Draft

Trauma

ˈtrɔːmə,ˈtraʊmə.

Noun.

A
deeply distressing or disturbing experience.

I'll
never forget that day. I had heard a loud noise, like something had fallen
over. I never expected it to be him. I had finished a drawing of us, using my
mother's favourite crayons. My mother had died fairly recently and my father
hadn't quite recovered from the shock and loss. I was young, I imagined she
wasn't completely gone, I believed that the "God" had taken her
someplace safe. I didn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it. I ran down
the stairs to show him my picture, but instead, I found my father's body, his
cold corpse on the floor next to the fireplace. It felt like a dream, a
nightmare. The whole room was spinning and my head was dizzy. As I felt myself
lose my balance and just before I blacked out, I looked down and saw my paws
seemingly covered in red. That was all I remembered. I had fainted from the
sheer terror and shock of what I had witnessed.

I
woke up in a hospital bed, I was unaware why I was there. I would've never
imagined what the people treating me told me next. My father had overdosed on
sertraline, as far as they knew. I was so young, so innocent, I didn't know
what any of their words meant. All I knew was that my father was gone. Forever.
That moment changed my life, as it rolled downhill alongside my sanity.

I
became so scared. I was afraid. Afraid of dying. The thought itself made me throw
up with fear. They are dead. Was I going to end up like them? Where were they?
Were they somewhere else? Were they erased from existence?

"What
is death?" I thought. "It is whatever you want it to be," said a
voice. In all honesty, to this day I still do not have a clue where this voice
came from, but from that day I always took it's advice. I wanted death to
simply be part of our journey in life. When we die, we are simply taken to the
next chapter. I had convinced myself to believe in that statement, so I took my
worries off my mind. To me, everything was ok. They were in a better place. Out
of sight, out of mind, out of mind out of sight...

However,
I realised as I progressed throughout the stages of grief, I would hear a
person's voice, but I just couldn't see them at all. Were they invisible? I
could hear them so clearly too... It didn't make sense. They would give me all
kinds of advice, one specific line they told me was that; "I shouldn't
bother anyone with my troubles and keep myself to myself. The release of such
abnormal thoughts in sound will harm another's mental health." So with
that in mind, I kept myself to myself.

Shortly
after my father’s passing, me and my brother were taken to an ominous building
filled with other family-less children. It was a scary place. The other
children were hot-headed and threatening towards us, they seemed like they
wanted to hurt us because they were fed up of new kids taking up attention and
resources, but I assumed it was an empty threat to make themselves seem tougher
around their "comrades," but they quickly proved me wrong as my bruises
proved otherwise.

Ever
since our arrival, me and Fusain often got caught up in a lot of petty fist
fights and we were constantly blamed and treated as outcasts. Fusain attempted
to run away many times, but he was always dragged back and given a stern
telling off that never fazed him. It was a never-ending cycle going nowhere. We
had become "high-maintenance" thanks to Fusain's escapes and my petty
shoplifting that my head had encouraged me to do. We were taken to a social club
that other "difficult" kids were engaging in, as the carers of our
home thought our behaviour traits were caused by lack of socialising and lack
of any relationships whatsoever. Fusain stubbornly wouldn't give it a chance at
all, but I went ahead. I was desperate for friendship.

Ever
since my parents died, I hadn't had a single relationship with anyone besides
my brother, who is one of the most stuck-up and stubborn person I know, and
isn't the best person to get along with at all times. However, I was pierced
with anxiety whenever I tried to socialise with people, new and old. I had
become increasingly afraid of others and didn’t want to damage my reputation even
more than I already had. If I messed up now, then I would lose any chance of
making a friend, I didn’t even understand how friendship worked.

I
sat down and watched the others talk, then I heard it, "Why would you even
think about talking to them?" I froze up. He always knew what to say to
scare me. I must've looked pathetic and presumed insane by the others noticing
this event as I spoke back. "I want to talk to them, I would like to have
a friend to talk to..." To my expectation, yet still sudden enough to frighten
me, the voice replied: "Aren't I your friend? All they'll do is mock you,
they won't ever treat you like one of them. You always find a way to creep the
others out, why risk your silent reputation? Mess it up and you'll never be
free, nor forget." My breathing got incredibly heavy until it started to
hurt, it felt as if my lungs breathed themselves in until they ceased to exist.
My brief feeling of confidence dissipated and changed into a strong stab of
worry and anxiety. I was panicking in the corner of a busy room, I made my
condition worse just thinking about that. I cried and clawed at my head for the
voice to go away, for the feelings to go away. Then, I felt a light tap on my
shoulder. I jumped and quickly turned around as I stared at the shocked figure
who gazed at me with worry and concern…