Relapse

10^th May 2015

Dear beloved,

It’s one of those nights again. I’m not sure if you remember because I could never have the strength to pick up a pen after it. I could hardly pick up myself. It was always the next day, I would write in detail of the occurrence.

Do you remember?

Way before I knew of this mental disability, my teenage self had thought nothing of it. It was just a particularly nasty night, often spent beside the toilet bowl, my knees scratched on the toilet floor, my stomach’s content spilling into the murky water. Sometimes, if I was lucky, I’d find myself waking up to the cold tiles on my cheek, half of my body slightly under the bed. There was never enough strength left to even haul my body onto the mattress.

Besides, the cold tiles were a blessing to the fire inside my chest.

Have you ever drowned, beloved?

Do you know how it feels? I reckon a lot of people died because of drowning in the ocean or even in an unsafe pool. What killed them, beloved? The water?The pressure?

It was lack of air, wasn’t it?

The cause of their death was simply….they cannot breathe.

As you know perfectly well, it has been the same for me. Every second of these nights, I would wonder, am I dying? Is this how I die? So ironic.So perfect.

You are a cold comfort to me, my beloved. Even as I gripped your leathery covers to my heart, your touch didn’t dispel the stifling air of harsh loneliness. The absence of my own species, as I moan and writhe from the fire.

The pain has gotten ever more stronger than before. Did it grew as I do? Will it finally kill me when I reach 30, or 40, if this is the magnitude when I am 19? Or was it an announcement of counter-attack? A relapse.

Because I tried to cure myself, it was saying, never.

And of course, the voices would always accompany me in loving persuasion to this pain. This heart-wrenching bone-crushing pain. Yet it is only a shadow of the real drowning.

“You’re hurting. It must hurt so bad. Let us help. Let us stop it.”

“The pain must be unbearable. Please, just one will do. Just one, darling.Just one. We promise it will stop. We give you our word. No more pain. It will stop.”

“It will be quick, love. Quick and painless, you won’t even know it’s there. Just one stab, where it hurts the most.The heart.”

“Just one stab, my love.”

“Stop the heart.”

“It will stop the pain, we promise. We promise.”

Oh, beloved, how they chant. If only you could slip into my mind for the moment, you would have known how it felt as they corner me and caress my shivering form with faux love and affections. They are much more lenient when I am home, rather than the cruel taunts and jeers when I was in college. Like a lover and family.

You will be proud that I fought. It was pathetic and disgraceful, but I stayed rooted to the bed. I fought their words and persuasions as much as I could. You would be so proud.

I have always faced these nights alone, and I am used to it. But this date, makes a difference. Someone was there.

Amelia.

Her words battled theirs, and only one came to light.

“we love you.”

“I love you.”

When the tears come, Lord was I ever so grateful. The tears signifies relief. If I could cry, I would have no need for their persuasion. If I could cry, I could tire myself to sleep, and oblivion. Tears are my saviour. Like that moment when the hero is almost losing and the cry of his loyal friends come to the rescue.

And so I cried, and cried, and cried. Even choking on my tears was a palpable relief than choking on the pain of the fire. And I kept crying.

Just as she’d done when we were together, she sang to me. The absence of her touch around me was distinct, but only because there was nothing we could do about it. Her voice calmed my breathing, leaving only my sobs.

The fire was still in me, but it was bearable.

We talked, about normal things. She laughed, and at the sound of it, the fire died in a distinct flash. I laughed.

Do you know, beloved? Laughter is a miraculous medicine.

It was the first night of these occurrences that I fall asleep with joyous laughter in my heart, the melodious voice singing in my head as a lullaby, and a contented smile on my lips. Mark the date, love.

It’s a wonderful occasion.