JOEY
WITH MY HEART frozen in my chest, I folded my arms behind my head and stared up at the ceiling, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.
From as far back as I could remember, I had a job.
At first, that job consisted of doing one thing: protecting my sister.
As the years passed by, my job became more complicated.
More babies arrived, the hits came harder, and my mother’s presence in my life grew fainter.
The light in her eyes slowly dimmed into the darkness.
I watched it happen.
Powerless, I witnessed her turning into a ghost.
It seemed to happen over a spell of years and then all at once.
By the age of twelve, she was gone.
By the age of twelve, so was I.
My broken bones healed, my scars faded, and my body grew.
Puberty hit and I found comfort in girls.
Except, I never really did.
Sex was something I took when it was offered.
It was the same with drugs.
Whatever I was offered, regardless of the consequences, if it was bad for me, I welcomed it with open arms.
During therapy, they tried to tell me this was a version of self-harm.
I said nothing.
They told me I had PTSD.
Again, I remained silent.
They promised that I wasn’t to blame for her death.
Nothing.
They assured me that I had a bright future ahead of me.
Empty.
At night, when the withdrawals still hit me deep, I curled up in the smallest ball I could and thought about her.
That was the only thing that kept me going.
Her face.
The only face.
Her picture in my pillowcase was the only thing I had from back home.
She was the only one I brought with me.
The only one I prayed would be there when I got out of here.
Even though I knew she would be better off far away from me.
I’d dragged her down to my toxic level.
And then I’d left her, alone, carrying a baby inside of her belly.
My baby.
I did that. I wrecked her future before her life had even started.
I was no better than him.
I’d done to Molloy what my father had done to my mother all those years ago.
And still, she remained by my side.
Through the storm, through the category five fucking hurricane that was my life, she stayed, never giving up on me even when I’d given up on myself.
Nobody ever got me like she did.
Nobody ever accepted me like she had.
For me.
I spent so long trying to push her away that when I stopped, it was so easy. Being with her was like breathing. I didn’t know I needed the air, but I knew that I would die without it.
That’s what she was to me now.
How important her presence in my life was.
Being without her now felt alien.
The thought of not having her in my life made me want to stay down.
Sometimes, I wondered if I stayed still enough, would the world just forget about me? Would I join my mother? Wherever the fuck she was.
In therapy, they told me to write about my feelings, but the truth was that I didn’t know where to begin.
I wasn’t sure what I felt anymore, didn’t know and couldn’t tell what was real and what was synthesized.
All I could see was her.
The girl from the wall.
