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Entangled so tightly by her that every breath
was a struggle.
I put my head into the towel.
And sank my body down.
It felt awful.
But also, blissful.
Epilogue
83)
When I woke up again, five years had passed.
My dad and stepmom were taking care of me.
That’s when I learned what had happened that
day.
My mom never even noticed I was gone.
It was my roommate, desperate for the
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bathroom, who found me hanging.
I didn’t die.
83
But my brain had been deprived of oxygen, leaving me in a vegetative state.
My mom sued the school, believing that their refusal to let her stay with me had driven me to the brink.
Unfortunately for her, the court didn’t support her claim.
Overnight, her hair turned white.
The journalist who had been following our story
stuck with her through it all.
While going through my belongings, he found my diary.
In it, I had chronicled every instance of physical
>
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(UHD)
#E, nad onronicled every instance or physical
and emotional abuse from my mom.
Psychologists who reviewed it concluded that I
had been suffering from severe depression
since middle school.
My mom’s “slap therapy” was thrust into the
spotlight.
She had once been so proud; now she was
utterly disgraced.
She faced a barrage of online condemnation.
And as I remained comatose with no signs of
recovery, she…
She jumped from a building and ended her life.
When she died, she was clutching my diary,
<
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recovery, she…
83
She jumped from a building and ended her life.
When she died, she was clutching my diary.
I spent six months in the hospital, recovering.
Eventually, I was well enough to leave.
With my bachelor’s degree, I found a stable job.
I went to work and came home each day, living
a peaceful life.
I saw a therapist.
Oddly enough, my psychological issues resolved
themselves without medication.
The doctor said it was likely because the trigger
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3337
And that trigger was my mom.
From middle school onwards, I had countless
thoughts of ending my life.
But I never went through with it.
83
The day I arrived at Yale was the breaking point
of my long–suppressed despair.
Yet, it also led to my rebirth.
Every year on memorial day, I place a bouquet
of fresh flowers on my mom’s grave.
I often ask myself.
Did she love me?
But I no longer seek the answer.
<
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Yet, it also led to my rebirth.
83
Every year on memorial day, I place a bouquet
of fresh flowers on my mom’s grave.
I often ask myself.
Did she love me?
But I no longer seek the answer.
I just hope that if there is reincarnation, she
won’t be a mother again.
Because a mother like her…
Whether loving or not…
Is a catastrophic harm to her children.
