It's Not Supposed To Be Like This.
It Isn't Supposed To Be Like This.
It had been eight long months since everything broke down.
I was young and naive, and moving to Tokyo just happened to turn out to be the best and worst decision I had ever made in my life.
Two years to the day I left Seoul and started my new life in Tokyo.
And two years to the day where I left my heart in Seoul.
I don’t think I loved Taemin constantly, I mean, I did but it was just buried deep in my heart, and it never resurfaced since I hadn’t seen him in what seemed like eons.
I guess forgetting him worked though, because along with a job I got myself a husband and I was this close to holding my own child.
My own baby boy.
Of course, that all changed when I found out about his double life as some stupid happily-married man with two other goddamn kids.
After the shock, I neglected my body, never realising that along with my own, I was putting my baby’s life at risk.
Unfortunately, that risk proved to be too much for my bouncing baby boy and he passed just two months prior to the due date.
Then the depression - the one i’m still struggling with - sinked in and my parents persuaded me to go home and just cleanse out my soul.
I really needed it.
But when I returned, everything just turned upside down.
My happiness at the arrival back home was short-lived when not only did I see my parents and some close friends, I saw Taemin, his wife, and their six month old daughter, all beaming at me.
Even though I had left my heart at Seoul, the passion in it also was left, but all this was instead channeled to pure rage and jealousy.
There they were, the perfect little family, daddy going gaga over mummy and baby girl while I watched from the sidelines, seething in my own misery.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Taemin had approached me with welcome arms, and it seemed like the kiss that had happened two years ago never occurred.
It confused me and it scared me.
Where was I?
Was I in a dream?
Was this some sort of hell concocted by God to punish me for leaving my husband?
But it didn’t make sense. He was the one who was unfaithful, not me.
It was punishment for losing my baby.
Ever since he had left my body, I hated wearing clothes that stuck to my skin. It grossed me out how clothes could do it so easily, just like when my boy grew inside my body, stretching the skin.
I repulsed myself.
Mother knew of my pain and advised me to turn a blind eye; that it would only bring me down, but it was hard not to suppress the jealousy growing inside of me.
It was infesting my body, contaminating my blood; it was turning me into a monster.
I hated that child with a passion; the way her eyes and her smile resembled Taemin and the way everything she gurgled was as if it had a sugar coating over it.
My baby would never be like that.
My beautiful boy would have been nice, wonderful and kind.
So I started to hate her and her parents.
When they asked me to babysit her I purposely neglected her and didn’t spare her another glance when she cried in front of me, begging me to pay attention to her.
Of course, Taemin and his wife soon found out and he looked at me with the same eyes I had used to look at him the moment I stepped off the plane; cold and unforgiving.
His wife accused that I was insane, and maybe she was right.
Maybe she was right.
Because straight after that incident I was sent to a building with a lot of white wards and they put me there.
Mother and father didn’t come to visit anymore and I sat still day after day watching other patients scream and moan at things that didn’t exist.
Sometimes I had conversations with the staff there.
Sometimes.
But today I sit, looking at the lake in my thick white sweater.
Isn’t it lovely, the way the water ripples and flows over the rocks and wood?
I dip a toe into the chilly, icy liquid and shudder at the first real feeling I’ve had since I was locked up.
Driven insane by the loss of her child; a bitter mad-woman they label me.
Only I know the pain i’ve gone through.
People who are truly insane don’t have to live with the fact that they are simply because they have no mind to pay attention to it.
But I know i’m not crazy, and I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life telling myself that.
It doesn’t matter.
I tie up my coat again and stand when I hear the voice of the nurse calling me.
It’s lunch time.
My lips curl in disgust.
The food is terrible and it’s as if we’re dogs. They train us to do chores for ourselves and speak to us as if we are three year olds even if we’ve spoken to them.
I’m sane.
I’m sane.
Someone listen to me.
It’s not supposed to end like this.
It’s not supposed to be like this.
I was young and naive, and moving to Tokyo just happened to turn out to be the best and worst decision I had ever made in my life.
Two years to the day I left Seoul and started my new life in Tokyo.
And two years to the day where I left my heart in Seoul.
I don’t think I loved Taemin constantly, I mean, I did but it was just buried deep in my heart, and it never resurfaced since I hadn’t seen him in what seemed like eons.
I guess forgetting him worked though, because along with a job I got myself a husband and I was this close to holding my own child.
My own baby boy.
Of course, that all changed when I found out about his double life as some stupid happily-married man with two other goddamn kids.
After the shock, I neglected my body, never realising that along with my own, I was putting my baby’s life at risk.
Unfortunately, that risk proved to be too much for my bouncing baby boy and he passed just two months prior to the due date.
Then the depression - the one i’m still struggling with - sinked in and my parents persuaded me to go home and just cleanse out my soul.
I really needed it.
But when I returned, everything just turned upside down.
My happiness at the arrival back home was short-lived when not only did I see my parents and some close friends, I saw Taemin, his wife, and their six month old daughter, all beaming at me.
Even though I had left my heart at Seoul, the passion in it also was left, but all this was instead channeled to pure rage and jealousy.
There they were, the perfect little family, daddy going gaga over mummy and baby girl while I watched from the sidelines, seething in my own misery.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Taemin had approached me with welcome arms, and it seemed like the kiss that had happened two years ago never occurred.
It confused me and it scared me.
Where was I?
Was I in a dream?
Was this some sort of hell concocted by God to punish me for leaving my husband?
But it didn’t make sense. He was the one who was unfaithful, not me.
It was punishment for losing my baby.
Ever since he had left my body, I hated wearing clothes that stuck to my skin. It grossed me out how clothes could do it so easily, just like when my boy grew inside my body, stretching the skin.
I repulsed myself.
Mother knew of my pain and advised me to turn a blind eye; that it would only bring me down, but it was hard not to suppress the jealousy growing inside of me.
It was infesting my body, contaminating my blood; it was turning me into a monster.
I hated that child with a passion; the way her eyes and her smile resembled Taemin and the way everything she gurgled was as if it had a sugar coating over it.
My baby would never be like that.
My beautiful boy would have been nice, wonderful and kind.
So I started to hate her and her parents.
When they asked me to babysit her I purposely neglected her and didn’t spare her another glance when she cried in front of me, begging me to pay attention to her.
Of course, Taemin and his wife soon found out and he looked at me with the same eyes I had used to look at him the moment I stepped off the plane; cold and unforgiving.
His wife accused that I was insane, and maybe she was right.
Maybe she was right.
Because straight after that incident I was sent to a building with a lot of white wards and they put me there.
Mother and father didn’t come to visit anymore and I sat still day after day watching other patients scream and moan at things that didn’t exist.
Sometimes I had conversations with the staff there.
Sometimes.
But today I sit, looking at the lake in my thick white sweater.
Isn’t it lovely, the way the water ripples and flows over the rocks and wood?
I dip a toe into the chilly, icy liquid and shudder at the first real feeling I’ve had since I was locked up.
Driven insane by the loss of her child; a bitter mad-woman they label me.
Only I know the pain i’ve gone through.
People who are truly insane don’t have to live with the fact that they are simply because they have no mind to pay attention to it.
But I know i’m not crazy, and I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life telling myself that.
It doesn’t matter.
I tie up my coat again and stand when I hear the voice of the nurse calling me.
It’s lunch time.
My lips curl in disgust.
The food is terrible and it’s as if we’re dogs. They train us to do chores for ourselves and speak to us as if we are three year olds even if we’ve spoken to them.
I’m sane.
I’m sane.
Someone listen to me.
It’s not supposed to end like this.
It’s not supposed to be like this.
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