My Mother's Daughter

By Sanjana Shome

I am my mother's daughter.

You’re in pain. Obviously.

It’s the quiet kind that screams.

Now it’s spilling over—your cup’s too full.

And I’m just standing here, useless.

I don’t know what to do.

I’m afraid.

Scared for you.

Scared for me, too.

Nothing I do helps. Nothing.

Thank you for telling me. Really.

But it’s a heavy secret, being the only one.

I have to look brave for you.

So I listen, and inside I’m just… horrified.

If I look as scared as I feel,

you’ll shut down. I know it.

You laugh like everything’s fine.

Then you cry like your heart’s broken.

I never know which it’ll be.

Keeps me on edge.

I won’t be here forever.

You know that better than I do, don’t you?

The way you’re just… accepting it.

It’s too graceful. It freaks me out.

If I’m not here to pull you up,

who will?

Who’ll stop you from suffocating?

You gave up everything for me.

Went through hells I can’t even picture.

Your big lesson to me was selfishness.

“Put yourself first,” you said.

I wish you learned that sooner.

Before your past got so haunted.

I feel guilty. A lot.

Maybe you would’ve left him

if I wasn’t in the way.

And now I’m the one walking away.

You say you’re ready.

I’m not.

I want to be selfish. God, I do.

“Please don’t leave him.”

Even thinking it makes me sick.

Knowing what he’s like.

Asking that of you?

Maybe I’m just as bad as he is.

Sorry.

I look at my life and I wonder.

Was giving up your whole world for me

worth it?

I don’t think it was.

But you do.

You really believe it.

I can’t stand this weight.

So how do you carry it?

You’re not even angry.

No rage.

Just… tired.

Sick of a sickness that doesn’t end.

You sound so resigned.

Just waiting for the days to pass.

I try to argue. To give you hope.

But I don’t know if I believe it

or if I just need to.

I don’t pray for myself. Not anymore.

I say I’m not religious,

but I still get on my knees for you.

Weird, huh.

It’s all falling apart, right in front of me.

But I’ll still pretend to be shocked

when it finally happens.

Why is every day a fresh reminder

of how miserable we are?

I keep saying I can’t take it.

But I’m terrified of what happens

when I actually break.

Walking on eggshells.

My nerves are shot.

But you won’t let me fight.

You taught me to respect my elders.

Especially him.

You tell me to respect him.

How am I supposed to do that?

Seriously.

He thinks I’m cold because of your stories.

He’s wrong.

It’s not that I don’t love him.

It’s that I do, and it hurts more that way.

You say you have no self-respect.

So what does that make me?

I bite my tongue. Every day.

I swallow his crap because you asked me to.

He thinks he’s changed.

But people don’t change. Not really.

I wonder what he’d do

if he knew I was begging you to stay.

I used to be so naive.

I’d lie awake, dreaming of running away.

Thinking it would fix everything.

Maybe it still would.

But now, as he gets older,

I can’t picture us apart.

I guess shame runs in the family, too.

Don’t expect anything.

That’s my rule.

It hurts less that way.

But I still do. I hold my breath.

Wait for something to change.

Until I’m choking on it.

Love’s overrated.

We should’ve been animals.

It’s simpler.

Bite or be bitten.

No fake smiles.

I can grin at him

right after I’ve watched you cry.

If that doesn’t make me a fool, what does?

Our dignity is gone.

Our friendship is a ghost.

A memory.

I remember too much.

I don’t dream, but when I do,

it’s just you. Crying.

Nowhere to go. No one to tell.

Do I even have anything left to say?

I laugh at myself for even caring.

It’s not fair.

Why did I get cheated

out of something that was my right?

My own self-hatred used to be a comfort.

Now it’s just dangerous.

I’m jealous of other people’s problems.

Must be nice.

My life feels like a curse to me,

but you call it your blessing.

Strange.

How much longer?

How long can I cling to this wreckage,

treading water in a storm with no end?

Did I do something to deserve this?

Maybe in another life.

I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

I can’t remember the good times anymore.

Not even when I try.

They’re buried too deep.

They feel like someone else’s life.

They come back sometimes, like ghosts.

Clear, but fuzzy.

New, but old.

It’s all a mess in my head.

I’m not scared of God.

I’m already in my own personal hell.

Paying for crimes I didn’t commit.

Someone, just once,

ask me how I’m surviving.

I’d like to know the answer, too.

For years, I’ve been patching myself up.

Listening. Learning the right things to say.

And now you tell me

there’ll be no one to come home to.

You say I’ll make my own family.

It’s a sick joke.

If this is family, why would I want one?

But… a part of me still does.

It’s messed up.

I put up with a man like him

only because he’s my father.

I imagine your life without his shadow.

You say you’d change nothing.

Not for the world.

Not for your “treasures.”

I never knew I was a treasure.

I wish I wasn’t. It’s too heavy.

I lie to you. Every day.

I can’t stand the idea

that I might be the one making you cry.

The thought of telling you the truth

makes me sick.

I’m sorry.

This is the only way I know

how to keep you safe.

You say I get you.

I do.

But I can’t agree

when you talk about yourself that way.

You think I’m okay.

That I don’t take it to heart.

But I’m holding back tears.

Just like you.

Maybe I’m just better at it now.

Every day, you tell me:

“Don’t make my mistakes.”

And yet—

here I am.

I am my mother’s daughter.

By Sanjana Shome