Story From a Photo: Normal

In my poetry class we did this exercise where we clip a picture from a magazine and write a story about it. This is what came out of it...

I loved her, I know I did, but sometimes I wanted to kill her. Just put her out of her suffering. Maybe what I did was a little selfish, because after a while I got fed up with taking care of her or something, but what else could I do? So, when the opportunity presented itself, I already knew what I was going to do.
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I was born with spina bifida, a condition where your spine grows outside of your body. People told me that when I was born, my mom almost gave me away, but she didn’t because she was “raised better than that”. So, she kept me.
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I knew I could have gotten rid of her from the start. But I didn’t want to bring shame to my family for giving her up as a baby. So, under the watch of my husband and my mother, I cared for that baby like as was my little angel. But she wasn’t, and I think she finally figured out she would never be. She was more like a curse.
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I always had a better relationship with my father. He was the one who took me out to the park to play and stuff, and helped me along when I couldn’t do things on my own. He was patient with me, unlike my mom. It was different with her. In front of everyone, she would act all cuddly and warm, but once behind closed doors she would release all her anger towards me, yanking me out of my wheelchair and throwing me to the floor, sometimes leaving me there for hours until right before my father came home. And that wasn’t even the worst.
My mother’s presence had a tendency to quiet me immediately into a nobody, a no name who for some reason was living under the sam roof as her. I had always been terrified of my mother, but soon her abusive rage became the “norm”. So I understood perfectly why I wasn’t surprised the day I didn’t wake up.
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