Mr. Ego

"You never know when you are in eminent danger, until you meet a gaze so empty that not the slightest emotion emerges, except ego in those blues that ache for adoration."

...

Lying in a fetal shape, her gaze lost in one spot, listless, without the desire to live, she barely observes me but there is no shine in her orbs. I don't know if it can revive one day, it makes me sick to see her like this. On the other hand, I feel relieved to know she is alive, once it happened that I left her alone for a few minutes, I went to the market for some things, when I returned I found her in bed almost without a pulse, and I had to call an ambulance. Turns out it was an overdose, that was a few months ago, now I keep an eye on her more. I'm not going to lie, dread swells in me every time I have to leave her alone. Having it happen again may mean that you don't come out unscathed like the first time. I don't want him to do the same thing again. I don't trust her at all, not in that unstable state; and resists receiving help. In his opinion, antidepressants are useless and he stopped taking the ones the doctor prescribed.

“¿How did it go?” She asks, her voice weak.

I sit on the edge of the bed and take his hand in mine. A smile appears on my lips. That should assure you that things have gone well for me, that a better future is just around the corner.

"I have the job, look" I show him the sheet. “They gave me the work schedule, I start tomorrow, mom”

"It's good news" She declares with a distant hint of happiness.

“It is, you don't have to worry, we'll be fine” I assure him, running a hand through his hair.

"It's not fair that you have to take responsibility alone, I'll look for a job, I'll help you" She whispers.

“Okay, first you have to be okay. For now you shouldn't feel distressed, and let me take care of the rest, ¿okay? I say and leave a kiss on her forehead.

“Thank you, you're so good, Ary, you should be studying...”

“I know, but I will do it when we are better, and this is the least I can do for you, mommy, who has given me everything” emotional pronunciation “I am good because you are, I love you”

“I have made you sad, I am a problem, but I want to change, I can't continue like this, Aryanna. Life is too short to spend it this way I-I am determined to move forward...” she expresses with a powerful break in her voice.

Thick tears make my vision blurry, I have never sounded so determined that hearing her like that puts a lump in my throat. Inside me there is a wave of strong emotions, they shoot up madly and I throw myself into his arms, without stopping the convulsive crying that is coming. Her palm is on my back, it goes down and up, the action is repeated several times. It's incredible that even life falls apart for her or she doesn't see the point, but she still has the power to take me to a place where pain doesn't touch me. It relieves her, although he does not find it mitigating his suffering; I hug her, I intend to dedicate to her a little of what she strives to give.

“¿Have you had breakfast?” I find out after putting a minimum distance.

“No, I haven't done it yet”

"You will, I haven't had breakfast either" I admit with a smile.

I was so nervous that I didn't dare to eat before leaving the house. The anguish, that anxiety that was crowding my being, made me forget the ferocious appetite that is now roaring. Starving.

“Okay, let me get ready”

"But you're beautiful" I exclaim and she shakes her head, I'm just joking with the intention of making him smile.

"Of course, I am" she responds sarcastically.

It all seems too good to be true, Mom following my game, encouraged to come down and eat with me, determined to give herself a chance at life. The day couldn't be going better, the sun has started to rise. I direct my feet to the small kitchen, many moments live here. Mariola taking her first steps, running around and dad following warning that this is no place for games. I was so amused by how naughty she was, she brought joy to our mornings, she also made dad late when he had to leave for work, she cried until mom had to tell her that daddy would be back soon. Now that I see myself alone again, longed-for scenes disappear, moments that will not return, however they return cyclically to my head, leaving a mark that will not be erased.

There is no money in the cupboard, it is barely enough for today. Two days ago I asked Mila, the neighbor, for a new loan. I'm embarrassed that I have to ask him again. Sigh. At least I can pay him now. I take what's left of the sandwich package, it's five slices, that's all. I grab the half-full jar of jam from the refrigerator. There is orange juice left over from yesterday, I serve it in two glasses. It's getting less and less, I trust that everything will improve.

I wait a while, I take the opportunity to take a look at the sheet, I notice that my entry will be from Monday to Friday at eight in the morning and I would leave at five except on Thursday when I will be free at four. Everything indicates that I will be away from mom for many hours a day, which alarms me quite a bit.

I move to the dining room, leave everything on the table and wait for my mother. She appears more dressed up and accompanies me.

“Tell me about the job, your boss... ¿has he been nice?”

Gentle?! He has been a jerk to me, somewhat cutting and rude. But I see mom smile, more alive than other days when I can't tell her the truth. If it is necessary to paint pink and give a good impression on that Silvain, I will do it.

“Everything is fine, it's something serious, but don't worry, mom. I thought he wouldn't give me the job, but everything happened quickly” I limit myself to commenting.

"There are still people in this world with a big heart..." she says hopefully.

It's what I don't have, I disguise reality, and the truth is that I'm terrified of not being enough in that mansion, I'm afraid of failing or doing something wrong in the eyes of that man who doesn't even seem to have a heart.

"Yes, mom" I continue eating “I want to talk to you about the schedule, I'll be late home, I don't want you to worry ¿I can trust in you? ¿you will be fine?

"Yes, I promise" she whispers genuinely, leaving her hand on mine, caressing my back, looking at me lovingly.

“I believe you, thank you”

I get up, go to wash the dishes, mom stops me and offers to do it. I give him a kiss on the cheek, and I take care of the remaining chores. The day does not stop changing course, it no longer heads into the remote darkness, the direction clarifies and rescues from the darkness Mom's austere need to hide behind four walls.

I clean the small room, from mopping to dusting the objects. Then she arrives and insists that I leave him in her care, because then I will be exhausted to go to work.

“Don't worry, mom”

"You always say that, Aryanna I'll finish it" She insists, taking the vacuum cleaner away from me; She was about to start cleaning the carpet. It's time for me to play my part, you go rest, tomorrow will be a tiring day.

“I'll be fine”

"Please..." She warns me with his eyes.

At what point has a part of the woman I thought I lost returned?

I smile, I'll let her do what she wants, just to see her this eager again.

...

The night has come, I go to my room. I take a shower and go to bed. I reach out and grab it from the nightstand. It was my father's gift, I didn't think I would use it, now it is my companion.

The booklet, an object of infinite value to me, there I have left everything I feel and that is stuck in my soul, I have taken it in my hands. Light, but carries an enormous weight between its pages. I have poured my heart into each written line, entire paragraphs that, if they had a voice, would express the unease I have in my chest. That sadness is trapped in the layers of my skin, and many nights I want to shout it to the world, in the end I settle for being able to whisper it into the pillow.

I started writing after the death of dad and my little sister, since then it has become a method that brings out of me everything that I cannot thread with my voice.

I write to not feel alone.

»Consequently, I am knocked down by a fleeting longing to turn back time, knowing that going back is a thing for foolish dreamers, cancels out the idiocy I feel to return the hands of the clock, the unwavering urge to guide them to the left, the rhythm that dances the past , a piece that does not sound now."

It is the introduction that is on the first page, after looking into the next one, and finally scrutinizing other somber ones, full of wrinkles that confess how much I cried when writing them.

It's time to turn the page, but I can't help but read the past, immediately remembering the weight of taking a step back. The sudden fall and the final impact arrives, a deep immediacy that houses crystals above me, scarlet already paints everything and I blink quickly, making the memory of my desperate decision fade.

My forearm keeps a bit of that, scars that furrow my skin, giving it an unattractive, unsightly appearance. When I don't cover that part of my body and leave it visible to many curious people, I don't care, they can believe what they want, but if I had to explain it, I would make up a story. I would say that it was the scratch of a feline, and not that overwhelmed person who threw himself into stupidity.

I am no longer that person, nor will I return to that stage of torment, and I am not going to lie, I am often tempted to throw in the towel, but it is not worth the misfortune, enough with the bad days, it is enough to keep breathing, I have a reason, with her own name, I have her last name, she is mom.

Monday, January 2, 2020.

Emptiness, inexplicable hole that devours the illusion, dreams, breakage that cannot find the needle or thread to solve it. Two months have passed since nostalgia resides in me, I hug myself, but I don't get warm, I'm still in a harsh winter, and there is no bonfire to melt the sadness I feel.

They left. I can't get my head around it!

It's heartbreaking, a shot to the heart.

I wouldn't wish this on anyone, it's an unpleasant feeling, you're breathing, but it's like there's no oxygen in reality.

Drowned, desperate and looking for a way to continue the course, I have made an attempt on my life. Now I realize that it was just nonsense.

I prefer to dare to leave on paper what I cannot keep to myself, instead of defeating myself and going into eternal unconsciousness.

Is not easy...

It's more than just a challenge...

An hour is added to the day and the pain multiplies. The increase comes with ferocity, the night brings it; When the sun rises, I crash into reality, they will not return, their smile that calms, their kisses that heal, the ethereal sound of their voice pronouncing "I love you." Everything is gone, experience and innocence, sweetness and tenderness, dad and Mariola do not have a return pass, so I must resign myself to the fact that their trip has no return.

I miss them so much, I don't think I can find the right words to insert the pain that absence causes, even if I did, the lines couldn't express what I feel, it's too much.

I'll decide whether to change the ellipsis or not.

But...

Everything has remained in pause, and if it resumes it will not be the same continuation.

Sigh.

I grab the edge of the page and turn it over, my eyes scanning the blank page. I feel like it's time to write a new beginning. I take the pencil, but when I put it down on the paper the tip breaks. Is it a bad sign?