Acid Rain

Today was the day i lost my innocence forever when a horrifying tragedy befell our family. As the day progressed it seemed like a standard school day nothing exceptional or extraordinary. It was a Thursday afternoon when my father picked me up from my weekly cello lessons from my cello instructor. Normally i would saunter home to our suburban residence on my own but on this particular occasion my father finished his accounting occupation early. He texted before I commenced my lesson communicating that he would be able to pick me up from my cellist lesson as he was finishing early. It was a standard cello lesson as I recited a variety of Dvorak cello movements. Even at the age of 13 i was a adroit cellist having being put this sublime instrument by my mother at the tender age of 8. My mother corrina had grandiose envisions of be developing into a accomplished venerated cellist. I enjoyed learning this melancholic instrument despite the fact i harboured dreams of being a poet a literary icon.

On this day my father picked me up from my after school cello lesson. In his characteristic punctual manner he arrived 10 minutes before my cello lesson concluded. Then i said my goodbyes to my diminutive cello teacher and rushed into the front seat of my fathers car. There was nothing exceptional about our brief journey home the conversation was staid and awkward with me being forced to listen to radio 4.

Then the psychological scaring moment that is imprinted on my psyche occurred. My father drove his modest bmw which he could afford with his middle class account salary into our suburban semi detached home. I remember feeling my stomach groan with a hunger that i expected to be satiated with my mums home cooked meal. My mum had been off work for the past 2 weeks with a supposed chest infection. She worked as a music teacher at a secondary school fortunately a different school then mine.

We with a insatiable appetite arrived at our residence my father meticulously parked his car in our driveway. Then we entered our humble abode and was greeted with a grisly horrifying sight. We saw my mother body hanging from the living room door. She had killed herself by constructing a noose from a rope she had purchased and my mum left a succinctly worded note where she delineated her reasons why she killed herself. As i became cognisant of the horrifying reality that my mother had successfully committed suicide. My body my bones were frozen stiff with shock with terror at seeing my mothers listless body hanging from the doorway. Her emerald green eyes were still wide open staring into the tombs of soul. As a minute passed I fell to the floor holding my head in my hands as a profusion of tears cascaded down my ghostlike teenage face. My father sat motionless in the chair not crying not utter a word not conveying a single emotion. He went into shock as we struggled to process the horror of having his wife kill herself.

After maybe 20 minutes of hysterical crying i ran upstairs not expressing a word to my aghast father. He sat there like a zombie like a emotional repressed english man unable to articulate the grief to himself to his teary eyed forlorn daughter. I ran not wanting to gaze intensely at my mothers white body any longer. The image the memory of seeing her newly deceased body hanging in our living room gives me nightmares. I frequently dream about that fateful day when we arrived home and witnessed the utter horror of my mums dead body.

I rushed to my fortress of solitude leaving my father to grief in isolation as i cried frantically in isolation. We never exchanged a hug we withdraw from each other form the world and processed grief in a stereotypically emotional stunted emotional repressed english manner. I lay in my gothic decorated room on my bed laying down listening to joy division on my iPod. I played the album closer by joy division on repeat playing the music at a deafening volume as tears continued to flow down my porcelain fragile face. I wanted in the terror the dismay of losing my mother to shut out the world to escape this nightmarish reality. The door remained locked i closed the curtains i lay in a fetal position in my red jimjams. For hours i was fixed in this position holding my childhood pink teddy bear close to my bosom. The bear was soaking wet with the tears the mucus that emanated from my face.

I stayed ensconced in my room hiding withdrawing as a array of people came to our home the coronary removed the body the police questioned by father hoping to ascertain the cause of her death. I stayed in the sanctuary in the comfort of my private kingdom not speaking not communicating with anybody. I turned off my phone unplugged my laptop and listened for hours to the haunting gloomy lyrics of Ian Curtis as he articulated his suicidal predilections. Tears dried the shock had worn off as the real acid pain descended on me.

The acid rain of mothers sudden suicide now hit my vulnerable teenage mind. Sorrow morphed into anger and guilt. I felt real vitriolic anger at my mum why had she forsaken abandoned me in at the tender age of 13 when i was struggling to function as a awkward melancholic teenager. Why had she hidden her protracted battle with a crippling untreated mental illness. Not only had she concealed her severe depression but my mum never manifested any of the symptoms of suicidal depression. She was adept at putting on this mask this veneer of normality but behind the mask lay a inner universe of emotional torment of pain of a need to express the pain. The anger followed a guilt at not recognising any signs at not being a more loving considerate daughter. As I progressed from a precocious child into a social misfit our relationship drifted apart we withdraw form each other. I am haunted by the acid regret of not hugging my mum not offering her a random act of kindness in the weeks that preceded her nihilistic decision to end her life at the age of 42.

After my mums body had been taken away I tentatively left the confines of my bedroom to walk downstairs where my father was talking with my aunty my mums sister. As i languidly walked into the living room in my crimson pyjamas with my jet black dyed hair looking unkempt. My father rushed over to me and uncharacteristic display hugged me tightly as he began to cry for the first time since my mums suicide . He held me close as i felt the warm embrace of his paternal love. The pain the isolation the despair for a short moment dissipated as we connected as father and daughter. For minutes he remained locked in a loving hug as we cried profusely. Then my father with his bedraggled grief stricken face looked me in my bloodshot eyes kissed my sunken checks with tenderness. We were truly vulnerable my aunty was in the background feeling awkward and after my father released from his warm paternal orbit she hugged me kissing me fervently.

The tragic events that transpired on that fateful day when my innocence was lost are now scars as I become a mental fragile women. I lost my mum in the heat of my tumultuous adolescence i lost the love the maternal beauty when i needed it as i struggled with depression with self loathing with self harm. I never stopped thinking about this day reminiscing to myself at the fading memories of this red headed beauty who birthed me into this cruel world. The memories of witnessing my mothers listless dead body stain my soul. Its like acid rain constantly falling from the sky hurting me torturing me.

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