(Trigger Warning)
I PUSH PAST THE ANNOYING strangers who are in my way. I hate how crowded Nairobi streets can get. I just need some fucking air, and empty fields around me.
Obviously, I'm not in the best of moods today.
I can feel the sun's heat on my face as I make my way to the shop. There's sunlight, yet everything manages to look so... grey.
I've noticed that things always seem to be moving in slow motion whenever the world is 'without color'. It's like a veil has been lifted and I can only see reality. I see strangers who are like me. Whose eyes hold no life. People who are alive but no longer living. And I often wonder how good people are at pretending to be okay whilst their life is literally falling apart. And how no one gives a shit at the same time either.
"Can I get 2 razor blades please? How much is one?"
"10 shillings," the shopkeeper replies.
"Okay cool."
I keep them in my blue oversized jacket pocket and rack my brain trying to remember what it was that my mother needed from the store. It's like I'm physically here, but I'm not. The world around me is blurring and shimmering as if quite not there. When someone speaks to me, I look at them and acknowledge what they're saying, but my mind is still blank and static. My head is spinning but there's nothing in there at the same time.
My mother was right, I think, I would've made a horrible doctor.
Oh right, a packet of milk.
I finally make my way back home. My chest feels so heavy. I haven't shed a single tear yet. I can't. Not again. I can't feel all that again.
Breathing is worse. I'm not sure if it's in my head, but it hurts every time I breathe. The simple action of taking air into and out of my lungs hurt. And I can't stand it anymore.
Every breath I take is a harsh reminder of my reality. Of everything I've managed to lose over the past few months. Of the underlying factor that seems to always be a part of me.
Memories and frustrations and pain take over in my mind, and I wish I could flip an off switch to give myself some inner peace.
They made me like this. They tore my heart apart then made it look like an accident. They made me become something that I was never meant to be.
They broke me.
Bitter tears stream down my face and I clench my fists as I think about it. Some may think that their hands are clean, but I know the truth. I know what happened because I was there. They did this to me. They have my blood smeared all over their perfect little hands.
My thoughts unceremoniously revert to the sharp pain in my chest. I feel like I'm having a heart attack, but I'm a paramedic, so I should know better. It's all in my head.
I try to take deep breathes to calm myself. I'm not dying. I'm not dead.
I'm not dead.
I'm alive, and I'm bound to feel the pain, sooner rather than later. I can't escape it. I know this from experience.
But I can postpone it.
My eyes feel sore from holding back the tears that I won't let fall and my chest feels as if the hulk himself is crushing my heart into a million pieces after putting his hand through my chest.
I take the bottle of spirit and some cotton wool. Hey, at least I'm being safe about it.
I can't help but remember the familiar feeling the piercing of my skin brings me. I'm not sure what to think of it, if it makes me weak, if my actions are justifiable.
I feel like a coward. But I've been down that road, where it hurts too much, and I choose to not go down it again. Not anytime soon anyway.
I wince as the fresh blood slowly pours out through my now open wound. After several attempts at diverting my pain, I find myself sitting there, motionless. With a tear streaked face and a blood soaked thigh. I can't even remember when I started crying. God, I'm pathetic.
It feels like I'm drowning.
And,
I'm just trying to stay afloat.
