I Am Bad
The soft pat on my shoulder brings me back to my senses. I don't turn to see who is it, they can stand in front of me if they have something to tell me.
I can't believe I am back here. I hate it because I feel like someone's hand is in my heart and they are squeezing it. I smile at the idea of a cardiologist doing it. I swear my mind sometimes seems to have a mind of its own.
Someone taps me again, and I ignore them and I continue staring at the TV.
The image of my mother is blurry and that of the interviewer. I stifle my laughter and use my shirt to wipe my nose. I don't remember the last time I cried, and to think of the first time I would cry in a long time would be me crying over what my mother is saying to the world.
It is stupid.
The TV went blank, I close my eyes and inhale deeply to help me not to snap at the person who have switched it off.