Monday, March 5, 2012
My mother was just like a balloon that was filled with hot air…. And would pop when it had too much air or someone poked it with a pen…though she wasn’t filled with hot air….. She was filled with hate, confusion, pain, negativity…. She would get really full… Just like a balloon. Big and round…. Almost pretty but scary at the same time…. And then……
She’d explode and release all that was in her…. All that was filling her up…. It would come out in a whooshing sound….. As she screamed at me, hit me manipulated me, hurt me…
Sometimes the balloon is popped and there are scrapes left…. Slivers of the previous balloon is all that remains…. Sometimes those words could describe my mother as she sat after one of her berating and degrading methodically torturous “discipline” sessions. One could see that all that was left was slivers of a broken person.
If a balloon just has someone let the air out…. Then what’s left is a balloon that can be filled up once again… That’s how my mom was most of the time after her explosions…. Just waiting to fill herself up with more of her negativity so she could release it all onto my young being….
You can fill balloons with different things and make them big and pretty…. Water, helium, air…..
My mother was to me a big red balloon… What a difference my life would have been had she been filled with love….