You’d better stick this one on the fridge!
She never used to be afraid of me. Even when I got that crazy look in my eyes and she knew something big was going to happen. Even when I panicked and she had to hold my hand. Even in the aftermath of all of my destruction. She wasn’t afraid of me.
Now to talk to her is a rare thing but she knows I don’t like talking on the phone. I don’t think she likes it much either. I used to have to pretend to be her sometimes. Seeing her though, finding time where we can just hang out and catch up on her life (after all, I have nothing to contribute) is proving impossible.
She’s afraid of me, Mum. You ask me how she is and tell me I should see her. I try. Lately I have been trying more than before because I know how easily I could slip out of her life and I don’t want that to happen.
I used to put her down as my next of kin when I didn’t want you finding out about my trips to the emergency room. She puts my name down as a personal reference. I made her afraid of me.
She’s afraid to see me because she doesn’t know how to be comfortable around me anymore. She feels my anxiety and she stumbles to find the right words to say. She’s given me so much over the years and in return I have given her fear. I didn’t mean to. That’s the price people pay for getting close to me.
You understand this well, don’t you, Mum?