I feel it right in the center of my being, as though it's entering my body through my belly button and burrowing down into the deepest parts of my body and then radiating outwards. It's the sharpest, most intense pain you can feel, and it stops me dead in my tracks.

I feel it most when I'm reminded of what I don't have, have never had, and never will have. I feel it when I see a mother with her daughter at the mall, when I see a mother hug her daughter on TV, when I hear a friend of mine talk about her mother, or when I hear my T talk about her daughters. It makes me stop really hearing what is being said and sends me into my head. It's as though I'm frozen, but I can feel the world moving on around me. It makes me feel so profoundly alone-- especially when I'm with other people. It makes me feel so unloved and devalued.

The rest of the time, the void feels like a dull ache; a pain just below the surface that never goes away. When I'm with other people and we're laughing and having fun, that pain is still there, even though it's mild, just to make sure I never forget what they have and I don't.

It hurts especially bad when people discuss the minor shortcomings of their moms or how they have a mix of good memories and bad memories, or when people discuss the death of mothers they loved. That pain feels the most intense because it reminds me that I will never have one good memory, one good moment, or one brief instance of feeling what maternal love might feel like. That's just something I'll never know, and each time I re-remember that I can't help but feel that deep ache in the deepest part of my body, and shed tears for the one thing I want most in the world but know I'll never have.