The Monster in My Head

It all started with my daughter, Magdalena. I'm writing this now because I think backward in time is where the trouble started. <br><br>She was my first and only child. I was 23 when she was born, and she was my whole world. I was excited to be a mom; I had always wanted to be one. But I have to admit, when I first held her in my arms, I was terrified. She looked so fragile, so tiny, and I didn't know if I was ready for this responsibility. I know I didn't sleep that day; I was too stressed and worried about how I was going to take care of this little girl and make sure she was safe and happy. <br><br>I staggered through the first year. She was a colicky baby, not a happy baby, and she screamed all the time. I was constantly worried that she was sick, or I was doing something wrong, or both. <br><br>When she was one, she started saying a few words. Mama. Daddy. No. She was a typical baby, but she was also very backward. She was late to walk, and late to talk. She didn't really start speaking until she was three. My husband was patient with her; he thought it was cute. But for me, it was a nightmare. I was convinced that she was not going to be okay, and that she was going to be a burden on us for the rest of our lives. <br><br>I know it was wrong. I know I should have just loved her and been happy she was alive and healthy. But I was backward, even then. My memories are backward, and I think my thoughts are too. Looking back, I think I was already making the monster in my head the day Magdalena was born. <br><br>I wish I could explain it better. What's happening to me. How backward I am. I really don't know what else to say than that. I remember the end of things before the beginning of them, and I think my thoughts in reverse too. I only realize things looking backward, and it does not come naturally to me to think any other way. <br><br>The first sign that something was wrong with me was when my daughter was 6. <br><br>She was in kindergarten, and I was excited for her. I was excited for her to start school and have friends and learn and get to go to college and be a happy and successful person. And I was excited for myself. I had a job, and I had a husband, but we both worked long hours and my job was hard, and I was excited for the day when she would be older and wouldn't need me so much anymore. <br><br>One day that summer, we were at the beach, and I was playing in the water with her. She was throwing water at me, and I was pretending to be scared and taking a step back, and she got braver and braver until she was standing in the water up to her waist. <br><br>The water was calm and flat, and the sun was shining, and I was happy, and for a second I forgot to worry about her. And that was when the ocean took Magdalena. <br><br>It was fast, and it was quiet. There was no scream, no warning, just a wave that crashed up over her. I saw her head bobbing in the water, and I swam out to get her. I was strong, I was a good swimmer, and I was only a few feet away. But when I got to her, she was gone. <br><br>I staggered through the funeral. I couldn't stop crying, and I was angry and bitter and I felt betrayed by the world. I was furious at the ocean for taking my little girl. I was furious at myself for not saving her. And I was furious at the world for moving on, for not recognizing what a tragedy this was. <br><br>I couldn't work, and I couldn't sleep, and my husband was worried about me. Looking back, I realize I was in a psychotic state. But I didn't realize it then. I thought this was the price I had to pay for being a mother, and I had to be strong because life went on. <br><br>The first sign that it was the monster in my head was when my husband took Magdalena to the beach. <br><br>I saw it in a dream, the first time I had even thought about her since the funeral. I was dreaming about her sitting in the car with her father, and it was a warm day, and the sun was shining, and I knew they were going to the beach. <br><br>I woke up, and I knew I was dreaming, but the memory lingered in my mind. I was confused about it; I had thought Magdalena was dead, but it was so real. And I didn't know what to think. <br><br>I tried to talk to my husband, but he thought I was crazy. Magdalena died four months ago, he said. She was dead, and he was sorry. <br><br>I staggered through my day. I didn't know what to think. I couldn't shake the memory from my mind, and it was all I could think about. And then, the next night, I had a similar dream. <br><br>It was a different scene from her day. I saw her in a classroom, surrounded by children, and all of them were smiling and happy. She was almost grown up in this dream, almost the age she would be if she was alive. <br><br>I woke up again, and I couldn't shake the image from my mind. I didn't know what was happening to me. I was confused, and I know I seemed crazy. People were worried about me, because I seemed so distant. <br><br>But backward is what I am, always have been. And I didn't know what to think. <br><br>It's been months since then, and I still don't know what to think. I have dreams, and I wake up, and it's so real. I see Magdalena, and she looks happy, and I don't know what to think. Looking back, I realize it's the monster in my head. <br><br>But it's the only thing that makes me feel like she's still alive. And backward is what I am, always have been. I know that now. And I don't know how to stop it, but I don't want to. Looking backward in life, I've realized that it's the only thing that makes me feel like she's still alive. <br><br>The monster in my head is the only thing that makes me feel like I still have her.