I sat alone in a corner, drowning in my misery. Darkness cast a shadow over my eyes as my black, unruly hair covered my face. My head buried in my knees, I reflected on my life. It had begun so well with my parents, my youngest brother and I. We were a happy family that shared so much love. That was until the quarrels arose. My parents would argue and fight over even the littlest matter. It became constant and unbearable till finally, it happened – the Divorce that separated my family. my mother left us, taking custody of my younger brother as she did. I never saw them again and it’s been ten, long years. It greatly affected my father and I, seeing as I became moody and pale, rocked by the loss of half of my family. My father on his own part became a drunkard who was almost never at home. I never saw him those days and I would easily believe he did not exist, if not for the fact that the house always reeked of beer and the constant news that my father got into a fight at the bar. School did not make my situation any better. I was the bullies’ favourite prey. They regularly teased me for only having half a family, for the embarrassment that was my father and for my aunt, the only reason I was still in school. However, they weren’t wrong. All these issues created a feeling that terrified me; Pain. Pain was my only fear – whether physical or mental. The thought of being in pain, though inevitable, mortified me. It drove me to extreme measures, even slitting my wrists. Blades had become an addiction. I’d slit my wrists, try to hide it at school, I’d be discovered and bullied, which would lead me to slit some more and the whole cycle repeats. Thankfully though, I got a call from an unknown number. It was my younger brother. This was his first success in his many trials to contact me. It was a happy reunion, up until he asked me the question – How have you been? This led me to burst and vent about all the problems I had bottled up inside me for so long. In an instant, my happy tears changed to those of sadness and misery. The next day, I found myself stepping into the therapist’s office upon my brother’s request and advice. The sessions helped greatly and to an extent, I was healed. Fifteen years later, I was married with a daughter and a son of my own. My immediate family ran smoothly until the day I had a heated argument with my husband. The next day, I had a serious Deja-vu. I saw my daughter curled up, head buried in her knees and tears in her eyes. She was feeling…. PAIN. Goosebumps ran over my skin as I once again encountered my only fear – PAIN.
Piece by; Meka, Rose