Darkness is like a mother’s womb. Nobody can touch you. Nobody can abuse you. Nobody can certainly see you to do all of the above. You are protected and you are safe.
These are the lines that I feel and repeat to myself to slow down my frantic heart. It is the time of the night, when my dad comes home. Drunk. And angry. His failures are the reason of his low self esteem. His low self esteem is why he is angry. His angriness leads him to alcohol. That drives him to insanely abuse us. My childhood was spent with dark nights beside my little brother. My mother’s desperate measures to protect us from him. She made us sleep with all the lights switched off. It is ironic considering the fact that we have to sleep with lights switched off. I was only 6 years with a 2 year old brother beside me. It was scary and I remember searching the bed beside for my mother. I cried and cried and there was no way out. To my dad’s credit, he never hit me. He hit my mother though, and each blow was punching a hole in me.
I spent 6 years like that. On my 12th birthday, my dad promised he wouldn’t touch his hands on a bottle again. That was the time, I was falling sick often. It was viral fever, and when the fever hits it wrecks every muscle in my body. I would be fine in a few days. But my dad found a reason to be angry. He found a reason to shout and abuse us all the time. My teenage years were spent with me turning to be an angry person myself. The abuse turned me to be like him. My friends were scared to even talk to me. But that didn’t let me to drop down in my studies. I fought through them till my college years.
The demon in my dad resurfaced again when I was 20. The demon was angry to be suppressed. He drank and hit again. This time, all of us. I was called a prostitute even though I wasn’t talking to a single guy then. I was hit black and blue when I was trying to protect my mother. I couldn’t handle all of this, so I escaped from my home.
There were times, even now that I went back to the world of womb again. The darkness was comforting and she calls me to lie down again. To sleep on her lap. She sings me lullabies of bright landscapes and blood rivers. I promise to be with her when the morning ends. I still do. But I wish to see the sun again. Of my laughing mother and the carefree attitude. I still do. That’s my twilight zone.