❝i wish you could feel just
how heavy i am all the time
sometimes when i smile,
i bite my lip so i don't cry.❞
MAY 10,
ten days after the funeral.
AFTER
the anger, it was mutism that took over nisha. she had been silent for a few days now, feeling nothing. it was a strange feeling if it was one. nisha had been told a lot of things after the funeral about death. she had been told about the crying, the wet pillow, the pain that tightened the throat to the point of suffocation. she had also been told about the pity in people's eyes, the looping memories, the need for comfort, and the swollen eyes. but there was also the blame, for oneself and others. the feeling of being angry at the whole world. the questions, why him and not someone else? why now and not later?
she had been warned about many things, so many that it was impossible to make a complete list. one thing, however, was always missing. the emptiness.
why did not we ever talk about emptiness? the one that paralysed. the one that made you lose interest in life. the one that prevented you from getting up in the morning. the one that set life on pause. the one that made you see in black and white. the one that made you a vulgar shadow of what you used to be, wandering day after day, now looking for an ounce of meaning to life. the one that made you lose your spark.
this emptiness, what was so different about it, so repulsive that it was not on the list?
was it because not feeling anything was terrifying? more terrifying than suffering? was it better to keep quiet? was it better to let the tears flow than to not have any? was it better to try to get over it and get back to a normal life knowing that he would never be there again? or was it better to stay cooped up in a room and wait for time to pass, telling ourselves that nothing was worth it anymore? was it better, was it better, was it better, was it better what?
that was what nisha wondered as she stared at the same fixed spot on her ceiling for the past five days, barely moving. it had been a while since she seemed to have blinked, a simple gesture that required far too much effort for the weakened state she was in. not even her throat, dry from dehydration, or her stomach, rumbling from hunger could get her to stand up. she was unable to do so. her mouth was half-open, letting in the thin stream of air that kept her from joining him, her father. now and then, she would wiggle a toe, to make sure she was still alive, that she existed. not moving for hours at a time made her doubt herself.
why did not she sense anything?
the internet said that she was protectively reacting in this way to be cut off from her emotions, as a defence mechanism to counter the violence that had been eating away at her a few days ago. a kind of concrete layer had been placed between her and reality in order not to face it. it was what dr. christian wrote on his blog, but the last sentences he added did not please nisha at all.
'if, on the other hand, the absence of emotions persists after weeks, months, or even a year... it means that something is blocked in the mourning process. in this case, you need to consult.'
nisha didn't need help, it was all nonsense. anyway, her father had always told her not to believe everything that was written on the internet, and nisha always listened to her father.
she didn't understand why this blockage had to fall on her. nisha would like to cry, scream, and shout out in pain to the world, but she was unable to do so. an invisible force prevented her from doing so. how could one fight the invisible, if not?
it was often said that after experiencing a trauma, you became someone new, that you made a whole new start, a whole new life. yet, since her father's death, nisha had only felt herself sinking more and more, leaving a piece of her soul behind with each passing hour. she couldn't help but wonder if she kept going on like this, would she soon disappear?
she hoped so.
she just wanted to be left alone, that people stop talking to her. everything irritated her. everything bothered her. even the sunshine, which she used to love so much, upset her. so she shut her shutters and promised herself she would never open them again. her phone had almost shattered last night against the wall when it was just ringing. people were worried about her, but she didn't care. she didn't want to answer the pity messages that people had sent her. she didn't want to reply to jude.
nisha just wanted to sleep until everything was fine, and that's what she did. yet, every time she woke up, she was in the same state. weak. so weak. oh, how weak she was. she pitied herself without needing the eyes of others. if her father saw her like that, he would surely be ashamed of the way she let herself go. even so, it didn't get her out of bed. she used to be so alive. she wasn't even a shadow of her former self, but she no longer existed.
nisha wanted many things, except to try to get better.
unlike her, her mother was strong: every morning she would get up, and nisha would hear the slats of her bed creaking in the next room. her footsteps would move away to the kitchen before she would reach over and place a glass of water and breakfast on the edge of her daughter's bed, even if she barely touched it. rebecca would slip her a gentle word or two and sigh discreetly when no reaction or glance was forthcoming. then she would close the door behind her and get into her car to go to work before returning home at night exhausted. she did everything the same way she did before. someone who did not know her could almost believe that she had not just lost the man of her life a little over two weeks ago. but nisha would often hear her crying her eyes out at night, though her tears were muffled in her pillow.
but not even her mother's grief could make her feel anything. nisha was an empty shell. an empty heavy shell. she had nothing left to offer.
by leaving, her father had blown out the flame that shone in his daughter's eyes, and only the dark and suffocating ashes could be found here. and unfortunately, nobody seemed to carry the match to light it again. or at least, that is what she assumed.
— notes.
kind of boring but i need
to get the story right :/
also keep going i posted
a second chapter ;)
