Cherophobia- Good partA Story by CrimsonShinigamiWhich is better the first one or this oneCherophobia = Sorry "C You might be wondering what cherophobia is, well, it’s a severe case
for me. You see it’s a fear of happiness or gaiety. Chero is Greek for rejoice,
happiness or gaiety. I never had this when I was born nor was it a recent
development. It started when I was about 6 years old. My mother decided to
remarry a man whom was kind in the beginning. My real father had died, from
lung cancer, as soon as I was 3 years old. It was all fun and games for the
first few months until my step-father was fired from work, that’s when
everything went south. My
mother started working overtime for the most of it. I didn't realize that my
step-father was following me to school and the whole day. On Sunday, he kept
asking me the same thing over and over again. “Hey, Cathy, smile for me,
please.” I did what he had told me to, but it seemed I had just angered him. Okay,
not to offend anyone, let’s call my step-father "Bob, so I don’t have to call
him well a him. Anyways, Bob started beating me like no tomorrow and screamed
out. “Your smile is disgusting.” On Monday, I had a lot of bruises, so I
covered them with a sweater. I was having a good time at school but when I got
home Bob was waiting with some rope and tape. As Bob tied me up, he mumbled to
himself, and when Bob was finished, he pulled a box cutter and slowly put it at
my arm. “You
smiled 4 times today, it’s time for punishment.” I didn't understand what he
had meant at first. One slash onto another it wasn't too deep but it hurt a
lot. He would finish before my mom came back home, of course I was too scared
to tell her about anything. Tuesdays became punches, as Wednesdays were kicks,
Thursdays are slow suffocation, Fridays were the only days that I didn't have
to fear Bob because he went out drinking with his buddies and also my mother
could come home early to spend time with me, And Saturdays, Bob would be the
knife thrower as I stand in one spot unable to move. The Sundays weren't beatings no it was much worse; instead of beatings he would put his cigar ashes
on my body. It wasn't random; no it was on my back. Being called ashtray and he
says it while he smiles brought pain to me. Every single day was repeated just
like that. The agony of him coming to school with me to observe my actions drew
me closer to build a wall around myself. Nearly
two months had past, Bob asked me to smile. I started to tremble, as I forced a
smile on my face. The horror look on his face turned red. That very day was a
Thursday: that meant it was suffocation slowly. He grabbed my neck and yelled
that’s not a smile that’s not a smile. He kept repeating that over and over
again as I was losing more and more air by the second. I closed my eyes as it
all happened ready to accept my death. The door opened, my tear fell off my
face, my mother looking horrified as what was happening to me. I fell to a deep
slumber because Bob was still suffocating me. As
I awoke, my mother was crying beside me in the hospital. I had so many
untreated cuts and bruises that it would take a while before it can grow back.
The only thing that would leave a scar is the cigar spots on my back. Many
times, I close my eyes and I can see Bob waiting for me to “help him”. I wake
up in cold sweat: I visited a psychiatrist and he prescribed me with medicine
to subdue the symptoms. When I’m at school, people laugh and then I have a
narrow line of breathing. I read in front of people and they smile which makes
me sweat and tremble uncontrollably. My teachers know about my situation, but I
get mistaken or taking drugs in broad daylight. I have no friends but it try to
keep a conversation though it only lasts for about a minute and I rush out the
room. I still take therapy every 2nd day and test my endurance but I
do know that it’s a long road ahead of me. This
is my fear and one time, I was changing for gym, my classmate told me that my
scars on my back say “Sorry "C”. I faintly remember him teaching me that names aren't important to remember the bad times only an initial is fine. “Cathy, you
see when you remember names you often hear the same name more than once. The
brain unconsciously thinks that it’s the culprit, that way your whole mind
turns blank and starts to panic. So a single initial is fine, so that way the
mind doesn't have to react to a pointless thing like a bad moment. Traumatized
people often hear the things that they don’t want to hear, but I won’t tell you
this because it leads off to another story.” Bob petted my head gently as he
smiles that used to make me feel at ease. “Promise me, Cathy that you would
forget about me or anything terrible that had happened.” The time I spent in
happiness went off in a swift of air. Of course, I was too little to understand
his words but I do now. © 2014 CrimsonShinigami |
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Added on October 23, 2014 Last Updated on October 23, 2014 AuthorCrimsonShinigamiEdmonton, CanadaAboutI like writing poems and stories but I never had the chance to show others they may not be as good as others but I tried my best. I enjoy reading books that have a good story plot. I hate quiet room.. more..Writing
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