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

are you calling her Aunty? And who is

“Dad, please.”

face and I tumbled

to raise your voice on me? I am not paying for your a** just

I bit my lip to stop them

You are living on his money. You can not

throwing at us. After an hour when he was too tired to speak, he

did for the first time in my life I won and understood that the strength of silence and preference

he left home maybe

will agree with me,

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

little hoarse from all the crying while she hiccuped in completing a

before he. He started hitting me. And I think the utensils would

my body shook from her words. Visibly surprised I walked to

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 eyes stung at

Tears falling from my eyes to the

ADVERTISEMENT

throw the curry here? Or

as I wiped the tears from my

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

that my voice

she stepped towards me. Her black

Jacky!

didn’t want to speak because I knew if I did my voice will betray

walked up to the gate. Mumbling a small no. Because I wasn’t able to

my room. I wasn’t hungry. Not even a bit. Hah! Who would be? If they are slapped a tenth of times

tried asking me what happened but I simply chose to ignore her making her feel like I was too busy to answer her questions. That way at least one of us would be able

without a concrete reason. Because she was mentally unstable. And then to my 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 consumed my mind

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

slice it through my wrist. Tears shedding on the shinier part of