Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola. 😀
Due to no wifi and other circumstances, I will not be able to post during the holidays. Hope you all understand. Next post will be up on the 19th of April InshAllah. Remember me in your duaas (prayers) and I hope you all have an awesome holiday! Until then..
Troubled Illusioner. ❤
A peek into the past – Rameez:
“And how did you feel when you saw him?”
I contemplate the question, fiddling with my fingers in my lap.
The road to recovery is never an easy one..
It is my fourth day at the therapist, 2 weeks since I’ve been home, and we have seemingly made no progress so far.
The nightmares haven’t stopped.
The anger hasn’t subsided.
The hate hasn’t decreased.
The tiredness feels like it will never go away; ever.
My mind.. my mind is an absolute mess.
I shrug, briefly looking up at the woman in front of me.
“Terrified?” I say, but it comes out more like a question.
“Terrified that he might not be alive?” she asks, watching me like a hawk.
I nod, running my fingers through my hair uncomfortably.
A knock sounds on the door just then.
“Come in,” says the woman.
“Mr Varachia’s parents are here,” the person says, peeking her head in slightly.
“Okay,” she acknowledges. “We’re almost done.”
The door closes softly, and for a moment it’s quiet.
Then the woman addresses me again, explaining to me what we still need to work on.
“How long will it take?” I ask.
“How ever long you want it to take, Rameez. Remember what I told you during our first session. It’s all about your mindset. Once you get that right, you’re already halfway there.”
I sigh, nodding slowly.
“It’s just.. it’s so difficult,” I say softly, my voice suddenly hoarse.
I don’t see the brief flicker of surprise, at my willing confession, on her face, because my gaze is concentrated on my lap again.
She picks up her pen quickly as I speak again, a sudden feeling to just let everything out, to say what is on my mind, to speak my feelings with a tinge of hope that she might understand.
“And unfair. It’s so unfair that they get to treat someone how ever they want to, just because they want something, and no one will do anything about it. It’s unfair that they get what they want at the expense of someone else being left without even their own identity. I.. sometimes, I don’t even know who I am anymore. It’s pretty f***** up.. not being able to feel… normal? I can’t even talk to my friends about it, because they wouldn’t.. well, they wouldn’t understand. And my parents.. my dad himself is going through probably double what I am. He hasn’t said what happened to him from the time they got hold of him.. but I don’t think I could even bear to hear it. Everything affected my mum too, obviously. We barely speak. I feel like she’s upset with me. Things are my fault in many ways, so I don’t blame her. But.. I don’t think I can go on much longer like this. I can’t live like this. I don’t want to. It’s just so.. so shit. I don’t feel like getting up in the morning. I don’t enjoy things I used to. I.. there’s.. it’s like there’s nothing to life anymore. Sometimes I wish they’d have just killed me…”
The lump in my throat grows bigger, and suddenly I find it difficult to breathe. Hot tears roll down my cheeks as I speak, all the vent up emotions finally escaping after two weeks of fighting them off, pushing them down, sealing them away.
Burying my face into my hands, I sob like a little child, not caring about the woman in front me watching.
I don’t notice her picking up the phone on her desk and speaking softly into it.
I don’t hear the door opening a few minutes later.
I don’t notice his presence until he’s kneeling in front of me, gently prying my hands off my face.
I bury my face into my father’s chest, clinging onto him for my dear life, as I let the strong waves of my emotions crash through me.