1799 Views |  14

The little prawn. by Dina Agape

She just wanted to dodge the roller-coaster of life. One leap and she fell straight down the rabbit hole.

They latched on to her as she stood alone on the threshold of her house. Closed the door behind her. Took away her mask. Unleashing her hair.

Ripped apart her clothes. Ravaging her heart, her spirit, her soul. Turned self-loving to self-loathing. Sliting her wrists. No letting up. Passed out. Pause.

She was lying there in the dark like a little prawn all curled up. She had been crying for hours unable to move. Tears were her only connection to the real world. Otherwise she was gone.
Torn and blown somewhere between a projection of a crappy future and an enchained haunting past. « Both of them too heavy !», she thought.
Darkness started surrounding her.
She was unable to escape the moment and unable to escape her thoughts.
No one.
Help !
Silence. Just the noise of pedestrians and cars in the streets.
Busy city.
Busy mind.
Empty heart.
No desire.
Frightening !
Heavy atmosphere.
Thick air.
She tried to control her breath…
Out of reach…
It was as difficult as climbing mount Everest for a crippled…on a first try !!!!
She gave up… What else could she do ? She remembered all those proverbs about letting go. How ? She couldn’t even catch her breath !!!
She wanted to scream her anger, her fear, her violence, her untold resentment, everything she thought she could never express in public.
Way too embarassing !
She thought about everything people could say about her « What ? How could she ? She was so nice, always laughing, always smiling, always pleasing ».
Always wearing a fucking scarring mask, yeah ! She was used to hiding her vulnerability behind humour and laughter.
« Fuck ! Fuck ya’ll ! Fuck me ! Fuck God ! Can’t You hear me ? Can You hear my despair ? Are You way too busy ? She shouted pounding her fists on the floor. Do You even love me ? Am I a mistake ? » All these sentences came repeatedly like a bad mantra with burning tears that would flood her face. She wished her face would melt off that way and make her disappear.

Mr Depression and Mr Anxiety reveled in her suffering. They knew the silence was hard to face. They knew she would try to reach for something bad to soothe her either by numbing with drugs, alcohol, overfeeding, or by imagining her death. She fantasized about that a lot, staring at her kitchen knife, reaching for her sleeping pills. She wanted to question death to validate her life. They had cornered her.

Please !
Her mind was not at ease but somehow she was so exhausted that it shut the door on her.

-No need to stick around with this crazy bitch yelling repeatedly, said  her mind ironically. When she’s done, call me back. Will see what we can do. If there’s any left to do. She seems to LUV Mr Anxiety and Mr Depression. Let her have her threesome tonight… Again…

Her vision became blurry. She did not try to see nor clean up all the wounds and bruises on her body, heart, mind and soul.

If she had to show herself in public… Hide evidences like slit wrists, red swollen eyes or foggy mind behind her prepared mask and protective shield.
If there is a tomorrow…
But for now…

She stayed like a little prawn on the floor.
Mental got it wrong : it was not love nor a threesome unless a sadomasochist one of that. It was a fight. A dirty one of that. She was unable to keep balance and stand while Mr Anxiety pushed her fiercely back with « what ifs » and other ferocious questions all regarding the future (« what are you going to do ? », « How are you going to lead your life ? », « How are you going to pay the rent ? », « Will you find the love of your life giving your past? », « Are you sure such thing exists ? »,
« What were you born for ? »). Somehow they were relevant questions but in her state, impossible for her to riddle. She felt as if she stood before the sphinx unable to answer and unable to move yet wanting to go forward.
But Mr Anxiety was not the only one giving her a hard time. While he was pushing back, Mr Depression had a wonderful time making her trip forward. Many times she tried to reach out for her phone for help. But pride and shame stopped her on her way. SHE let them in !
She was all curled up like a little prawn on the floor.
Protective withdrawal
Trying to stretch, to get up. Every bit of her sore. But there is no recess for Mr Depression and Mr Anxiety. They bask in their glory. The rougher the better.
Rung round two : Mr Depression grabbed and tied her arms and ankles dragged the nothingness that the little prawn had become to the bed while Mr Anxiety would hop on her. Pounding her hard.
She was in for a wild night… Again…
But as surely as she let them in, she would find a way to sweep them out and dance on their ashes ! Eventually…
But not tonight…

Photo credit: Lilya Sabatier