It had always stuck with me .
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The talk I had that day with my mother in the living room of our home .
A woman who's wisdom testified to the great life she led . All carved into the wrinkles of her aged face and kind blue eyes .
I had merely been a child when it happened. No younger than 16 , looking forward to my mid-teen life .
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Until the incident.
The one that changed my whole life .
" How have you been Shirley?" , My mother questioned me , worry evident in her tone .
" Well , how do you think I've been ?! " , I retorted , shaking in grief , uncaring of the disrespectful tone I used .
Everyone's asked how I felt since the incident. My therapist repeatedly telling me she can somewhat understand . But she can't.
No one can , they didn't go through what I had . They didn't wake up to the mornings where I'd break down in tears , staring at an empty cot , the babe intended to slumber in it absent .
" Well , seems to me you've had enough of the pity phase " , she says smiling softly and chuckling , " Now , onto the next question , have you had the time to heal ? "
I stop thinking . A deep pit in my stomach swirling with anger , the rage rising up my throat . I don't even consider the words that come out of my mouth.
" You know what , I'm sick and tired of your crap , everything and everyone !" , I say spiteful , " you all think you can relate , you all act as if you've gone through what I did ! , but you haven't ".
"You didn't get raped at 15 ! You didn't see your baby get taken from you as soon as you gave birth , then watch as their life is snuffed out in cold blood !!! " . I exclaimed shouting and finally breaking down , the tears streaming down my cheeks .
Trying to erase the memories of a blood stained bed and the cries of my baby .
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My baby taken so young from me .
She sits there . Then she smiles .
She says in a clam voice as if talking to me during a tantrum, " We never will ".
The statement driving into my heart and causing me more pain then I'd like to admit , she didn't even sugarcoat it , then again it'd always been a trait of my mother , to tell you the bitter truth then a sweet lie . She'd say to us growing up , "Satan sells his best pastries on a silver platter" .
" We never will , because we didn't go through it , we wouldn't want to . See , that's the thing about being human Shirley ."
The poor man lives of the probability that someone with the ability to emphasize , to feel pity , will give him his daily bread .
An influencer can post , " Live with me as a poor person for the day " , but it's not the same struggle . They know they have a bed and home waiting for them after one day of entertaining their audience, yet for the poor man it's his daily life , the feeling of constant struggle and knowing his survival all depends on him . Whilst we watch a mockery of his life .
" The point is sweetheart , we'll never understand how you felt , nor be able to connect with that pian on a deep level . However , remember the miner doesn't reach the gold buried deep in a day , a crack on the surface and he's left a mark nonetheless a place for him to work on ."
I remember staring at my mother , not in the space to really think about what her words meant .
" We won't know , we can't , but because we care we'll make ourselves feel it for you . We'll emphasize with you. We don't just put ourselves in your situation , we try to imitate everything from sound to environment , trying to grasp every detail , though not accurate , we get a feel , an understanding ."
"So though were only humans , we try , and that trying makes the world just a bit of a better place ." She said pinching her thumb and forefinger almost together .
I cried that day and hugged my mother . I realised just how much my therapist had done to offer me comfort , how much everyone had done to make me feel safe .
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