rescinderella

she had reached that stage in life where what was written was writ, and what loomed ahead, ditto.

her life had been a combination of adult comfort and luxury, coupled with unresolved angst over childhood misery and pain. this duo ran her life, and those around her, at times, into the ground.

the uncertainty that coursed through her young years resulted in an inordinate need for control in the years that followed. she never really felt good, as herself, unaware that this unhappiness was heightened by the control issue.

she had children, stunted adults trapped in self loathing and fear.

one of her children became ill, stirring up a maelstrom within her. never able to identify, sort out, or admit culpability, this translated into extreme anxiety. it was the child she felt the most ambivalence towards, and treated the most harshly, at times like a servant; to carry her shopping bags or serve at her dinner parties. the one who watched her high end self expenditure, with the occasional bargain bone hurled in her direction.

lost in this swirl of feeling, the woman reached her hand up, to that child, to save her.