set me on the ocean floor.

 mother’s day. 

From the moment I woke up. it was heavy on my heart. A boulder that I was not strong enough to lift off of my chest, a weight I was too weak to lift. 

I startled myself awake after too little sleep, and instantly the waves rolled in. The tide rose with every post, message, and reminder. 

I was drowning in a sea of my own tears before my feet hit the floor, and let the emotions swallow me whole. That boulder on my chest anchored me down, trapping me in this ocean and pulling me under with each passing hour. 

I flailed my arms, and gasped for air, I tried to reach the surface. Everyone says it's not that deep, but it is. There is no sandbar to stand on or hand to reach out for. It is that deep. 

Because I am not a mother, and I'm no longer a child. I always walked between those two on a fine line, being tugged back and forth by those who I felt responsible for. I am not a mother, nor did I get to be a child. 

Before I knew it would drown me, the responsibility made me think I could've walked on water if I tried. 

I changed diapers, soothed fevers, dried tears. I cooked the meals, packed the lunches, washed the dishes. I calmed the nightmares, swept the floors, showed the affection. I checked grades, monitored social media accounts, signed the forms. All for children I didn't create, filling a role that wasn't mine. 

It wasn't always just being the "mom", it was being the guardian. I took the brunt of every bad mood, jumped in front of every swinging fist, or thrown object. I held them and hugged them, and told them you'd be home soon. I reassured, and comforted, and supported to the best of my ability... for years. 

I was a child. You were not a mother. In your eyes, I was a maid, a babysitter, a punching bag, a waste of space. I was not ever enough, unless I was doing too much. Too much cleaning, too much makeup, too much studying. But some days you wanted me to be less. Less eating, less emotional, less worried. 

In my eyes, you were everything. My whole world. Every decision I made, dish I washed, head of hair I braided, was to gain your approval. I never did. But damn did I try.

I excused every night out that you wouldn't answer the phone, every party I had to clean up, every hateful word you spewed in my direction. I decided that because you were my mother, you had a reason. There was a reason for every time you hit me, every time I took care of your kids, every time you left in the middle of the night with no shoes and no phone. 

I justified it all, just because I love you. 

It was never justified, it was never warranted. 

Your children called me mom more than they called you at all. When they started their periods, they came to me. When they started dating, they wanted advice from me. When they were scared of you, or anyone else, I was their comfort. I filled your shoes and kept them cleaner than you ever could've. 

Now I'm guilty. Those were my babies just as much as they were yours, if not more; and I let you rip me limb from limb, pound by pound. You took away my strength, and my composure, and left me empty and broken. Too sad and scared myself to soothe anymore tears. I was too exhausted to jump in front of your fists, and too drained to absorb your anger. I was left as a shell of a person with no energy to protect my babies. I had to give up, I had to let go. Not because I wanted to, but because I was weak and withering away, drowning in the sea that you were. 

This is the first mother's day I am without you, but I'm without my babies too. This is the first year they haven't told me happy mother's day. This is the first year they resent me, this is the first year they hate me. This is the first year they want nothing to do with me. This is the first year they are going without the comfort they've known their whole lives. 

This is the day that I am doused in guilt and wishing it was gasoline to light myself aflame. This is the day I hate myself for missing you, and hate you for making those kids miss me. This is the day I loathe. This is the day I would gladly leave that boulder on my chest and let myself be drowned. This isn't the first day I'd have wanted to let the boulder set me on the ocean floor, but it is the worst day. 

This is the day that is about you, even though I feel I deserve it more. This is the day you gave me, and took away just as easily. You made me a mom, and resented me for it. You made me a mom, and punished me for it. You made me a mom, and deserted me over it. 

You made me a mom, and tricked my babies into thinking I'm the problem. You took my babies. 

So if this boulder drags me down, I'll let it. If the tide rises and pulls me under, I won't fight. I hate this day. I hate all the days. I hate you. I miss you. I miss my babies. I hate that I still love you. 

happy mother's day.