My Mother Told Me to Die, So I Did

I am the daughter of a rapist. Years ago, my mother was forced to carry me to term. As I grew, my face began to look more and more like the monster who ruined her life. From that moment on, I became the filthiest, most disgusting thing in her eyes. Whenever dark stubble sprouted on my brow, she would completely lose control: "Shave it! Scrape it clean! Don't let me see those vile eyebrows!" She would drag a razor blade violently across my brow bone. Over and over, the skin tore open. The wounds festered, seeped pus, scabbed over, and tore open again. Over the years, fresh cuts permanently marred my face. Proper eyebrows never grew back. I was forced to keep a ten-foot distance from her at all times. I was never allowed to step into her bedroom. Every couch cushion or chair I touched was scrubbed down with bleach and disinfectant dozens of times. Later, she remarried and gave birth to a plump, rosy-cheeked little girl. When seven-year-old Amy came inside covered in mud from playing and grabbed Mom's clothes, I flinched on instinct. Mom just affectionately stroked Amy's cheek: "My little mess maker." That was the day I realized "dirty" wasn't always an insult. That night, I anonymously posted my story on a trauma support board, ending with a question: "How can I finally be clean?" The very top reply came from a profile picture I knew all too well: "You'll be clean once you're dead." The words on the screen pierced straight through my eyes. I gripped my phone, a high-pitched ringing buzzing in my ears. After a long hesitation, I cracked my bedroom door open just an inch. In the living room, Mom sat on the sofa, staring down at her phone. The person who replied to me really was Mom. Ever since I could remember, Mom spent hours every day lurking in trauma support forums. She answered every single post related to sexual assault. Total strangers, victims of trauma, huddling together for warmth in the dark corners of the internet. Seeing her respond to me left me at a total loss. Did she recognize that the person behind the screen was me? She was still typing: "Since you know how hard your mother had it all these years, you should be considerate and stop making her life miserable!" "She finally found happiness, and you're the extra one who doesn't belong." "Instead of tormenting each other and living in endless agony, wouldn't it be better to give your mother her life back?" "Isn't that the best ending for both of you?" ... Message after message flooded in. Staring at the screen, tears blurred my vision. Across the room, Mom curled into a ball, shaking violently, chewing on her fingernails. She stared intensely at her screen, waiting for my response. Whether she knew I was the poster or not didn't seem to matter anymore. At least I finally heard her honest thoughts. She was right. For eighteen whole years, we had been tormenting each other. Just standing there, I was a dark, muddy stain on her life. Because she had scraped my brow bones since I was a child, my face was constantly covered in open scabs. I was painfully thin and frail. In my teens, my body was as broken as an eighty-year-old's. Naturally, I became the outcast at school whom nobody dared approach. I hovered my thumb over the screen, biting my lip so hard it bled. It tasted metallic. Even more metallic than the blood that dripped into my mouth when the razor sliced my brow. Finally, I replied: "I understand." A sudden burst of genuine laughter echoed from the living room. Mom, despite the heavy dark circles under her eyes, smiled at her phone. Yet I couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. She replied: "Good girl." It was the first time she had ever praised me. Just like when Amy built her first Lego tower, Mom had praised her with the exact same gentleness. "Good girl." Turns out, Amy and I had received the exact same words after all. At this very moment, Mom and I were both clutching our phones, smiling at the same time. Happy about the exact same thing. What was even better was that I wouldn't have to rack my brain to keep this "promise" to Mom. Because the doctor had already told me: I had terminal leukemia. Looking at myself in the mirror, my face was ghostly pale, my brow bone scarred with jagged lines. I reached up and touched the scars. All these years, what Mom hated most were the eyes and brows that looked so much like that man. She always said that only by scraping them completely clean could she erase his shadow. Mom, I'll give you what you want. I'm going to become completely clean."Hazel! What the hell are you doing?! Taking a bath without closing the door?!" Coming out of her bedroom, Mom let out a piercing shriek. I froze in the bathtub, stunned, as she threw dirty laundry and towels at me. I slipped, falling hard against the porcelain. "Barely eighteen and already trying to seduce people! You want some man to violate you just like they did to me, don't you?! Why did I ever give birth to such a filthy brat?!" "I should have never had you! If I could choose again, I'd rather kill myself than give birth to you!" She had said this countless times. She always said that dressing nicely was just asking for men to look at me, and that I'd end up just like her. So I never dared wear dresses. I never dared speak to my stepfather. I even gave myself an ugly, jagged buzzcut. "B-but..." I pointed at the swirling red water in the tub, choking out broken words. Mom froze for a few seconds. Then, pure, frantic rage exploded: "You think getting your period is something to celebrate?! Get knocked up by some man, and you'll spawn another worthless curse like yourself!" "Get out right now! We're going to the hospital!" Naked and shivering, I barely pulled on a nightgown before Mom dragged me out the door. I didn't know what a period was. I didn't understand why Mom hated it so much. Was I bleeding because of my illness...? She dragged me in front of the doctor and demanded they "stop the bleeding immediately." The doctor looked at me, his eyes full of pity and disbelief. "A menstrual cycle is normal. You can't just stop it." "Though it is unusual that she's only starting now at eighteen. It's quite late..." Mom turned and glared at me with sheer hatred. As if this were my fault, too. Just then, my stepfather, Mark, walked in holding Amy after picking her up from school. He glanced at my blood-stained nightgown and quickly realized what was happening. He rarely bothered with my problems. After a moment of silence, he simply handed Amy to Mom. "Calm down. Once she grows up and marries out, everything will be fine. Don't work yourself up." Mom clung to Amy like a lifeline, temporarily escaping her internal torment, sobbing into the little girl's shoulder. She muttered "my baby" over and over again. After a brief silence, she turned back to me, spitting venom: "Hazel! Why are you standing around in front of your stepdad?! Get into the bathroom! Clean yourself up before you come out!" She pulled out a spray bottle of disinfectant and sprayed herself maniacally. The harsh fumes made me choke, and I bolted away. Before the door slammed shut, I heard her crying to Mark: "Every single day, I regret having her... She was sent by that demon just to torture me..." The door closed. I ran to the end of the hospital hallway, wiping myself with paper towels over and over, but the blood wouldn't stop. Just like me, I could never become clean. I sat on the toilet, waiting for the blood to run dry, but it kept flowing. Panic consumed me. It felt like the sky was collapsing. I frantically tried to figure out how to explain to Mom that I wasn't bleeding on purpose, only to walk out and find they had already left. Heavy rain poured outside, hitting me so hard I could barely keep my eyes open. The icy rain felt like it penetrated every joint in my bones, leaving me shivering and numb. When I finally stumbled back home, I peered through the crack of the front door at a picture of warmth I could never touch. Amy was sitting in Mom's lap, eating food off Mom's spoon bite by bite, dropping crumbs all over the floor. I flinched out of pure reflex, accidentally pushing the door open. Rainwater dripped from my clothes, mixed with blood and street mud, staining the entryway floor. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst from my chest. The lively atmosphere at the dinner table died the second I appeared."Couldn't you have come back later?! Is it really that hard to let me have one peaceful meal?!" Slam! The spoon in Mom's hand crashed onto the table. The tension in the room plummeted to subzero. I swallowed hard and took a timid step backward. Innocent little Amy clapped her hands. "Hazel... eat... dinner." My stomach burned with raw hunger, and I swallowed again just to ease the cramps. Because I saw that there were no utensils set for me at the table. I thought I had been obedient enough. The next second, Mom picked up the steaming hot bowl of dinner and dumped it straight over my head. My body was so frozen that it took several seconds to register the scorching heat. Then, a bloodcurdling scream tore from my throat, echoing down the entire hallway. Amy burst into tears, terrified. Mom glared down at her, her voice icy: "She's not like you. You're Mommy's good baby. She's filth from bad blood. She was dirty and vile from the day she was born!" "Look at her pathetic state. She can't be washed clean no matter what. Great! Now nobody gets to eat!" Mark sighed in frustration, trying to calm her down: "Just let her in to eat. You can't leave her out in the hallway all night." He gestured for me to come inside. The moment I took a step forward. Crash! The entire dining table was flipped over. Plates, forks, and food splattered violently across the tile floor. "Oh, great, Mark! Did that little slut seduce you too?!" "Her father was a worthless scumbag, a monster, and he left behind this little parasite just to ruin my life!" "And you're falling right into her trap! You're under her spell!" Mark panicked instantly, scrambling to explain: "No, no, that's not what I meant! I won't get involved anymore, okay?" He turned and glared at me coldly. I pulled my hesitant foot back, retreating to the hallway. Mom stopped attacking him. Or rather, she was never really targeting him in the first place. She grabbed the mop and scrubbed the entryway floor furiously, as if it could never be clean enough. "I knew you were a tramp! Getting your period early, trying to seduce my husband. Is that what your father told you to do?! Two filthy roaches!" "Keep it up, and I'll ship you back to his family right now!" My heart skipped a violent beat. I remembered two years ago when Mom found a white stain on my pants from spilled milk. She flew into a rage instantly. No matter how I or my teachers explained, she insisted it was left by a "dirty man." I didn't understand. I cried and shook my head, but she dragged me to the train station. "Don't forget! Your deadbeat father is locked up in prison, but you still have his mother! Parasites like you belong in the gutter with the rest of them!" I clung desperately to the train window as the engine started, terrified out of my mind. If the transit police hadn't brought me back, I would have been dumped in some remote backwoods trailer park. That memory haunted me, suffocating me on countless sleepless nights. Even though I was dying, I didn't want to die alone in the middle of nowhere, chewed up by wild dogs. And I didn't want to die without Mom near me... I bit my lip, my entire tongue numb. "Don't send me away... please..." Mom lunged at me with the mop handle, jabbing it viciously into my body, forcing me backward step by step. "You're just thick-skinned! You stay here on purpose just to torment me! I'm buying you a ticket right now, right this second..." Before she could finish, a violent wave of nausea hit me. I threw up uncontrollably for several minutes, bile and blood spilling down the stairs...Mom's hands froze. She went completely still. For a split second, I thought she had finally realized I was sick, that she was finally going to show some concern... Instead, her lips parted slowly: "Are you... pregnant?" A loud ringing sound exploded in my ears. Before I could react, hard slaps rained down on my face, hitting me so violently I nearly lost my hearing. "I knew it! I knew you did something shameless! That's why you were bleeding, wasn't it?! You disgusting little whore!" I wanted so badly to tell her that wasn't true. I was just dying. I hadn't done anything disgusting. I was heaving so hard my stomach felt inside out, my lungs burning with agony. Mom grew more hysterical, sobbing and screaming, raining blows down on my shoulders and chest. "You won't rest until you've driven me into an early grave, will you?! So young and already behaving like pure trash!" "Tell me! Whose baby is it?!" My mouth was filled with vomit and blood. I shook my head weakly. "No... it really isn't..." At that, she hit me even harder, as if trying to beat me to death on the spot. Mark grabbed her, clutching his chest in frustration. "Enough! We don't even know what's going on yet! Stop it!" His shout made Mom snap her head toward him, her gaze dripping with suspicion. "Mark? Is it yours?!" "Speak! Have you two been sleeping together?! Tell me! Tell me!" Mom completely broke down, pounding her fists against Mark's chest. He reached his boiling point and roared at me: "Get the hell into your room!" Darkness flashed before my eyes. My bones felt like they were filled with crushed glass. Leaning against the wall, I dragged my feet toward my bedroom. Closing the door, the screaming in the living room continued. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. The world felt like it was caving in. Mom kept screaming obscenities, kicking my door repeatedly. "Bitch! You're just like your deadbeat father! Filthy! Disgusting!" "If I find out who the man is, I'll marry you off to him tomorrow!" ... As her voice slowly distorted, I drifted out of consciousness. Mark finally managed to soothe Mom. Holding Amy close like a prized treasure, her breathing finally leveled out. Mark suggested taking me to the clinic, but Mom shot him a venomous glare: "I'm humiliated enough at home. You want me to go to the hospital and make a fool of myself in public?" "And did you forget? It's almost midnight. It's Amy's birthday. Don't bring bad luck into this house." At exactly midnight, the birthday song echoed cheerfully in the living room. As if nothing had ever happened. Once everyone had eaten their fill, Mom went to turn off the lights. Her eyes instinctively drifted toward my bedroom door. Holding a piece of bread, she kicked my door hard. "Starve yourself to death then. The bread is at the door. Eat it or don't." She tossed the bread onto the floor, but the doorknob didn't budge. Normally, I would have dashed out the very next second, picked up the bread, and shoved it into my mouth. Irritation flared in her chest. She violently rattled the doorknob. "You giving me the silent treatment, Hazel?! If you really starve to death, you'd be doing me a massive favor!" Still, the figure she expected didn't appear. Her scowl deepened. She shoved the door open with her hip and stepped inside. Her foot bumped into something soft, limp, and warm on the floor. Looking down, she saw my pale, lifeless face...