MY DEATH BEFORE DYING

These words pour out of me in the same way ounces of blood oozed out of my opening that night, it scares me. These phrases form a rhythm so much identical to the sound of you pounding on me, it terrifies me. These syllables that I ink look too coloured on the white paper, they remind me of the red ugly stains on the bed sheets. Writing on such plainness makes me question if I am leaving permanent marks unto paper in the same manner in which you etched your dirt deep within me.

See, you have tainted even the most beautiful of actions with your dark cold felony.

I can no longer be just a writer without linking it to that dreadful period. I can no longer nurture my talent without hinting how much your ungodly deeds damaged me.

That night plays over and over in my head every moment of every day, repeating the memory as though it is happening again and again.

I never thought I would ever be ready to tell this story, at least not for another dozen years and more. I also never thought I would have to do it over a random blog post, put it out here for whoever to read but the memories get more suffocating with time and it’s just not possible to hold them in anymore.

A therapist’s couch, with the professional staring intently as if right through my soul and writing notes in a book I wish I could peak in as he or she tries to make sense of my grief, was more of a way. I used to think that would be the day I finally take on my healing.

A cozy but messy bedroom on the day my then closest friend would have found me pained and unable to get out of bed from the storm raging inside of me perhaps. I would finally vent my guts out over a packet of sweet chilli-flavoured Doritos, sour gummies and wings as the friend attempted to lift my spirits. The initial comfort of my favourite woolen socks on my feet and a fleece wrapped my body will begin to feel all too warm for me as I break apart over again from the friend’s not-really-helpful attempt to help me. I would crash all over again because I would see, through my window, the first snow flakes of the winter fall and then be reminded more firmly of that day.

Or maybe with a spouse that was on the verge of calling it quits if I didn’t face the demons in me which had been very threatening to our future. I would finally agree to sit down and talk about everything with him, allow him to help me and to help us.

You see I had made up all these scenarios in order to attempt pushing away the weight of having to let this out? All these scenarios which would first have to let this dark dark past damage important parts of my future. All these scenarios born from my mind but scare even I.

Now that I have lost the creativity to come up with more ways to push away laying the wretchedness of my heart out, the flashbacks are taunting me and daring me to fall off the edge but no, not when there’s a single though extremely thin rope I could hold on to for just a little while longer.

You were my superhuman before that day and for quite a while before the depth of your actions finally sank in. Now I realise you only had the superpowers to delusion me into thinking highly of you so that you could ease your way into the damaging of my entire being.

I thought it was the right thing to do and how terrible a child I would be if I did not comply. You fed me all those blatant lies; brainwashed me to a scary extent and I had no choice but to believe you, after all, it was your genes I carried.

This new game you were to teach me was creepy as Mama had warned me soon as I began kindergarten to not let anyone, even the boys who were my classmates, to play it with me. It was you though, you would never have caused me any harm right? So I let you convince me that it was not bad as Mama had put it and promised you never to tell her about your attempt to get me playing it; I still have not broken my promise.

So we played it, that game which you claimed all the princesses played with their fathers. We played it and it was the first game you taught me that I ever not liked, it brought me so much pain. I felt sicker to my deepest core when I saw how much I bled and how ill and energyless I felt.

I remember my four-year old self lying limply on my bed where you had taken me to rest the fatigue off as you went to get rid of the messed bedding. I watched the first snowflakes that year and could not go out to enjoy the goodness of the winter, I never did ever again.

I let you lie to Mama when she got back about how I might be coming up with a terrible flu and how you decided to get rid of the old ugly sheets. I knew deep down that something was off but I never dared to tell, not when you had threatened to punish me duly for my betrayal if I ever did.

It was only a few weeks later when my classmate Lerato’s uncle got arrested by the police after playing that game with her too did I realise how horrible you had been to me. You were a bad guy not the gentle king you pretended you were.

I was fortunate to never have to face you again after the realisation. Yes, I should not find contentment in my mother’s major heartbreak but the cracks in your marriage were a blessing for me. After all the avoidance of our family you had done after playing your horrible game with me; probably trying to hide from your guilt and the little girl you shattered, she was done with you. I think if Mama had known about what you did to me, she would divorce you over and over again every season.

Now I have harbored the pain for twelve more years alone.

Yes, twelve years later and I am not over it but I have at least mastered the art of calming my own nightmares each time when I am all alone in the rented room I have lived in all my high school years.

You ruined me. Very badly.

I cannot face men without squirming in fear and I have misjudged the actions of all males in my life.

I cannot take in any loud sound without transforming it into the sound of my heart-breaking screams as you painfully tore through me that day.

Any illness I suffer from reminds of how extremely ill and weak I was for the days following that ordeal, much more psychologically than physiologically.

Now, I have carried all this melancholy for all these years and it feels as though it doubles each year. It gets worse when I hear of yet another person experiencing such because I feel the experience come to live for me again.

You killed me then and I have been dying all days of my existence.

Maybe someday I shall be able to lay my feelings out perfectly clearly but right now, I choke on my words at each attempt. So I leave just this for you to read about your cruel actions and for everyone else. They may or may not believe me but you and I both know that it is true.

I trusted you with my life only to trust you with nothing at all in such a short period. What you did to me can never be undone and I do not think I am able to ever forgive you or at least I am not ready and shall not be for a very long time.

Goodbye now. I still do have a storm inside me to try fighting once again and heaven knows I yearn to win this battle.

.Mpho