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DINING WITH THE DEVIL: A Story on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder


II.
My names, given to me by Papa and Mama Rolz; are Omowunmi Morolake Elizabeth Shodiya.
Professional competence sets me as a lawyer of the Federal High Court of Nigeria.
I, haven’t seen the 4 walls of a law court in over 2 years.
It seems as fresh, as this moment, when it’d all happened.
I was called to bar 4 years ago; a budding lawyer of about 26 years of age. I had high prospects- which I do not know if I’d ever regain; for all that consumes me is this experience, that left my heart shattered.
It recurs in my dreams; and so sleep is not my lot.
30 minutes into sleep, like an alarm clock, I wake up wailing.
My psychiatrist helps me understand, that staying away from the court of law is an avoidance symptom.
It sure is.
Who, wants to visit, the place of their pain?
I remember my dream from 2 nights ago.
This time, he waswielding a knife in one hand, a shotgun in the other.
With the shotgun pointed at my wig, he’d slashed my wrist in one swift motion.
I came to, and when I did, I was soaked in sweat, gut wrenching cries emanating at the top of my lungs.
My sister, was beside me, looking at me with a mixture of horror and pity.
‘Sister Rolz…Sister Rolz, It’s Ok; It’s Ok’
I panted heavily, as if returning from a 100metres dash.
I gave Kemi, a horror-filled look.
‘Kemi…he had a shotgun pointed, at my head!’
I muttered continuously, barely audible against the noise of generators in the background.
‘Shhh…go back to sleep.’
My eyes, were frightened.
My heart, filled with sympathetic stimulation.
But, I released Kemi; pretending to be asleep.
What, sleep?

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