ADAM'S CURE

One | Memory

ADAM

I took a deep breath as I stood by the large glass window of Peter West' s office. My hands inside my pockets as my mind strayed. The depressing thoughts plagued me and kept me restless. I left the office earlier for this session but my mind wasn't into this. My mind in constant havoc.

I felt like a completely different person. As if I was trapped in another dimension. It was like living inside someone else's body. And the strange behaviors I couldn't explain, kept me wondering all night long.

My mood swings worsened over time. Nightmares haunted my sleep. Memory lapses and compulsions made me uneasy.

Twice, I found myself in an abandoned apartment with a woman. Although an intelligent man could suspect what had occurred, I couldn't believe the obvious. I couldn't recall anything.

My heart that beat in calm rhythm was the opposite of the turmoil in my head.

You have a multiple-personality disorder. Peter had told me a few days back.

It didn't surprise me. I suspected it and my symptoms matched with the research I gathered prior to my first consultation.

"How do you feel today?" His voice snatched me back to present.

Without turning, I answered.

"Confused and tired."

Those words were the very description of the slump of my shoulders, the frown and exhausted expression I wore on my face, and my strangled voice.

"You should take some time off, free your mind with stress, and talk as much as possible with your family. It'll help you relieve the depression." He suggested.

Family.

The word froze my heart. My lips thinned as I thought of them. How could they help when their own lives were a mess as mine.

The reason behind such a misfortune was still like the missing link I'd been trying to solve in my mind.

I grew up with my father. He'd worked at the construction and barely made it to dinner. Although he wasn't the kind of father who beat the hell out of his son, he barely cared. All he had cared about was his second wife, Brenda.

I never really hated the fact of him getting another wife since I'd never known my mother. As a child, I thought I hit the jackpot to finally have someone I can call a mother who could take care of me and probably persuade my father to send me to school.

"Waste of money!" He yelled at me once.

When Brenda came I thought he'd change his mind but she was worst than anyone else I knew. She had taken the role of being the mistress of the house and made my life a living hell. Father knew it all but he couldn't do anything especially when I'd seen how dreamy-eyed he had been because of that bitch.

She'd beat me mostly because she couldn't get her way. Slapping, punching, and kicking me like a piece of breathing trash.

Despite my father being around, he hadn't paid much thought about taking my side or even shielding my body from all the attacks coming my way.

I hated them both. And even when I thought of it now, the pain was still raw.

I clenched my fist inside my pocket and reminisced.

I would go to drug store and people would look and almost tempted to ask how I got those bruises. But like my father, none of them had the courage to help.