Nothing ungovernable, it’s more like a hum. The hum of I’m not feeling at my best, of can’t get that argument out of my head, of what if, what if, what if; a hum that I eventually forget is there at all, even though it never ceases to soundtrack my every move. I’m maintained and restricted by the ability to tune out whatever is suboptimal. By now I know it’s a common early-childhood survival skill that, while seeking to conserve me, grants me the capacity to self-destruct.

When I was a child, no physical activity brought me more delight than inline skating. I had a wonderful pair of skates; silver, neon pink, and teal, snuggly fitting my feet. I felt limitless on those wheels, cruising all around the neighborhood, learning tricks in the grocery store parking lot, and distance skating past farms and fields. For the past five years, I’ve been telling myself that I should get a new pair of skates.

This was originally published as part of the Vine & Fig “Pray Tell” project. She sounds quite chipper once she makes it to the telephone. ‘Hey dear!’ it sounds. ‘Happy Mother’s Day', I go. A few years ago, when I decided that I was going to transition into low contact mode with my mother, I couldn’t have imagined that Mother’s Day was going to be like this. As many countries celebrate moms today, we remember that, on Mother’s Day last year, we saw my stepfather leave for the hospital, never to return again.

Remember those times when you were at the store, and as your mother went about her shopping, you were attracting attention to your little self by doing something foolish, bringing soft smiles to all the surrounding adults, except for this one asshole? I have a growing suspicion that I am that person.