For the first time ever, Mama struck me during one of her episodes. She started drinking heavily, stopped taking her medication and would scream this awful piercing cry into her pillow at night. It used to terrify me. For a long time, I’d cry alone in my plastic racing car bed, wishing my stuffed toys would come to life and take care of me the way my parents should have been. Every night, it was the same. She’d scream for hours like she was being murdered and I’d sob in petrified silence underneath my covers. Until one day, it just stopped. Not the screaming, but my fear of it.
