Skip to main content

DINING WITH THE DEVIL: A story on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Hi guys!
So, a new series starts today-and its a fictional piece on post-traumatic stress disorder.
I hope you enjoy it.
Thanks.
------------------------------------------------------------
I.
‘How do you feel, today?’

The silence, was attenuated by the cranking sound of the fan blades as they creaked and cranked, in defiance to the power outage; in the consulting room.

The doctor, I noticed, was beginning to perspire.

I, on the other hand, felt more secure, less exposed in the presence of heat.

He, I mean, the doctor, stood up to open the windows.

Reflexively, I cry out ‘Please don’t.’

I think he must have seen something in my eyes, for he opened his mouth as if he was going to explain the details to me.

Then, he stopped.

He came back to his seat, directly opposite mine.

‘Rolake, its been two and a half years.’

Tears glistened in my eyes, and ran down my cheeks till I was soaked in my ocular fluids.

‘Dr. Phillip…I know. Don’t you think, I know?’

He nodded, as if in understanding.

‘Did you sleep, last night?’

I couldn’t hide from him, dared not lie to him.

I shook my head, in negation.

He sighed. My psychiatrist, sighed.

‘When last, did you have a good night’s worth of sleep?’

I opened my lips, slightly; about to mutter my Hail Mary’s; but then I left it ajar.

No one, had to tell me how I looked. At best, I looked horrible.

Mama Rolz and Kolapo; had left me broken.

‘Do you wish, to talk about it?’

Silence there was, in the consulting room, this afternoon.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

#MONDAY’S PROSE THIS CHILD; ON THE ROAD

Through my myopic eyes, a fleeting image of a little boy is formed on my retina A little boy in a little suit, Treading the familiar bushy routes before him The boy had neither escort nor directives And surely, he needed none For a 4 yr old on the road possesses more maturity than a 10 year old in ‘comfort’ Swiftly, she navigated through cars held in traffic An adventurous smile tugging at her split lips Providing snacks for impatient car-owners And though panting from car-chasing, She had a visible life of passionate content She probably planned to get off the street, Forsake her hypothetical ‘street-urchin boyfriend’, Give up this demeaning way of living, But I feared she wouldn’t! She hadn’t been wired to get off the street And sadly, she was too content to stage a forced exit. Children on the road and teenagers of the road, Not choosing to be this vulnerable Yet hooded and shrouded in the cold, Filled with shreds of hope that the fut...
Post a Comment
Read more

#POETRY# MOMENTS

So, it’s another Monday. Today’s poem is on moments, appreciating them and taking second looks at the seemingly mundane. Enjoy! MOMENTS You never know, you just never know There he was last night, holding your hands, Looking into your eyes with passion beyond expression, And then; here he was this morning, telling a sad tale of never! Who knew love could become so tasteless overnight? It had seemed over in less than a flash; So much for the deep love you shared. Where it all ends, you just never know! Memories of baby’s not so far away childhood, Flickered before her eyes like a dimly lit flame Was it not just last summer she had started crawling? And in what appeared to be less than 24hours, She had walked, jumped and taken sandwiches to school And now, she fit smugly into a graduation gown, cape and all, Her baby was now a grown woman And those memories were all she had left! He stroked her tapered fingers lovingly as he wept by her beds...
Post a Comment
Read more

GOD; will you help?

Isa 66:9 Do I open the womb and not deliver the baby? Picture this: A woman is wheeled into the operating theatre (if you haven’t been in one before, you must have seen one in movies). She has been informed that a caesarian section would be performed on her, for which she has given written consent. And so the obstetrician is poised for surgery. Subsequently, he makes an incision on her abdomen. Cuts through layers of skin, fat, fascia and muscles. Finally, he locates and opens up the uterus. Pause. He says he cannot go on. He is tired of the surgery.  Just too tired to go on. He wants to rest. He removes his gloves and gown, walks out of the suite with the woman still on the table, a breached uterus with a nearly non-viable child, whose rapidly declining heart rate screams in horror, still within. Does this make even the minutest amount of sense? I hope not. Because it doesn’t. Isa 66:9 Do I open the womb and not deliver the baby? Sometimes,...
Post a Comment
Read more