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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/ydudemqn on 2023-06-27 21:46:14+00:00.
Memories of my childhood were fuzzy but the things I did remember were rarely ever pleasant.
I remembered being a human punching bag for my mother. She wasn’t a drunk, she was beautiful and polite to others, but behind closed doors the woman was vile towards me. If I played too loud she would hit me, if I talked to much she would hit me, hell sometimes she would hit me just for taking up space.She was cruel.
I remembered having to create an imaginary friend because she wouldn’t let me go outside and have any real friends, I remember naming him Billy.
Because I rarely got to see what other kids looked like I imagined him to look identical to me but slightly different, if I wore a blue shirt I’d imagine him wearing a red one, I was weak so I imagined him strong, and because I was afraid of my mother I imagined him to be a rebellion that stood up to her,I imagined him to be everything I wanted to be.
My mother was not to fond of my imaginary friend however, mainly because I was stirring up more trouble with him than normal and whenever I was caught I’d tell her “Billy told me to” this infuriated her. She’d give me bruise after bruise for anything me and “Billy” would do and because he didn’t want me to feel alone I remember Billy giving himself bruises to match mines.
One day while playing tag with my imaginary chum I accidentally ran into my mother who had a full glass of red wine in her hand, spilling it all over the white dress she was going to wear to the neighborhood cookout. Her eyes turned cold and she grabbed a frying pan and bashed me over the head with it.
I woke up inside my bed with bandages over my head and my mother standing in the doorway crying, my blood still on her hands. That was the first time I saw her cry, that was the last time I imagined Billy, I didn’t want to get in trouble anymore.
Years later even after all the abuse I endured I managed to graduate high school, go off to college, meet my beautiful wife and have two amazing boys.All with no contact of my mother in 20 years.
One day I got a call from her caretaker saying my mother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s for a while now and that her mind was starting to go but she was begging to see her son again. I wanted to decline but my wife begged me to go saying this would be my last chance of getting some form of clarity. I unwillingly accepted.
I flew to my mothers home and her caretaker met me in the doorway with a smile inviting me in. As I walked through the door each step I took became more heavy and more painful as the memories of abuse and neglect began to pierce my brain.
I walked into my mothers doorway and there she was, the once strong and vile woman now a shell of herself hooked up to machines, almost clinging to life.
Our eyes met and she began crying hysterically. I didn’t know how to embrace her, a part of me knew she didn’t deserve it.
I walked over to her and she began rambling.
“Im sorry” she whimpered.
As I got closer I saw she was holding a folded up picture in her hand. I slipped it from her weak hands and opened it.
It was me, her…..and a boy who wore the exact same face as mine.
I looked at her with my eyes drowning in tears as she began to speak again.
“I’m so sorry Billy”