My Mother, the Madwoman in the Attic

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My Mother, the Madwoman in the Attic

Illustration: Namaah

M

y mother is a blurred presence in my head, occurring in slow, hazy silhouettes.

I remember her as this curly-haired, big-eyed, magnificent woman who was often lost in a world that she created out of reccurring thoughts and surreal hallucinations. One moment she would be cheerful, cooking while humming her favourite song, and in the next she would stand in an empty room with a terrified look on her face and hauntingly ask me, “Do you hear a baby crying?”

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