Monday or Friday?

What day is it? Monday or Friday? I can't seem to recall? How can I? Everyday is the same thing over and over again. I wake up, drink my coffee, work from home, take a break, work, eat lunch, work, take my final break and then off work. After that, I sit at my desk and wonder where it all went wrong. I should have been a famous writer by now. I was forty years old. I was single, with two cats, and living with a roommate. I can still hear my mother's voice "Hunny! What are you doing? You are not getting any younger. Where are my grandkids? Don't you want your legacy to continue after you die?" 

No, I don't! This world sucks. I wanted to tell her, but the disappointment in her eyes always made me think twice. There was nothing exciting about my life. It all mended together like a vicious cycle. Maybe it was partially my fault. I was allowing this groundhog day take over my life. Why? I don't know. There were all these expectations my mother wanted from me and I refused to do them. She wanted my life to be conventional. If it was up to her I would have been married, bore several kids and taken care of my family. 

Until the day I died. 

Well, I am so sorry mom, for disappointing you.

“ You need to find yourself a husband to take care of you!” 

Why? Could I not take care of myself? 

Here comes another day, same cycle. And now I clock out and I sit at my desk, staring at a blank screen contemplating all the things that lead me to today. 

“Have you thought of a dating site?” 

I rolled my eyes as my mother’s voice echoed through my head.

 I typed: “I’m no good in love.” 

Which was true. I tried the whole love thing and it all went to hell. I loved too hard and I was played like a fool. I dated way too many guys and it was always the same result. Men only wanted one thing and did not desire for further growth. It's fine, I thought. I am better off alone. 

Next, I typed: “Never had kids.”

What for? I refused to have any. 

Next: “Never found a career of my own.” 

I stared at this for a moment. This was true. I never had an idea of what I wanted to do with my life. Geez, wasn’t living enough? I could do a lot of things but the one thing I wanted to do was write. And even that, I think, I was terrible at. I get ideas but never really have a flow of how to execute it. 

“I’m weird.” 

I chuckled a little as I typed this down. This was something that I was okay with. There was nothing wrong with being different. According to my mother, this was the reason why no one approached me. 

“You don’t know how to open yourself up. You are not social enough. Too quiet for your own good. You like to be alone way too much.”

What is wrong with this? So I don’t like to be social, I don't go out and I definitely don’t have a circle of friends to hang out on a Friday night. 

If I remember when that day is? What day is it again? 

Does it matter? I told myself. No, I guess not. 

I wrapped my arms around my chest. I sighed and wondered what I felt. Did I feel anything? The only thing I could feel was the annoyance I felt for my mother. What was her problem?  Why could she not accept me for who I was?! Was I really that much of a disappointment to her? I shook my head and began to search on the web, trying to keep myself entertained. After a half hour I ended up checking my emails. Nothing new. However, one email did stand out. It was from my mother. She had sent it to me over a month ago, about the same time I had stopped visiting her. I had yet to open it. I was about to put it in the trash bin but decided to open it. I wanted to see what she had to say. I opened it and embraced myself. 

I only want the best for you, hunny. Nothing more. I love you. 

I read that sentence over and over again. Not knowing what to think, at first. But the truth was, hidden inside me, I knew. I wondered if I wrote it down, if it would make a difference in my life? My mother and I never had a great relationship. She always seemed to put me down. If she told me a certain color did not look good on me, I would wear it. If she told me not to eat a certain food, I would eat it. Why, I asked myself. Was my mother really all that bad? Why did she try so hard to change me? Sure, the color my mother wanted me to try on, was her favorite color. What was wrong with that? She just wanted to share a part of herself with me? Sure, the food she did not want me to eat contained sugar and we both knew it would make me sick because I was diabetic. Maybe my mother tried to help me, not because she was disappointed in me but because she saw something better in me. 

More than what I could see, give myself credit! 

I felt a knot in my throat. I wanted to cry even though I told myself not too. I knew what was wrong. My mother’s words got to me. I just had to say it out loud or at least write it down. 

I wanted to respond with the following truths:

“I know you do. I just don’t believe the best is out there for me. Whatever that may be. Why would anyone want to love me, when I don’t even believe in love. Or maybe, I don’t believe anyone could ever truly love me. Why would I want to bring kids into this world when I don’t know if I will ever be able to truly love them. But most of all, mom, why would I want anything from this freaking world when I truly believe I never belonged in it! I never thought I was going to live this long. To grow old enough to hate my existence. Especially now! I only lived in it for this long because I was not strong enough to remove myself out of it!”

I stopped typing, my breathing was heavy and I was shaking. What was I writing? Did I mean what I was writing to my mother? 

Yes, it is true. 

Why did I realize this now? 

But the thing is, I did know. My mother was never disappointed in me. She always fought to find the good in me. I was the one that was disappointed in myself. 

I cried then. Like a lost little girl. I had to take several deep breaths to calm myself, relax my heart. I wanted to send this email, so that my mother could understand why I was the way I was. Why my days were a vicious cycle, same crap everyday. No pleasure, just waiting for death to come. 

Just like it came for you…

I had not allowed my mother’s death to take a toll on me, until now. She had passed a month ago, this is the  reason why I stopped visiting her, the reason why I stopped talking to her. I never had the chance to tell her how I truly felt. I was scared to live without her. And now that she was gone I was more lost than ever. How was I supposed to go on? The only person that ever had any faith in me, was gone. 

You have yet to visit her. 

This was true. I had not gone to my mother’s grave. I stared at the screen once again and wiped my tears away. I continued to read the rest of my mother’s email. 

Don’t allow yourself to be your own worst enemy. Embrace your life before it's too late.

I smiled at this. My mother knew me so well. Of course she would, I was her daughter. 

“I miss you mom, and I am sorry.”

I wanted to believe she could hear me. Then I decided at that moment I was going to do something different. I checked my cell phone and saw that it was Monday. The time was after five. I got dressed in one of her favorite colors; a red blouse. Before I left I printed out my response to her email. I placed it in an envelope and visited her grave for the first time since she passed. I put it down and laid it on the side. 

“I’m gonna embrace my life, like you suggested.” 

I felt the wind pick up at that moment and I knew she had heard me. Tomorrow was Tuesday and I was going to break this cycle I had locked myself in.