In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mad as a Hatter.”
I have a brother, few years younger. He was a favorite child in the family. Being naughty was his best work and he got all the attentions from my mother. I hated that. I kept thinking there was something I could do to get noticed, better looking, better grades or all around better. But, whatever I did it was not enough: Father was rarely home; mother catered to my brother at her every waking moment and was exhausted.
I wished I could have a big brother who would protect me and play with me. That feeling never left me. Instead of growing up, I became a shell, hosting an inner child inside who constantly looked for approvals from others to validate her judgment and feelings. Although she was insecure, she was kind and sweet.
These all changed, when I lost my premature baby, Kevin, to Preeclampsia. That day, the inner child walked out on me. I became a hollow body. I screamed, asking why and why me. I begged, wanting for have both children returned to my body. But, there was no use. My wounds were bleeding. Exposed under the eyes of unconcerned strangers, they added more deep cuts to the fresh ones.
Crushed and suffocating, I shouted, “It is time to face the reality. I would never have a big brother! The best weapon is I.”
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