Scrambled Eggs

At 7 years old, I tried my best

To make my mother proud

I cracked the eggs and whisked them well

Excitement ringing loud

I cooked them up and served them hot

With a smile upon my face

Hoping to make her morning bright

And bring her some grace

But as she took her first bite

I saw her face turn sour

And in that moment, I knew

I had failed her power

The eggs were slimy, not quite right

And her disappointment was clear

I felt the weight of letting down

The one I hold so dear

I vowed to learn and try again

To make her proud someday

But that feeling of letting her down

Will never fade away

So, at 7 years old, I learned a lesson

That pride can turn to shame

But I’ll keep trying to make her proud

And never play the same

While bitching about scrambled eggs in a poem, let me explain why it's an important event in my life. By 7 years old, I had already been told so often that something's wrong with me, that I'm stupid, lazy, a liar, I cheat, steal, manipulate, I had been berated verbally, slapped, learn to accept the consequences that my mother made and take them as my own, I had been raped, molested, used and discarded, and my core belief that I was broken had long been developed. I had also wished to please my mother. I was her emotional care taker and longed to make her happy. I constantly felt the need to make her proud, but I never measured up. So, while scrambled eggs may not seem big to you, imagine a 7 year old that has been through so much already, trying to do something nice for her mother and failing. Failure was not an option in my house, not without being scolded and made fun of.

I remember going to bed the night before I made the eggs smiling, knowing I was going to make the eggs for my mother. I hardly slept that night because I was so excited that I was going to make her smile. I woke up, made the eggs and brought them into my mother's room. At first she yelled at me. It was a Saturday. "It's fucking Saturday, (Name Removed) why are you in here?" When she saw the plate and my smile, she smiled. I said, "Good morning mommy. I made you breakfast." When she grabbed the plate, the look of disgust came across her face. She attempted to eat the eggs and said, "Oh, yummy, I guess." She didn't finish the eggs. She got out of bed irate, went to the kitchen and immediately started screaming. "What the fuck, (Name Removed), it's a fucking mess in the kitchen. Happy fucking Saturday to me. I get to clean up the mess from the uneatable eggs my fucking daughter made me. Jesus Christ, (Name Removed) can't you do anything right? What a fucking moron." She would proceed to continue these words and her toxic behaviors for hours. Constantly bitching about how her Saturday was ruined, and how I ruin her life, consistently. I sat in my room crying the entire day. She never came to check on me. I only came out to eat, when she was napping or on the phone.

How I wish it would've looked

#CPTSD

#BreakfastInBed

#ScrambledEggs

#Psych2Go

#BritneySpears