My mother has died...
In my room, the one I grew up in, I scavenge through all the empty memories that mean nothing to me now. Old letters, Debbie Gibson fan club stickers, and all the 45's and original LP's you could imagine. They are stored like a library against the yellow painted walls. I grab one randomly and put it on. What a surprise...it's Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode. This song does nothing but frustrate me more. As it progresses, my anger turns to hatred and the hatred fuels the rage inside my stomach. According to the music I start shredding my memorabilia, pulling out records, bending them in half and ripping fuzzy posters off the wall. I can't stop. I empty the drawers out onto the floor and push my mattress to the floor, pulling off the sheets. What happened next was a surprise but I couldn't fight from dancing. Most people in this moment break down and cry but I put all my emotions into the beat of the song and rub my hands all over my body as if the song was turning me on. "Reach out and touch faith" I scream as I break into the Molly Ringwald 80's dance from Breakfast Club. I can't stop myself but my clothes start to fall off and soon I'm jumping around my overturned room in nothing but a pair of panties and a bra. I pull at my hair and dig my nails into my thigh drawing blood until the song comes to completion and I am left with mascara stained tears racooning down my cheeks.
I miss you mom.
