The Cure

My life was a mess. There were voices in my head telling me to go and get something sharp and stab myself to death. Most times they mutter and whisper like mosquitoes near my ear convincing me to stay awake when all I really want is to sleep. Some days they’re screaming like a banshee shrieking, commanding me to cut myself until I bleed to death. I call those days, “hell days”. In those days, I think of things, beautiful things. I think of butterflies fluttering on a field of red roses, Christmas lights flickering and fairies giggling on their unicorns. It’s just a matter of time when all these beautiful things transform to something so terrifying. The colorful butterflies devoured by the things I thought were roses. I can hear their cries. Their wings shattered. The Christmas lights flickered for the last time electrocuting everyone. I can smell their skin burning. I can see how they try to fight it. I can see the pain in their eyes as their life slowly fades away. The fairies? I watched them shed their skin. I saw how they rip their porcelain skin showing their true form. Blisters, wounds, warts. They turn into witches. Their faces so horrifying that I close my eyes, pinching myself so I could wake up. Their unicorns turn into hell-hounds. I’m shaking. My knees clanking like cymbals meeting each other twice as fast as it normally meets. In my hell days I try to scream but no sound comes out of my mouth. In my hell days, I try to sleep but there’s no sheep left to count. All I see is the wolf consuming all of them. Luckily, sometimes I fall asleep. I fall asleep when I drink too much alcohol that it stays in my system for a number of days. I try to breathe but every breath I take is a punch to my lungs. No matter how hard I try to stay strong, I always end up bursting into tears.

For years silence was a stranger to my mind. Silence was a fairy tale. Silence was the belief of Santa Claus that never comes down the chimney. He never came.

All these changed when I met this boy. He’s nowhere near the Prince Charming you see in fairy tales. He’s so much more. No steed to take me away as we rode towards the sunset. He came like rain after a long period of drought and famine. You might think he’s perfect but no. That’s the thing I like the most about him. He is not perfect. He’s as imperfect as I am. He’s as broken as I am. He’s as disturbed as I am. He’s as twisted as I am. I love the way his eyes disappear when he laughs. I love the way his voice sounds in the morning. I love the way he speaks my name whenever he says he loves me. I love the way he puts me in a state of nirvana. Of all the things I love about him, what I love the most is that he made my mind quiet. He cast away all the demons inside my head. My mind is in peace now that I am with him. That is his greatest gift to me. He is the greatest gift I have ever received.