Manic Panic

Content warning: abuse, drug addiction

She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection as her lips trembled and tears rolled down her cheeks. She pinched her nose, frantically brushed her bangs over her eyebrows, and tucked her ears behind her coarse hair. She stared at the many alcohol swabs, the needles, and the box of studs and rings. She picked up the box of permanent hair dye; Manic Panic: Vibrant Green, it read. Nadia was determined to look like somebody else.

She could not stand one more person telling her she looked like her mother. She hated her. She hated her for as long as she could remember. Even her earliest memories of her were tainted with neglect and abuse, like their bedtime routine. She would count to 99, gently patting her with each count and then smack her as hard as she could at 100 if she wasn't asleep.

…97…98…99… SMACK. Then she would leave her silently crying in the dark, afraid to rub the painful spot.

Nadia parted her hair, grabbed a strand, and brushed the green product onto it. She colored strand by strand, feeling satisfied with every stroke. She wished her father would be here to see her new hair. Green hair would have amused him just as much as it would have angered her mother. Her father, the drug-addicted bipolar man, was her hero. As a child, Nadia knew her mother would never hit her when he's around. Hearing him unlock the door when he returned home from work filled her with relief. On good days, he was so full of energy and love. He would take her to the amusement park, hold her little arms up in the rollercoaster rides, then they would share a Banana Split at Sparky's, her favorite fast-food restaurant. She lived for those days.

On bad days, he would lay motionless on the couch, barely speaking. He wouldn't play with her or answer her questions. He would only absently grunt as she talked his ear off. But Nadia knew that she could play by the sofa next to him and be safe from her mother. Whenever he was home, her mother left her alone, quite literally. She either locked herself in her room or simply left the house. Her father forgot to feed her many times. Once she got so hungry, she ate an entire box of cereal and got sick. But no matter how bad a day spent with her father was, it was always better than any day spent with her mother.

Nadia rubbed her earlobe with the alcohol and sterilized the needle. She took a deep breath then pierced it through her earlobe. She felt a pinch and her ear started to throb. She placed the shaft of a studded earring into the hollow tube of the needle and pushed it through her ear. Nadia always hated her ears. She hated how large and protruding they are, but more so that they resembled her mothers'. She cringed at the memory of her mother's voice; 'You're lucky you don't look like your father. You have my nose, eyes, and ears.'

'Not anymore, mother,' Nadia whispered as she admired her new earring and proceeded to pierce the other ear. She thought again about her father. She remembered how his bad days increased near the end, how he fell ill, and how frightened and helpless she felt every time he coughed up blood. She felt a surge of anger as she remembered the bitterness on her mother's face every time she had to help her weakening father. Nadia was almost happy when he found out about the cheating and left her bags on the sidewalk. When he explained that, 'Mom will not be living with us anymore,' she almost smiled. She remembered how her mother deflected the situation onto her father—shouting angrily as she blamed him for everything. 'And YOU!' she snapped at Nadia as she walked out; 'I thought marrying your father was my biggest mistake, but then I had you.'

She thought about how she was the only person by her father's side in his last days. Nadia could still almost hear his wheezing voice when he begged her to forgive him; 'I always wanted to be a better father, I tried so hard.' She squeezed his hand as she wept and whispered repeatedly, 'I know…I know…'. That was her last memory of her father before something as conniving and cancerous as her mother took him away.

Her earlobe was warm and swollen, but she continued to pierce it despite the pain. She wanted four in each ear, the maximum number she can safely get in one session, or at least that's what a quick Google search said. Her mother did not pierce her own ears. She always worried that earrings would only emphasize how gigantic they are. She overcompensated for that with large statement necklaces. She vividly remembers how livid she was at the enormous festive necklace she wore to the funeral. It was all she could look at as her mother explained that Nadia would be living with her grandmother. She felt a mix of relief and stabbing pain. Only her mother, in the whole wide world, could make her feel this way. That was her last memory of her mother.

Nadia could hear her daughter giggling while she watched cartoons in the next room. She thought again about how she never wants to be anything like her mother. She sterilized the needle once again and pierced her nose. Nadia stared at her reflection, and the person looking back at her did not look anything like her. And more importantly, nothing like her mom. She looked at her studded ears, nose ring, and the gooey green mess over her head. 'My mother would NEVER,' Nadia chuckled with pride.

Nadia's daughter peaked her tiny head through the half ajar door. 'Mommy?' she yelled. 'I'm coming. Let me just clean this up,' she said. 'What are you doing?' she pushed the door open, hitting Nadia's toe. 'Ouch! Hold on!' Nadia shouted impatiently. 'Mommy, your hair is green!!' She exclaimed as she grabbed the bowl of dye and spilled it all over herself and the floor. Nadia impulsively kicked her daughter across the bathroom. The little girl scrambled to her feet, sobbing as she ran out. 'Yes, just run off to your good-for-nothing daddy.' Nadia yelled, slamming the bathroom door shut.

Nadia stared back into the mirror, and all she could see was her mother's piercing nose, her dark eyes, and her protruding ears.