I quickly scroll past the post once I realize what it’s about.
Five minutes later I still can’t stop thinking about it.
My brain tells me not to scroll up and read it.
My fingers don’t listen as they deftly scroll up and my eyes scan for that post.
My brain is now screaming at my eyes to stop reading them. It tells me that it’s just going to make me cry unnecessarily.
It’s too late. The tears have started to flow.
The post has a few pictures of a beautiful baby.
The mother writes about how happy her baby made her feel and how much she loves her.
There’s a picture of them hugging.
I can see the love in their eyes.
The love I never got to see in real life.
They look so happy. So beautiful.
And then they turn blurry as my eyes well up with tears even though I’ve been wiping continuously.
The questions start forming in my head.
The ones I’ve been asking myself since the time I was eight.
Now I’m almost 18.
Did my mother never feel this way towards me?
Did I never make her happy?
Why didn’t she love me?
What did I do wrong?
I tried so hard to make her like me.
I thought it was because I talked too much.
So I stopped talking.
I thought it was because I was dumb.
So I worked hard and got only A+ on my report cards.
I thought it was because I looked ugly.
So I started dressing well and putting makeup.
I thought that maybe it’s because I ate too much.
I ate little then onwards.
I thought I was a burden
So I stopped asking for things.
I thought she just hated me and nothing I did could change that.
I decided that going away was the only thing that would make you happy.
So I went.
Because your happiness matters to me.
After all, isn’t that what love is?