Bad Mommy

June 19, 2010
By Emily_Keen SILVER, St. Rose, Louisiana
Emily_Keen SILVER, St. Rose, Louisiana
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Don't Take Life Too Seriously, No One Gets Out Alive."


I am sitting alone in the dimmed room looking around at the windows. One- sided windows so they can see me but I can't see them. I look down at the weightless metal being used to restrain me. My wrists and ankles are shackled to the chain around my waist. I can feel the scar on my leg burning from under my jumpsuit. The door creaks open and I peer up to figure out who is here now. In walks a girl about 20. She doesn't appear to be a police officer, or a psychiatrist to examine me, but an actual human being. I take a deep breath as I wait for her to talk.

“Hello Courtney.”

Looking up, I don't know how to respond. I'm tired of talking to people who think I am crazy and need help or someone who will pin me down to restrain me in a straight jacket. I place my hands on the table and start fooling with my thumbs. I guess she is waiting for that simple 'hello' back because she just stares at me, making it seem like this isn't that big of a deal. Saying 'hello' to someone means your giving them full access to your thoughts and feelings.

So I go for the more conventional “Hi Ma'am.”

She looks at me rather confused. Such a petite little girl held in such powerful restraints set-forth for the most heinous masterminds. She doesn't seem to fully understand the legal system yet. They have all control over us. They stick kids in boxes of padding with a straight jacket and call it help.

She looks me in the eyes and I can see her sympathy for me and my past. I can see her remorse.

“Are you here to evaluate me or something Ma'am?” I ask her cautiously.

“No honey, I am here for your mother. She was granted time to see you. She is just outside of that window. Smile.”

I look to the window she has directed me to. And I look back at her. My mind begins to race.

The days of the five and six and ten and eleven year old me flash through my mind. I see the days of my mom's abuse, my sister dead in her car seat, the photo of my dad and his runaway family. I see my whole past flash before me in a matter of seconds. My face begins to burn as the anger continues to build up. I stand and inch a little closer to the window which should reveal my mother to me. My hand grips around the top of the metal chair. I can see the lady looking at me, quite perplexed by my movements. Did they think I would just want to be in the same room as that woman? Silly people. I go into a rage due to my memories. My grip gets a little bit stronger until finally I just grab it hard and fling it at the window now shielding my mother from me. I start to scream and beat the window and floor. I fling myself into the walls, sending officers scrambling to stop me. But they leave the door open and I run out. I look to my right and I see her. She looks at me with a worried face as I rush her. I get close to her when I am grabbed. They pull back with me thrashing forward trying to get to her. I am kicking and screaming and yet I am no thinking, just reacting. They shovel me to the ground with at least three people on me. I guess the handcuffs didn't work to well if I got that far. They try to get me into a jacket but I move too much to help them. A glimpse up, I see the lady and my mom being sheltered in a corner, sheltered from me. Anger is displayed clearly across my face as they throw a bag over my head to keep me from spitting and biting. As I am carried out, I continue to thrash around to show my discontent with this process. I wish, oh I wish to have just touched her and make her feel just a little piece of the pain she gave to me. Because of her, I have just become the most violent juvenile delinquent. All because of her.


The author's comments:
Courtney is in a psych ward after being badly abused by her mother. Her sister died and her dad left when she was little for another family.

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