Inside the crackling fire, pictures of our past burned as though a vengeful spirit was blowing over it. The chilly harmattan dawn did nothing to quell it‘s hunger. Up with the rising smoke, I prayed vehemently - that memories of you would be gone with it.
The ghost of our past has been haunting me. Things done in love, with passion and outmost devotion discarded like a filthy thing. I don’t think I will ever be released from the torment of the things I did because with you it was an experience to live for.
The way you put me on a pedestal, no one else did. You said I was your queen, partner in crime and your “diosa”. Little did I know it had just gotten to my turn to hear those sweet words.
I got addicted to you in a way that I could only rival the guy down the street who ate ganja for breakfast, Meth for lunch and Cocaine for dessert. I was going to sell my estate at your request. I was going to elope with you against my father’s wishes. You had me drunk on stupid, stupid love.
That liquor that left eyes red with pain and burning from no sleep without you. I built a sanctuary for you. Heck, I worshipped the ground you walked on and I would have walked a thousand miles to be united with you any day but you decided that you had had enough of me. I was old cargo. Stupid, stupid love.
Instead of justified anger, I thought I had to prove myself further to you. I did all that, yet you walked away. What felt like a sword to my soul was that you didn’t look back. You said I was being delusional. You said you did not know me. I must be a fanatic of your latest acting gig.
I insisted that we had plans on marrying on an island in Polynesia. You said I was a crazy stalker. You did not even know my first name. I knew yours. You said it was because you were a famous actor. Explain how I know the names of our unborn children if we hadn’t talked about it on a beach in Spain. You said you have never been to Spain before, Liar!
My mum tells me I am having a mental breakdown because I am skipping my medicines. But those medicines makes me so drowsy. She insists I never lived this life I say I lived with you. But that is not true, you know for sure. These pictures have you in them even if they say I downloaded them from the internet or must have taken them from snapping you in public. They cannot be true.
Dr. Amman, that evil man says I lack insight into my illness but I know I am not sick. I am in love. He says he has to increase my medicines if I am going to continue like this. I don’t care any more. Just return my love to me.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
10th October- World Mental Health day
What struggles have you had living with mental illness or being a carer for one who has mental illness?
Comment and Share!
About the Creator
Ewura Ekua Acquah
I grew up on popular story books; was greatly enchanted by the power of books to take you places you haven’t been before and live through experiences of the characters. I wish to take you on such journeys! Stay with me on this magical ride!
Keep reading
More stories from Ewura Ekua Acquah and writers in Psyche and other communities.
The old man at night
The old man at night I saw him again, this night as he dragged his left foot on the cobblestone streets. His gait, a little unsteady with a hunched back and a wooden cane. His face partially covered by a worn out hood and his dirty long ash-gray hair hanging long over his chin. His clothes were that from two nights ago and he probably reeked of alcohol like he did that night.
By Ewura Ekua Acquah3 months ago in Fiction
Christmas is Not Always “Beer and Skittles”
If you find the holiday season challenging, you’re not alone. I have never been a big fan of Christmas. I have always found it a bit pretentious. It is a time for kids, really. I have not had kids in my life, so the "children's influence" around this time of year doesn’t occur.
By Calvin London20 days ago in Psyche
From Surviving to Living: When Rest Becomes an Act of Courage
When Survival Becomes a Lifestyle — And You Forget How to Live There is a quiet shift that happens when survival lasts too long. At first, it’s temporary. You tell yourself, “I just need to get through this phase.” Then weeks become months. Months become years. And without realizing it, survival stops being a response — it becomes a lifestyle. You don’t notice the moment it happens. There’s no clear breaking point. Just a gradual narrowing of life. Your goals become smaller. Your dreams become practical. Your emotions become controlled, managed, muted. You stop asking what brings you joy and start asking what is necessary. What is efficient. What is acceptable. And slowly, living turns into managing. The Hidden Cost of Constant Coping When someone lives in survival mode for too long, their nervous system adapts. It learns to stay alert. It learns to expect pressure. It learns that rest is risky and stillness is unsafe. So even when external threats disappear, the body doesn’t get the message. This is why many people feel exhausted without knowing why. Why calm moments feel uncomfortable. Why success doesn’t bring satisfaction. Why peace feels strangely empty. It’s not because something is missing. It’s because your system was never taught how to receive ease. You learned how to endure. Not how to enjoy. Why Letting Go Feels Harder Than Holding On Letting go sounds simple in theory. But for someone who survived by holding everything together, letting go feels like failure. You weren’t rewarded for resting. You were rewarded for coping. For staying strong. For not needing too much. So your identity formed around function, not feeling. This is why slowing down can trigger anxiety. Why saying “I can’t” feels shameful. Why doing less feels like becoming less. Your worth became linked to effort. And effort became constant. Healing Is Not Becoming Softer — It’s Becoming Safer Healing from long-term survival is not about becoming fragile. It’s about becoming safe. Safe enough to pause without panic. Safe enough to feel without rushing to fix. Safe enough to rest without preparing for collapse. This kind of healing doesn’t happen through motivation or discipline. It happens through permission. Permission to stop performing strength. Permission to disappoint expectations — including your own. Permission to exist without proving anything. At first, this feels unnatural. Because survival trained you to believe that safety must be earned. But safety is not earned. It is allowed. Relearning What Living Actually Feels Like Living is not dramatic. It doesn’t always feel exciting or intense. Sometimes, living feels quiet. Neutral. Ordinary. And for someone used to survival, that can feel unsettling. But calm is not emptiness. It is space. Space to notice yourself again. Space to feel preferences instead of obligations. Space to choose, not react. You don’t suddenly become a new person. You simply return to parts of yourself that were postponed. A Different Measure of Progress Progress is often measured by how much you do. How fast you move. How productive you appear. But healing progress looks different. It looks like stopping before burnout instead of after. Like resting before you collapse. Like saying “enough” without explaining yourself. It looks like choosing sustainability over intensity. Truth over performance. Presence over pressure. This kind of progress is quiet. And because it’s quiet, it’s often overlooked. But it is real. A Closing Truth If survival shaped you, it’s not your fault. You adapted the way you had to. But you are not meant to live your entire life in adaptation mode. You are allowed to soften without losing strength. To rest without guilt. To live without constantly preparing for impact. You don’t need to become more. You need to feel safe enough to be. And that shift — from surviving to living — is not weakness. It is the most honest form of courage there is.
By Med Abdeljabbarabout 15 hours ago in Psyche
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.