The Demons Of His Memories

*This is an entry for the May Blog Of The Month competition.

He ran as fast as his legs could permit him. Soon, oxygen started to seem scarce as he struggled to maintain his pace. He was panting like a dog, but he  could not give up.

Not now.

He had to get away from the demons that haunted his memories, as they threatened to get the best of him. In some distant corner of his still functional brain, he vaguely thought of his mother. No doubt she would be worried sick of his absence and would probably have that familiar look of mixed relief and disapproval once he got back home.

But he had no choice. He winced as yet another demon struck against his mind. The view before him faded and he found himself looking at his 7 year old version, trying to escape from his father when he dragged him from the living room to the store because he wasn't able to get his sums right in his Math test. He was beaten and locked up for a few hours in the cold dark room, hungry and frightened out of his wits. After pleading and crying for several hours, his mother was finally able to get him out of that dungeon.

She had always been his saviour, he thought. Probably the only reason why he was still alive.

He shook that thought out of his mind and focused on his surroundings. Adrenaline and blood stormed through his system as he flew past the street curb with a flicker of hope that he would be able to dodge his demons.

But they were too quick for him.

They had always been. Sometimes, they crept up in his subconscious mind when he was asleep and reminded him of how powerless he was. He recalled how once he broke a window pane when some people had told his mother that he was crazy and that she ought to get him admitted to a mental hospital. He was bleeding profusely and had refused to get his hand stitched. But of course, he had no say in it because some men soon grabbed him, tied him up and injected a sedative to help him sleep.

Yes, he had anger management issues but it was because of his pent up frustration rather than the lack of sanity. Why did no one ever get this?

He also recalled seeing several psychiatrists who were too busy minting money and had prescribed him with anti depressants and anti psychotic pills and had told him to take things easy. How could he take things easy, dammit?

The voices in his head that rebuked him, mocked him and told him that he was basically a useless piece of shit, drove him crazy. Often they belonged to his "well wishers" like his father, his teachers, his friends and his neighbours to name a few. People looked at him with disdain like all of this was his fault. That he chose to be this way. That he enjoyed testing people's patience because he took more time in perceiving things. That he loved letting his temper get the best of him. That he took pleasure in being a rebel because who doesn't like attention?

A fresh wave of anger surged through him. This was unfair. Life was unfair. Why did heartless people continue to step up the ladder to success whilst he, with a pure heart watched them from far below? Why were his emotions not considered when he was being laughed upon? Why was he never good enough for his loved ones? Why? Why?

He willed himself to run even faster in order to get rid of the thoughts plaguing him. But exhaustion and fatigue were beginning to overwhelm him. He knew that soon, he would succumb to it like he succumbed to everything in his life. He hated himself for that, but he knew he was weak and helpless. That was the last thing on his mind before the world started spinning and everything became black.

- Aliza Latif Aftab (Class of 2019)