Fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!
I’m in pain.
I’m in so much pain.
Everything’s red. The walls of the room are a deep bloody red that seems to be bleeding. Everything around me is oozing blood.
I can’t breathe, I can only scream. Scream and hope this will soon leave.
It is so painful. I can taste the acrid metal blood in my mouth.
Ahhhhhhhhhh! Please God, let me die. Anything is better than this…even death.
I can’t stand anymore of this. My eyes are screaming to get out of my head.
My head is bursting with white-hot heat.
I can see the blood from where I’ve scraped myself raw and red. It’s trickling down like the rest of the room, red, callous and reminding me of the pain. There is no escape.
I am going to die. I will not see Koye. Dare found out and he is punishing me.
I think of anything. Anything to distract from the pain, but the pain pushes through my weak defenses. It is there and remains.
Please let me die.
I’m crying, exhausted from all the screaming…and like my screaming, the silent tears do nothing to ease my discomfort.
Please God…. let me die.
She’s stopped screaming. That’s a good sign. In about twenty minutes the drugs should be flushed clean from her system. I decide to fix a quick bowl of cereal for her. She’s going to need it after all the physical and mental exertions on her today. After all, food cures everything.
While in the kitchen, I realize there’s perfect silence. It’s punctuated by small whimpers, but its silence nonetheless. I brace myself. She could walk out the door and never come back, or she could stay and accept therapy. I hope she chooses the latter and I walk with the cereal bowl in hand.
She’s a mess. Crumpled on the ground, hair uneven from too much tearing, hands full of welts and scratches. Even her eyes are red. She’s breathing very slowly. Counting from one to ten, taking deep breaths, and counting again. She looks up to me, her expression unreadable. And then she smiles for a second and goes back to her counting.
I carry her to the bathroom, and like her first night here, shower, dress and feed her. She puts up no fight and when we are done, I carry her back to the couch in the living room. We’ve got thirty minutes left.
“You can speak now,” I say to her.
I hate Dare Ladipo. I hate him so much
No one in my life had put me through so much pain. The moment it disappeared I crumpled and fell on the floor.
I hate Dare Ladipo. In the space of a few weeks, he had gotten to a part of me no one had, not even my parents. He had made me scream, in pain and pleasure, he had made me angry, made me helpless, made me need him.
And I couldn’t go anywhere because I wanted, no needed, to be cured.
He’s sitting there, legs crossed, expression detached and official telling me to say something.
“You can always write it down and read it out. Whatever helps you express what you’re feeling,” he says.
Or I could just stay silent.
“Or you could just stay silent,” he continues. Whatever helps you digest this new… feeling. You have just been through detoxification. It’s hard and painful, but it’s only the first step. I’ve thrown away your stash, and from today, you will have no access to meth…in whatever form. If you do not agree with any of my terms, feel free to walk out the door. I won’t try to convince you otherwise. Getting clean was your decision in the first place. Rebounding is not the best option, but you can choose to go back to David and the rotten regret filled life you had or stay and take the steps towards beginning a new one…”
“Red” I say… “the walls were bleeding red. Everything took on a horror like quality.” I sound like a zombie as a I rehash the details of my experience, made very clear now that I’m no longer in pain. It’s the only words that can come out of me.
“I’ve never felt that much pain in my life. It was probably milder than it really was, but in my head, pain automatically becomes enhanced. I wanted to die, I really did. I thought, if I died, maybe all the pain I felt would be compensation enough to God for my sins and I would get to heaven. It seemed like the only good thing I could force myself to think about. I couldn’t think, because my brain was literally oozing pain. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. I could only scream and exist in the pain you had made my reality. I was in pain, Dare. I was in pain.”
And the tears start flowing. I can’t stop them, as much as I really want to.
I’m sobbing, aching, body shaking sobs represented by the fast descent of fat tears from my eyes. I haven’t cried genuinely in so long, still, I can’t stop thinking about the pain I’ve been through in life. It was all mostly psychological. My episode has captured everything with a physical intensity that stunned me and I realized just how damaged I was.
I remembered the first and last time my dad flogged me.
I remembered the numerous times my mother used the horsewhip on me.
I remembered all the physical fights I had with my sisters.
I remembered all the times I got hurt.
I remembered all the times I got sick and had to endure needle poking.
I remember all the times David raped me.
I remember the one time he hit me.
I remember cutting myself.
I remember poisoning myself, with just enough to put me in pain but not kill me.
And it struck me just how vital pain had been to my existence.
But not like this, this one left me raw and exhausted. The tears kept coming and I cried for the little girl lost inside of me, the growing female confused, and the young adult who had made all these bad choices.
My phone beeps. The session is over.
The session is over. She gets up and does something unexpected. She hugs me tight, tears running down.
But I can’t hug her back like I want to. I am her psychologist now. I can’t afford to let go.
I hug her back lightly, without emotion. She seems to realize this, says good night and leaves me cursing like a frustrated soldier in the dark.
This series is written by @FareedaKhalo and it’s supported by the good people of Barows21. Check out www.barows21.com for all your favourite international magazines. You can read previous episodes here.
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