Excerpt #1, The Emotional Woman

     
          Dear Journal,

We lived a life filled with intentional loss of memory over a man, and father that was no longer required. On the contrary, I needed him. The man with no name ...no face. I required a physical fortress to protect me from the darkness lurking inside Building 232, and the harshness tormenting me from the outside.

There were times I wondered if I looked like him, my father that is? I believed that I had because my mother would stare at me for hours, her eyes numb ...lips and fingers twitching, “ Hmm, ...simply terrifying.” 

Remembering from past arguments with Coral, my father had never truly loved my mother. That he’d eventually turned his back on us. Coral pregnant at the tender age of fourteen with me twirling in her womb. My mother was careful to mention very little details confirming his existence, “A down right hateful bastard.” Speaking nervously, constantly twitching.

How ironic that I would come to think the same of her.

Surely, this is painful to desire a mother’s love, and in return she refuses to embrace that love. Coral had never accepted me. Even now as a successful career woman and married to an unbelievably affectionate man. I definitely could not earn her respect diagnosed barren.  

Coral would laugh in my face, short of spit. 

“ Zola, you are not the right woman for that old man. Houston needs a real woman, a grown woman ... and you still a child." Coral’s words resonates throughout my body ...antagonizing my brain, my heart, and captivating my insecurities. 

I’m ruined. 

Lingering moments of fragmented memories I’d rather were immutably disconnected from my mind instead of repeatedly crashing, repeatedly crashing into my consciousness. I thought of coming clean to Coral, and to my husband, and with myself. Leaving me to wonder if Coral would finally come to love me?  Would my  husband then decide to leave me? ... Melodee, would she be ashamed of me?

The thought of bringing a child into this turmoil after enduring so many evils of the world. With knowing the extensive baggage I, myself continue to carry seems borderline mad. So many questions that are in need of answering, and I am absolutely in need of them all.  

Conflicted.

Suffocating.

Emotionally drowning.

Until next time ...Mrs. Zola Roberts

J.R. Randle ©epiphanysoulpublishing