How She Snaps

By Julia O’Donnell

Once upon a time in a far away...fuck it, this is no fairy tale. This is the story of how I fucking lost my mind.

I grew up in a household where God was always watching, and He had a million opinions about what you could do, say, think, be, or feel. In fact, pretty much if I did, said, thought, existed, or felt, He was mad at me about it. I’m not really sure why that is. I’m not sure what I did to become so horribly evil that every thing about me made God so angry, but it must have been something because I was never allowed to forget it was all.my.fault.

I used to beg God to kill me, or to make it so that I had never been born, in hopes that maybe He would forgive me if I didn’t exist. That logic doesn’t really work, but your subconscious doesn’t get that, especially when you are 8 years old. Anyway, He didn’t. For a practical joke, he gave me a break for a few years. He made me think there was innocence and beauty in the world, but then He sent me back to the same prison that had convinced me this life was a nightmare.

10 years later and still trapped, I lost my mind. I cut my mother into tiny little pieces and then I put her through a blender. I don’t even feel bad. She wrung me out and twisted me and cut me into little pieces for 30 years. It serves her right that I finally snapped. She deserves it for years of being God’s favorite while He taunted and mocked me. She taught me that He was a monster and He rewarded her, I said He loves us and He broke my heart a thousand times.

She gave me the same lecture again today about God’s plan. The one littered with “Don’t Worry, It’s Not That Bad, and Everything’s Fine.” It was the last time. I slit her mouth open first for saying everything is fine. It’s not. My baby is dead. Well technically, more than one of them is. And worse? Hers is too, and another friend of mine. The babies are dead. Everything is not fine. Then I pulled her heart out and crushed it for saying not to worry, and for every time she told me not to feel however I felt. Next, I pulled all of her nails out, one by one for saying that it’s not that bad, because who is she to tell me that my pain isn’t there? I ended by smashing her brain with a sledgehammer over and over and over for saying that God has a plan, because I can’t handle the voices in my head saying that over and over and over again when my babies are dead and I’m worrying about money, because if that is part of God’s plan than He is a monster.

The rest of the time I just cut, emotionless, like chopping veggies for dinner, but as I did every insult, every gaslit moment swam around me until I could barely see. I nearly fainted from the colors floating around me and the years of smothered cries and holding my breath. I kept going until there was nothing left. No more words, no more air, no more mom.

The blender was really just to make her easier to hide. I really didn’t want to do it anymore, I just wanted it to be over. I had cried for so many years that I wanted it to be over.

Now it is. I tried so hard for so long. I ate myself up and crushed myself and smothered myself so I wouldn’t make her mad over and over and over. I couldn’t do it anymore. Now I’m gone, and so is she.