Her FaceBook Friend

“Self-harm is not a disease. It’s a spell that is cast on us in the weakest moments.” [Jacqueline]

….

[Jacqueline’s pov]

Sometimes I love that time pa**es. That it won’t stop for anyone. Because sometimes getting through a night alive is the most audacious thing. Like last night I felt the need to just kill myself. The need to remove the pain of these sufferings. Is death that horrible? Or is it because people have never been able to get through the real hidden secret of it that they blubber against deaths. Have you ever felt that? The feeling of just get the day over. So you won’t have to stay in the same place that is hurting you? Huh. What I am even asking, everyone, does feels that. Not just sometimes. But various times.

After I returned home, I found Daddy hitting Mummy again. Her cries in agony pierced my heart. Her tears doing nothing just shattering my heart.

‘Does anyone deserve this? Even if she had mental disorders. She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.’

The thoughts lined up in the back of my head and I clenched my fists. It seems the few men I have had the pleasure of having in my life had a knack for violence. First my dad and then Jaan and then Rohan.

“Please Stop punching her dad. Why are you hitting her?”

He turned around, his black eyes blazing in fury and I drew in a sharp breath to maintain the facade of courageous girl. A word that has nothing to do with me. While in truth I was too scared to even match his glare.

“She had cooked this egg curry instead of vegetables, and on top of that, she had screamed her lungs out that I have swapped her cooked dish with someone else. This crazy s***ty woman.”

“She is ill dad. Please leave her.”

“He had swapped my dish with a neighbor Leila  I swear.”

I ignored her a**ertion. In schizophrenia, people create their imaginations which lead them to believe in it.

“Shh. Please mo. I mean Aunty.”

“Aunty?” His angry voice reverberated through the yellow walls of the verandah and I shivered.

“Please, Dad. Stop it.”

ADVERTISEMENT

her Aunty? And who is

“Dad, please.”

landed on my face and

me? I am not paying for your

bit

are living on his money. You

throwing at us. After an hour when he was too tired to speak, he ordered me to fetch a gla** of water for him, and I the

my life I won and understood that the strength of silence and preference gives

left home maybe for eating food in

in their home will agree with me, that when they leave home it

bad, I asked whether she was hungry. She nodded her head and I

little hoarse from all the

I. I. Prepared. He threw it on the road, before he. He started hitting me. And I think the utensils

surprised I walked to the door to check if

it was a large stainless steel pot and the curry s***tered all over the street coloring the road in yellow. While a few dogs were eating up the eggs happily. My

it up. Tears falling from my eyes to

ADVERTISEMENT

Did Dad throw the curry here? Or was

sharply as I wiped the tears from

I turned around looking at her with a half-smile. Her tall form towering above mine, yellow street light shining on her square-shaped

that my voice would

towards me. Her black eyes filling with

Jacky! Did

in realization. I didn’t want to speak because I knew if I did my voice will

Mumbling a small no. Because I wasn’t able to express to her what has happened without

night after preparing a potato curry for mom and her I retired to my room. I wasn’t hungry. Not even a bit. Hah! Who would be? If they are slapped

had tried asking me what happened but I simply chose to ignore her making her feel like I was

father when he used to beat us for every single thing that happened badly. As if we were responsible for his misery. The thoughts of self-harm

the use of this life? If I am only going to suffer? Maybe death would make me feel peace! Maybe I will be happy there. Maybe everyone’s sufferings will end! Maybe dad will finally realize to

table wanting to slice it through my wrist. Tears