Strong like a Hero

TW: mentions of mental health, abuse, suicide attempt

“I got you, bad boy!”

Thomas was giggling, gasping for air.

“Okay okay” he yelled “I give up! I give up! Take back the money.”

He held his tiny hands up in defeat.

I removed myself from my malicious tickle-attack and grabbed the cloth bag that held “Momo, the bear”, that actually was a dog, a few legos and some of Thomas’ prized metal cars. I stood up and towered high over that little boy, staring down with disgust.

“Next time, you won’t be so lucky” I growled “then I will put you into jail and throw away the key”

“No, no!” Thomas said, crawling backwards, his eyes widened in horror “I’ll be good, from now on, I swear!”

I smiled triumphantly then turned around, my cape swinging after me. I raised one of my arms, my hand curled into a fist.

“See you next time, criminal!” I roared before I flew away.

Actually - I sprinted out of the room, closed the door behind me and took a deep breath.

I know Thomas would be ecstatic about my Oscar-worthy performance. But I was filled with dread. That had been exhausting. I let my hero’s cape – a towel, tied around my neck – slide to the floor and closed my eyes. I felt tired. So very tired. Like a big black hole hovered over me, constantly draining my energy. I fed it with a never-ending series of yawns.

Yet again, I had played the hero in Thomas’ role play. I had to.

“You’ll be batman” or “You’ll be ironman” or “You’ll be wonder woman” Thomas would demand, his eyes sparkling but piercing through me. There was no way I could refuse.

When he looked at me like that, I was sure he could see it all. My flaws, my weaknesses, my darkness. But everyday yet again, I was cast as the hero of his imaginary worlds. He was the villain, robbing a bank, holding innocent people hostage or making plans to destroy the city. And I was the knight in a shiny armor, who turned everything around for the best.

The reality was so far from the truth that my insides churned. The truth was, I made everything so much worse. Thomas deserved better.

I didn’t physically abuse him like my mother did. I didn’t sexually assault him like my step-father. But in times of despair, I turned to alcohol – just like them. And that made me just like them.

Here I was, 36-year-old me, single-moming a wonderful 6-year-old boy and failing miserably. Everyday.

Yes, I didn’t hit him. But that was about as good as I was as a mother.

When the darkness of my past seemed to consume me, when all I was able to do was lay in bed, I drank the pain away. Thomas didn’t like it when I turned to wine for help. He was always so desperate, when I poured myself yet another glass, repeatedly asking me to play with him, to be the damn hero, that I wasn’t.

Eventually he would give up and watch TV. Later he’d brush his teeth and go to bed. All by himself. He was such a good boy.

And I just drank until I nodded off. Being the worthless mother I am.

Yes, I didn’t hit him. But I neglected him. I wasn’t the mother I was supposed to be. I wasn’t the mother he deserved. These thoughts hurt. But I’m sure my son was hurt more. He would be so much better off without me.

I took another deep breath and wiped away the dampness from my eyes. I could hear Thomas rumble after me. With a click the door opened.

“Mama?” he said, looking me up and down, then locking eyes with me. He gave me a smile that made the sun shine bright on a cloudy day.

“Let’s have another round?” he probed, hopeful, pleading.

“Not right now, Thomas” I said, watching how he deflated in front of my eyes “I need to get to the store and then fix us some dinner.”

I forced a smile and my good boy nodded.

In reality I had run out of wine and I needed more to get me through the night. It was the anniversary of…

I washed my face and head out our tiny one-bedroom-apartment. I knew Thomas would be ok. He was just good like that. He’d play with his Legos or cars, then watch some TV and get himself some snacks if he was hungry before I got back.

I returned just after 10pm, drunk and blurry minded. Thomas was asleep. Thankfully.

That good boy knew how to take care of himself. He learnt when I had been away for weeks. I was “working” my sister had told my then barely 5-year-old. The truth was, I was trying to get sober. It worked for a bit. Thomas thrived. He suddenly got on with everyone in his class. He wasn’t quick to anger anymore. He became more cuddly and more whiny – like a typical boy his age. He finally showed his soft and weak side. Just because I was there for him as the adult. Because I was the strong one for once.

So when I relapsed it hit me even harder how much I failed as a parent. I will never forget the disappointment in his eyes, when he noticed me slurring my words and stumbling across the room. Even in my drunk state my heart shattered and the disgust for myself grew more than I ever thought possible.

I was no damn hero. I was worthless. Weak. Selfish. Disgusting.

Thomas would be so much better off without me.

He would be so much better off without me.

He could live with my sister. Or a nice, rich family could adopt him. He would finally be free. Be able to thrive without setbacks. He would be happy.

I would just be a distant memory.

I went into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. Thomas would be better off without me. I texted my sister: “Please pick up Thomas at 6am”. Thomas would be happy. I filled the bathtub with hot, steaming, water. He would thrive if his unstable mother wasn’t there anymore. I emptied my wine bottle in one go, red drops of wine dripping down my neck. I am worthless. I let the bottle slide out of my hand. It shattered into hundreds of pieces on the cold bathroom floor. I want Thomas to be free. I slipped into the warm water. I am no hero. I am the villain. And I always will be.

I dove in, letting the warm water gush over me for a second. I felt drowsy and the water felt nice. In the end, I felt good. A sense of relief, I supposed. I might have smiled, as I carefully chose one of the glass shards, but once I held it to my wrist the smile had gone. Determination had set in.

You will be better off without me, my boy. You will not suffer anymore at the hands of a neglectful, addicted parent. You will grow up, go to college, get a wonderful job, find a loving partner and life a happy life. You don’t need me for that.

My thoughts felt blurry, yet so clear. I pressed down along the vein of my wrist. Harder and harder. I had to push through the initial restinstance of skin, tissue and pain and stopped when warm blood dripped from my wrist, slowly creating pretty red swirls in the water. The pain of bleeding out was bearable. I felt fuzzy and calm. I knew I would die, and that was okay. Thomas would be better off without me. I watched the beauty of my death with a hazy curiosity until I felt dizzy and closed my eyes.

In the distance I could hear a rumble, but I didn’t stay to investigate. Instead I slipped into eternal darkness.

***

When I woke, it felt like mere moments had passed. Everything was bright and white and blurry. My eyes hurt. Weird. I thought I’d go straight to hell. Or some in-between place of eternal nothingness.

Pain set in.

I groaned. Someone was whispering beside me. There was beeping. Beep. Beep. Beep. Quick steps. A light tug on my arm. A painful sting. And soon after, the pain subdued. At least a bit.

“Anna” a familiar voice was almost whispering “can you hear me?”

I groaned again and nodded ever so slightly.

“Oh my god, Anna” she sobbed “never do that to me again! You and Thomas are the only family I got. We will get you help, okay? You’ll move in with me and we will get through this. Me and Thomas were so worried. You lost so much blood.”

This was neither heaven nor hell. This was life. I was alive. Breathing.

I had failed again.

“I’m sorry, Nicole.”

Thick salty tears streamed down my face. I am so sorry. I felt her warm embrace that wouldn’t let me go.

“Thomas wants to see you” Nicole said breaking the silence and the hug “But we can wait until tomorrow, if that’s better.”

“No.” I said “I want to see my boy. How is he?”

“Oh, he’s been so strong. Made me role-play superhero with him all the freaking time.”

She smirked. It felt normalcy was creeping back in way too soon. But it felt good.

“Made me play the bad guy” she laughed, before leaving the room.

I was left alone wondering: Why did Nicole get to be the villain but I couldn’t?

When Thomas arrived, he didn’t just come in. He thundered towards me, far too quick and with far too big steps for such a small boy.

“Mama! You’re okay!”

He jumped on me. It hurt. I laughed.

“I missed you!”

He looked at me.

“Did you know I rescued you after your accident? Like a hero?”

I shot a glance to Nicole.

“He said he heard glass shatter”

Nicole answered my silent question, coming closer, then taking my hand into hers.

“When you didn’t answer and he couldn’t open the door, he called 911.”

I looked at him in amazement. He looked so proud.

“Oh wow” I said, swallowing some tears. “You are a hero!”

“I sure am” he said, smiling from one ear to another.

“Wow…” I said again, sinking into my own thoughts.

“Thomas” I finally said in a low voice, looking at this sweet sweet boy “let me be the villain in your story next time, okay?”

“You can’t, Mama” he said, squeezing my hand.

“Why not?”

“Villains always loose. And I need you to be here.”