I sit at the darkest corner of my room shivering and shaking, teeth chattering and my entire body surrenders to the quivers. I cannot begin to explain just how much I want out of this. But I can’t wake up. I have no strength to open my eyes, to allow myself to breathe. My nightmare is all about how claustrophobic, neophobia, anthrophobia, monophobia and hell knows what else. It’s about my inability to face every aspect of my long lost life.
Monophobia is about the worst of all my fears. I detest being and feeling alone. But that’s what he has reduced me to. I barely see my family or my friends. Hell, the only friends I have are his friends, our snorting pals. He calls me his Nessy. But I don’t feel beautiful in that possession. Because everyday is about survival as his. Last night we got back home and I all but died. I am yet to heal. His kicks are painful. He’s a bulky man with toned muscles. One of the charms I fell for.
I’m anthrophobic. Not because I am not social. But all the people I’ve met after him have been nothing but bullies. Sometime last year, Frank, his friend, left several imprints of his fat palms on my face, several times a week. His excuse was that he’d been put in charge of me while he was away. So have Al and Ron. At least those I can remember.
He locks me in the closet if he deems I have transgressed. His little house barely holds all the things he owns. But he still crams me in the damn closet and locks it. For hours on end. No food. No water. I wish I could run. But I can’t. He’s all I have. And I know behind everything else is a man that is deficient in self confidence and esteem. So closed spaces scare me.
Some judge me. I judge me. But my deep fear of trying out new things does not allow me to free myself. Over the months, I tried to reduce how much blow we do or you know, buy. Last I did that, he made sure I couldn’t walk for two weeks. The kicks and punches are nothing compared to the words he spewed.
It’s his birthday today. I’m leaving him today. But just one more final blow session. Then I’ll walk away. Or hide. He comes to my little bedsitter. His friends also are here. Few hours in, he asks me to take more. More than I have before. I refused. I have never seen him so livid. That is the moment I knew. My precious man was just a shadow of who he was. A shadow of the man I fell in love with. He blamed me for purposefully killing our baby girl. When he was there. We were too high to notice she was sick. We took her to hospital too late. My baby girl died. And that is the day I also died.
He was my family. He was all I had. But I know he’d kill me. Not because he knows it but because he can’t think of anything apart from his next fix. I need help. But I’ll deal with that tomorrow. Today I am alive. That’s all I need.
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