Surviving The Blues

31

The faint voices of people around me talking happens every so often. One doctor says it was an anxiety attack. The psychiatrist asks my father a series of question. He concludes he will need to prescribe me medication. My father doesn't push back. It's the first. He's not a believer in mental health issues.

When I am fully aware of my surroundings and what I did, I instantly begin to scream, my arms flailing. I bang my head on the railing of the bed several times before I am sedated. The yells of my father telling me to calm down didn't work. Hours later, I react again. The doctors are convinced I need to be admitted to the psych ward for observation. They fear that I am a threat to myself. I spend days medicated. My father comes in at visiting hours every day .

When they slowly down my dosage, I am able to talk to him. "They'll keep you here if you react the same way again." He tells me. The bags under his eyes are more prominent than usual. His under eyes are so dark. "Baby please." He tries to plead.

"I killed them." My weak voices says. A single tear rolls down my face. "I never knew I had to be afraid of the police. I heard stories..."I pause. My voice is raspy. "But I never thought it could happen to me." Another tear rolls down mu cheek. "If I did, I wouldn't have questioned them. You always told me to know my rights and I just told them that they weren't suppose to ask us for ID."

"Faith-"

"They said they were going to arrest us. One of them had my hands behind my back and it started to pop out like it does. Titus tried to tell him to stop. He told him he was hurting me." I heave, rushing out the story. "Then it popped out. It popped out and Titus broke out of the other cop's hold in an attempt to stop the cop holding me. The cop threw him on the ground and started to choke him. Chris joined in and the cop let me go. He pulled his gun. He pulled his gun and not his taser. It's my fault. I shouldn't have gotten smart with the cop. I should have been quiet and compliant. I thought I was being respectful. I shouldn't be allowed to speak. I shouldn't be allowed to live. Daddy, I deserve to die."

He's standing next to me. "Faith, don't say that shit."

"No. It's true. They should be alive and I should be dead."

"Journer-"

"He threw himself on top of me. I should be dead." I turn around in my bed so I don't have to look at him anymore. "Can you please leave?"

"Faith, I can't just leave you alone."

"It's fine. You shouldn't take so much time off. You'll get fired. Don't get fired because of me." I tell him.

"Don't be like that."

"Please?" I plead.

I hear him sigh. "I'll be back in a few hours." He says after a while.

I close myself willing myself to sleep. I know it's the only time I won't feel the way I do now. I wish I could go back to a time where I didn't remember.

"Faith." A voice calls waking me up instantly. I sit up instantly. "Relax, it's me" He says.

"Dad?" I squint. "What time is it?"

"Five."

"You should have came back tomorrow instead."

"Nah, this can't wait."

"What are you talking about?"

He sighs.  "I ain't do right by you." He says. "I am sorry, Faith." He bites his lips before he speaks again. He seems to be hesitating on what he's going to say. "You gon stay with your moms for a bit." He looks down. It's the first time he hasn't been able to meet my eyes.

"If you are trying to make me laugh, it isn't fitting for you." I tell him.

"This ain't no joke. All this is my fault. I messed up."

"Dad, it wasn't funny the first time. Why are you continuing the joke? I don't have a mother."

"How many times I told you stop saying that shit?" He scolds and I blink at his reaction. "Sorry." He mumbles. He doesn't mumble. He hates mumbling. He lectured me every time I do it. "I called your mom. She came out here."

"This isn't funny." I insist.

"He isn't joking." A voice says. She appears from behind him.

The lighter skin woman with freckles littered all over her faces fixes her eyes on me. Her eyes are red and puffy as if she has been crying. She's tall, just three feet shorter than my 6'3 father. She has the figure of a woman who exercises regularly. Her body is slender, yet curvy. She would be defined as my generation's definition of 'slim thick'. Her body is very proportional. Her loose curls are out, reaching just below her shoulders. It's my first time ever seeing her person for sixteen years. She looks different from the woman I had seen in my baby pictures. Still, I knew exactly how she looked. Her face is plastered all over the internet. Her name is in just about every fashion magazine.

My father clears his throat. "Journer, this is your mother, Josephine Blackman. Jo, this is Faith."

She begins to walk closer to my bed. I am in shock. It isn't like other people's version of being in shock when seeing her. The Josephine Blackman they know is a fashion icon. She's a designer that prides herself on making fashion items that are environmental conscious. Just last year, she launched a shoe line made completely from waste found in the ocean. I've seen people at my school wearing shoes from her line. Her Brandi  a luxury brand which meant that I always saw people buying her things. So yes, a normal person's would shock would end in a pleasant reaction. It's not the same for me. The Josephine Blackman I know abandoned her eighteen month old baby.

"Don't come any closer." She stops in her tracks. I see her face contort. "Is there something wrong with me?" I ask. It's a rhetorical question. "Am I that hard to love? Why does everyone throw me away?" I sniffle. "I've been good my whole life. I've always kept it together. Why throw me away now I am defective? Why her of all people? She doesn't want me. She has never wanted me. Now you don't even want me."

My father approaches the bed. "Don't you ever say that shit again." He orders. "I love you. You the most most important thing in my life. I wouldn't have called her if I didn't love you." He sits in the bed and place both of his hands on my arms and looks into my eyes. "I messed up, okay? I said shit to you I shouldn't have and I made you just as fucked up as I am. Don't be mad at your mom Faith. There's a lot you don't know. All you need to know that it's my fault. I didn't let her see you. I told her she couldn't." He sighs. "Just... Please... Just help me out. I can't lose you Faith. You all I got."

I reach out and use my thumb to wipe the one stray tear that falls from his eye. It's just one, but I've never seen my father cry. When he was stabbed that one time when I was little, he didn't cry. He's an advocate against crying or any emotion at all. "Alright. Just for you." I say lowly.

"Just for a bit." He says.