Tag Archives: mental health

The killing…

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I grip the knife in between my fingers as tightly as I can. My palms are so sweaty that I’m afraid the knife will slip through and clatter on the white marble floor. After every minute that passes by I rub my hands on my pants, trying to remove the moisture that’s gathered on my flesh. I inhale sharply but quietly making sure to not make any sound with my uneven breaths or with my tiptoeing.

He’s peacefully sleeping on the king-sized bed with the blue bedsheet. His chest is rising and falling as he loses himself in his slumber. I envy him for his tranquility. How can he be so calm when he’s caused a thunderstorm in my chest? Sleeping like that he looks like an angel who’s here to make the world a better place, but when he’s awake even the demons run away to hell. His brown hair is covering his forehead and parts of his eyelids, and his bulging muscles are ripping through his white t-shirt. His stubble has been growing for the past few days and he hasn’t put in the effort to shave.

Unlike our small prison-like-cages, his room is as big as a children’s playground. The walls are different shades of blue, each one changing its hue with the reflection of the sun. On the left there are sofas with a glass table in the middle and on the right there’s the bed where he’s lying. Ahead there’s a balcony from where you can see the city buildings tower on top of each other.

I inch closer to him until I’m standing by his bedside, hovering over his head. His eyelashes are so long, and his face looks so innocent that I’m convinced he’s not the monster I’ve seen in him.

Maybe he’s had his reasons. The voices in my head try to reason with me, but that part of my chest that’s bleeding in red says otherwise. I’m trying so hard to convince myself that he’s not a bad person, that maybe he still has a part of himself that cares.

But he kidnapped you. Tortured you. The thoughts swirl in my mind like a tornado. He killed Sammy and Nate and Anna. And what about all those other children… what about Kenny. What about Aly?

But he fed you, didn’t he? Another voice yells at me.  He was just following orders. Katty said he’s incapable of feeling emotions. He’s mentally ill.

“Slit his throat.” Becky’s voice is cooing in my ears with such clarity that I’m convinced she’s standing by my side.

“No stab him in the heart.” Mickey is yelling at me.

I raise my hand and hold the grip of the knife, above his chest with so much force that my nails dig into my flesh.

I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.

If I kill him, I’ll be the killer. What difference would there be between us? But he killed good people and I’m killing the bad people. Does that make me a good person, or does that make me a murderer like him?

I lower my hand a little to retreat, but all the memories pulse through my brain, reminding me of every ache he’s put me through. The time he burned my hands, the time he whipped me and Esha with his leather belt. The time he shot Nate in the chest. The time he…

Before the thought can erupt through my brain, my arm plunges straight down with such force I didn’t even know I had. I hear a crack, a moan and then wheezing. His eyes fling open and perplexed he stares at me like a stray cat. When his eyes process what’s happening, he tries to jump out of bed but fails miserably. I quickly pull the knife out of his chest and take a few steps back in fear. His shirt, the bedsheets, my hands everything is painted in red. Pressing onto his wound with both of his hands he slides off the bed and tries to make his way toward the side table. He opens the first drawer and rummages through it. He’s looking for his revolver. Hamani said she took it and hid it in the back garden beneath the mango tree. When he finds nothing, he tries to jump toward me, but I take a leap back and he falls on his stomach. Blood soaks the carpet beneath him.

“I will kill you,” He says through his clenched teeth, expanding every word. I watch him bleed for a while, and very slowly I take a few steps toward him. He’s breathing heavily now. In his eyes, for the first time, I see anger dressed in fear. A tear drips from his eye and cascades down his cheek.

Guilt takes hold of my body and I start shaking and crying like an infant. I drop to my knees and my grip on the knife loosens making it clatter on the floor. I don’t want him to die. I don’t want anyone to die.

“Go call Mike. Come on please.” He says pleading. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”

Part of me wants to believe him and unconsciously I rise to my feet. But as soon as I spin on my heels the door bangs open and Hamani comes rushing in, covered in blood. She has a slash on her cheek, and I see fire dancing in her grey eyes. She pulls me back like a lioness does to her cub and pulls out the revolver she hid in the garden.

Before I can open my mouth, she pulls the trigger and the bullet cuts through his head. Blood pools around his body like a small puddle formed after rain. The loud bang paralyzes my body and I start sobbing.

The last thing I remember before passing out is Hamani saying, “We have to leave before the other gang members come.”

Photo by Ivandrei Pretorius from Pexels

 

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Anger

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Anger.

It’s when your blood boils in your veins and you can feel it slither through your body like lava. Your brain is heated and all you see is red blinking in front of your eyes like bolts of lightning. Your skin becomes so heated that you can feel the rage slip down your flesh like drops of sweat.

Anger.

It’s when you clench your jaw as tightly as you can that you hear that click. Your words that were once as sweet as sugar become as harsh as spikes. Your tongue becomes another knife and the sentences dripping from your mouth hold so much bitterness that a cactus would blush.

Anger.

A way to kill people without physically touching them. A passage to a road that leads to nowhere but hell. A fire that destroys, not the body, but the soul residing within. A demon that feeds on hostility, anguish, and pain.

Anger.

The bubbles building inside slowly pile up and then explode like a volcano. You’re drenched in a feeling that overpowers you to the point where you become so powerless that you start breaking yourself and everyone around you.

Anger.

When you want to burn down the world and everything in it. A feeling that tears your core and shakes you like an earthquake. You tremble and fall, but in that process, you take everything and everyone down with you.

Anger is bitter.
It’s like biting into a cactus for water, or it’s like burning down a forest with your bare hands and then complaining there’s no food. I’m not saying that you should keep your anger inside, that’s just as bad as letting it lose.

Learn how to control it. How to manipulate it. How to express it in a way that would cause the least amount of damage. Sometimes, we lose communication and comprehension with ourselves and that is the worst thing anyone can do to themselves.

You’re damaging your body, your soul and your mind piece by piece. It may not seem bad, but it’s harmful in the long run. Understand what your body and soul want and learn to feed it. Learn to express anger not suppress it. There are so many things you can do:

  • Play a sport to cool yourself down.
  • Bake and focus on the precision of the ingredients.
  • Write and pour out your soul.
  • Speak to someone.
  • Record yourself and hear the voice of your heart.
  • Listen to music.
  • Take a nap.

And when your anger is in control, and you know you won’t explode… face your problem. Tackle the issue from the root, so it won’t bother you again. Pull it from the stem so you could grow something beautiful in its place. It won’t be easy, but then again it takes time for things to fall into place. Remember that a diamond is formed only when coal is pressurized. Inner beauty takes time and all that is required is effort and a dab of patience, sprinkled with optimism.

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This is your sign…

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You were bargaining
you were begging
and you were pushed to your knees
you lowered your head
questioning what was the point of anything
you cried and you asked
why weren’t things
the way they were supposed to be
you gave up because you were lost
or you were afraid to fly
but here I give you a reason to try
all your life you were waiting for the moment
but how did you not know
the moment was waiting for you
with its arms wide open
aching for you to push through
you’ll have to fight
for everything you believe in, my love
this isn’t a coincidence
victory won’t knock on your door
if you need a sign
then this is the sign you’ve been waiting for.

This is your sign

Poetry book: Curing My Venom

 

 

Parenting done right

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Why don’t parents understand that in their desires for their kids to be something great, they’re ruining them? That in their wants, their children are getting trampled and damaged.

I’ve seen too many children sacrifice their mental health just for the sake of their parents. I’ve seen friends cry on school staircases because they felt like disappointments. I’ve had so many friends cry on my shoulders because I was the only form of comfort they had. What I didn’t understand was why did I have to be someone else’s comfort when I myself was a volcano waiting to erupt.

I don’t understand what is the point of sacrificing one’s very existence to give life to someone else. Isn’t that mental suicide. Why ruin your life just to make sure someone else is satisfied?

It’s like you’re willing to give up your freedom just because you’re scared of a war, which will erupt regardless of the appeasement. The British did that with Adolf Hitler. They gave him what he wanted, and he still opted for more. Sometimes some things are just inevitable. You cannot stall certain things just because you want them to stop. You can avoid a war for as long as you like, but one day it will consume you. So, might as well pick up your sword and charge.

Maybe when you don’t have a choice, you tend to choose between wars that will cause the least amount of damage and in this case, the self-damage that is caused has lesser destruction compared to the outer war.

It’s better and easier to keep everything inside, nod your head, and smile than to explain the destruction and eruptions going on inside.

But my point is parents need to understand that their children aren’t made of clay. They can’t just alter their children the way they want them to. They’ll ruin the beauty that nature has bestowed upon them.

It’s like forcing a plant to grow in a certain way, with certain nutrients, under certain circumstances, like an experiment and then complaining that the plant is ruined. You can’t force an apple tree to grow into a mango tree and you can’t force a mango tree to give lemons.

Every child is special and instead of altering these children, it’s time to accept them for who they are.

Einstein once said, “Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

Everyone is a genius in their own unique way. There’s no point of forcing uniqueness into people, you’ll only damage them. Let things take their own course. Let people grow on their own. Let them mend with their own antidotes. Let them search for their own cures. Let them heal however they can. Just be supportive. Don’t push your children away because they aren’t what you wanted them to be. Teach your kids to be courageous but kind. Strong but courteous. Let them grow without expectations. Cherish them so they could cherish existence. It’s hard to break the cycle, but a little effort can save generations.

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Giving into failure…

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Do you ever become so tired of fighting that you willingly give into failure? You stab yourself in the back so no one else would have the chance to do it. You fall to your knees, clench your teeth as tightly as you can and scream until your own voice gives up on you and then you give up on yourself.

It’s like you accept failure even before you try. You give into defeat even before you start the war. You lower your weapons and your guard and wait for that blow and when it hits, it knocks the breath out of you. You become so helpless that no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to rise. It’s like the ground has wrapped its arms around you and is pulling you down (and in this case, it’s definitely not gravity).

Why do we do this? Why do we let doubt cloud our judgments? Why do we accept defeat when the outcomes are infinite? Maybe because the thought of losing is worse than the actual loss. Maybe because it’s better to be prepared for the worse; it hurts less. Maybe we’re actually scared of winning, scared of not knowing what will happen. Maybe it’s the unknown that hurts. If we knew and we were a hundred percent sure that we would lose, it wouldn’t cause too much damage. But not knowing and having that tiny glint of hope is what makes us ache at the end.

But the thing no one has ever told me is that fighting isn’t always about winning. It’s about falling, crashing, bleeding and then rising and reforming. The bravest warriors don’t come out of war wearing a crown and a silk cloak. They come out in pieces. In ruins. In wrecks with tears spilling down their cheeks. They come out with wounds as big as the sky and cuts as deep as the ocean.

They’re torn and broken, but they manage to keep themselves together. These warriors don’t always win every war, but they make every war count. They learn from their fall and pick themselves up no matter how badly injured they are. They strike and plunge. Hit and ache, but they don’t give up. They find new ways. New paths. New strategies. They learn from defeat and fight until they have no option than to rise.

This is how life is. You won’t always win. You won’t always get your way. You’ll fall, just as you will rise. You’ll drown but that’s the only way you’ll learn how to float. It’s hard. I know. But the next time life drags you down and threatens you with all of its pawns. Smile. Look it in the eye and say, “bring it on.”

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