Trying To Heal

Chapter Twenty-Four

April

Imagine being popular in your school for attempting suicide. Ha. Could never be me. The teachers treat you differently. Polite, nicer, nonchalant. Heads turn at your saunters, gossip escalating, strangers approaching to apologise and express their sympathy. The pity is loathful.

Astonishingly, Aasvhi followed me to my lockers. "Are you okay?" she asked.

I ignored her, focused on the insides of my locker. I wore my headphones. She must have assumed I did not hear. The second she gently touched my shoulder, I flinched in repulsion, molested at a vision of those fucking boys.

Aashvi's eyes are enlarged, her heavy pants wafting onto my nose. The action was a haze. It takes me a second to decipher my hand clutched tightly around her throat, her body harshly pinned to the blue metals. The vision is of Bodie now. I closed my eyes. Sweet, sweet Bodie. Willing to be a friend of a friend of his oppressors. His heart was so clean, so saintly, I was incredibly tempted to tighten my grip, to make it painful.

My arm drops. "Don't touch me." Fear rigidifies her cheeks as I step closer. "Don't talk to me. If you come near me again, I'll break your arms next."

I decided to have a dedicated routine. I discipline myself thoroughly to abide by it, until my body does it for me. The hour before sleep, I do not go on my phone or any electronics. I read a book, snuggled in my bed or on the windowsill. In that hour, I also pray to God.

My conversations with God are not for the weak. I spilled out everything. I start off the conversations with gratitude. Of the smallest things, of the biggest things. Sometimes, the grateful sensations are lacking, although I convince myself that simply verbalising them out loud is more than enough. I tell God what I do not appreciate. I hate what is happening to me. I hate this gloomy, depressed mood. I hate how awful the world is. I demand God what I want: to love myself. I want to be secure in my own space, and even if I get bored, I want to train myself to overcome that boredom. Because boredom is spiteful.

I weep, I silently scream, I cry more. I let it all out of my system. In the first hour after I wake up, I continue that method of not touching electronics. In fact, my phone is switched off and hidden in the kitchen. I would feel too lazy to go downstairs.

I meditate for ten minutes. I try to calm my mind. I thank for another day, even if it feels forced.

I sit there, on my bed, gaping at the ceiling. I used to wait for this hour to finish, but then I decided to make the best use and familiarise myself with it. I reflect on what I want to solidify in the coming day, establishing the little goals. I will continue reading the book. So far I finished two books in a week.

All of this work is what I feel is the personality of my better version. I took my time to figure out her charisma. She is a woman of power, motivation and confidence, a white outlining her as a halo. She is in a white gown, gold laurels adorning her as a crown, gold jewels embelling her neck, henna embroidering her arms, and rings of the divine on her fingers. Her feet are bare. You would assume she is gliding by how graceful she walks. She reads to gain knowledge. Knowledge is key. She would exercise to be energetic, meditate to face her thoughts, accept them and replace them with invigorating ones. She loves challenges. She loves how the determination gives her a nice high, adrenaline spiking her body. She takes care of herself well.

I adjust to that aspiration. Everyday, I convince myself that I am her, and she is me. I stride the roads, the hallways, with the beliefs that blessings are always coming my way. It is delusional at first. Your mind is not used to such a change, such a work, but in thirty days it will install it as a truth. Lies are not dangerous. Lies are not a sin. I used to think these were lies. In fact, they are. But eventually, I believe them. I accepted them.