Page 25 - Demo

I think of the times I have cried reading her messages to me while she is at college, detailing the way her body mutinied that day. She always starts those texts with “Mom, I don’t want you to worry, but...”. I think of the time she had an episode in her dorm shower. I imagine her in the cramped, dirty space, lying on the floor blind and deaf, but aware. I imagine her with that look in her eyes, staring at nothing, trying not to panic as she waits for her heart to return her stolen senses. Guilt tears through me, knowing there is nothing I can do, knowing that I will be afraid for her for the rest of our lives. I see my guilt reflected in her, the same monster with a different face. I know this monster whispers in her ear and tells her she is a burden. How can anyone so perfect be a burden? I see the frustration in her eyes when she can’t do everything she planned. I wish I could slay that monster for her, like one of the characters in the novels that she loves.
She returns to the couch and folds herself back into a ball. She flashes me a smile, no trace of her treacherous heart left on her face. It has become normal for her, a routine annoyance to be dealt with. That is the saddest thing of all, I think. How quickly we become accustomed to the pain.