Child of Adversity

Delve into the mind of a girl who tries to escape her own.

The poor old youngster, she was deteriorating by the second. This, of course was evident only to her doctor and herself. Her doctor, an unfairly handsome Israeli fellow in his early thirties had declared her “the most problem riddled patient he had seen to date”.

 

“Well, you popped right out of school just about yesterday, didn’t you,” she muttered, kicking the metal stool under the examination table, irritably. He ignored this, and wrote her another prescription.

 

            Mia Stronopolous

            Citalopram, 25 mg

 

She scowled at the slip of paper. SSRI’s were absolutely useless and he knew this, the b*****d. She would leave them in the cupboard to rot along with her fluoxetine and trazodone, both of which she told him made her feel sick. Perhaps she would say these ones made her drowsy or made her lose her appetite

 

 

When she got home, she kicked off her shoes by the door impatiently and almost ran to the kitchen pantry. Colourful transparent bottles with white stickers on them looked back at her. She felt more numb than usual today so she reached for a fluorescent yellow bottle filled with small white pills. These ones were a bit tricky to get in, but the process gave her something to do anyway. She slipped four pills under her tongue and waited for the wonderful bitter taste while she retrieved a fruit knife from the cutlery drawer. Her face twisted in a grimace as the taste hit her taste buds; she spit them out on the marble counter top and began to carefully cut them in half, throwing the grey bits in the metal sink. She was left with four tiny white nubs which she admired for a moment. They were stained pink a bit and had crumbles of grey from the other half of the pill on their sticky surface. A little scraping would fix that, and soon she would be higher than the stratosphere. 

 

 

The clumps of thick crushed powder had been arranged into lines with an old Shoppers Optimum card. It would glob up in her nostrils a bit, but no matter.

 

 

Heat flushed in her cheeks even though she was wearing nothing but an over-sized t-shirt and was lying on the leather couch, motionless. The thumping of her heart was becoming unbearably erratic so she tried to take deep breaths. No, that wouldn’t do. Perhaps 144 mg of concerta was a bit much for her first dose in three months. She groaned and felt her hands twitch horribly, but still managed a little smirk. It was worth it; her mind was sharp yet pleasantly buzzed, focused on the textured white ceiling above her, before fading into a palpitating jittery mound of human flesh. She was uncomfortable, horribly so, but it was preferred to feeling nothing at all.

 

You used to feel really happy you know. When you read the word of God, and smiled at the neighbour’s nephew across the road. Little things,  or were they big things back then?

 

Shut up. You were a f*****g prude indoctrinated in a bunch of bullshit.

 

But I still believe it. I just don’t want to so I can-- 

 

No. You don’t believe in s**t.

 

I believe, but he would never take me back. I screwed up, I always screw up and I always will.

 

Hmph.

 

Ice cold water rushed from the shower head, puncturing her skin like hail. She could only grit her teeth and let hot tears flow from her tired eyes. Her empty stomach clenched and she felt pain shoot up her esophagus along with bile. She gasped for air and spluttered--her heart, her withered young heart. Oxygen wasn’t filling her lungs properly and the only thing that seemed to be working were her tear ducts. But tears didn’t count in the shower, not really.

 

You’re such a glutton, Mia. You’ve had enough of this world. Feel those aches and pains? That’s your body decomposing and you haven’t even been buried yet.

 

SSRI’s aren’t completely useless. A translucent blue bottle full of Citalopram could ease her straight into the earth, even if it wouldn’t give her a buzz.

 

            It could--but maybe one day she would wake up and smile at the neighbour’s nephew and feel that pure eudaimonia rush through her clean bloodstream. She would flip to a page of the Holy Book and feel the words embrace her, wash over her gently and assure her that problem riddled people were among the best in heaven. So she wrapped a towel around her and flopped into bed.

 

            Brilliant, just bloody brilliant. Still breathing. You really do believe, don’t you?

Author's Note

I'd love to hear your feedback!

Reviews

[Woody]

I find that you managed to convey the anguish and turmoil of the girl here. I wish you'd explained, even briefly, what caused such a situation. apart from that, I like the way you told the story. this made me sorry for the unfortunate girl.
good one Golnaz.

[Flower]

Thanks so much Woody, I'll definitely try to include that next time!

[Cereal Addict]

You truly are gifted with the pen - or perhaps more fittingly, the keyboard. Your work is always incredibly engrossing. Keep it up!

[GalaxyGhost]

I like the conflict of this girl who faces it. It makes me sympathetic towards the protagonist. Character flaws are a good thing in storytelling and you are good at that!

[Flower]

Thank you!

[Shabeeh Haider]

The girl is facing a pretty torrid time. The way you have described her thoughts is very commendable.
A pleasure to read.

*shabeeh*

[Khalil Jibran]

nice story dear... just loved this one

[Flower]

Thank you khalil :)

[Denise]

Wow. That's really good. I like it. You have a nice way with words. I can really feel Mia is torn between the lies the evil is telling her and the truth how things used to be.

[Flower]

I'm glad you liked it! Thanks for reading, Denise :)