing I did could stop them. I was as powerless over them as I was over my situation with Will.

Even worse was how my mother rushed to my side when my nosebleeds started. How she seemed so concerned.

How could I believe she cared for me when she would not permit me the one thing I wanted most — Will?

I wanted to say something. But figured it wouldn’t do any good. So, I held in my feelings along with my words, like I held in my sneezes.

I tried to gain some control and find ways of making my life more bearable. I tried, and I tried, but it did no good.

My nosebleeds kept happening, and I worried about whether I’d ever be with Will again.

Nosebleeds had been a part of my life since childhood. Back then, my mother would come running in the middle of the night to sit beside me on the edge of the bed, holding tissues to my nose, watching them turn from white to red.

Her body had sat tense beside me, her fear passing through me like electricity. She told me the blood would soon stop, but it kept pouring out.

Night after night, it kept happening. I began to fear bad things would never stop coming my way and lost trust in what my mother said.

Sometimes the nosebleeds wouldn’t stop, and my parents had to take me to the doctor. Doctor Bennett packed my nose with strips of gauze that remained in for days.

At least it gave me another good excuse as to why I couldn’t go to school.

My mother said nothing about my staying home as I sulked around the house. Miserable, except for getting to the mailbox first.

I needed a letter from Will. Needed to know he still loved me. Needed my misery to stop.

I was hanging on by a thread and didn’t know if I could survive much longer.

BARBARA CARTER is a visual artist and writer with a focus on healing from childhood trauma, alcohol addiction, and living her best authentic life.

This Happened To Me
Memoir
Realtionships
Mothers And Daughters
Anxiety
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