Peace

Home.

I am looking for the place where there is stillness

and quiet. Where there is quiet

apart from the sound of peace.

I am walking towards the darkness.

It is the only place I will find light.

I am looking for the place of death.

 

I thought about throwing myself out of a moving car once. On the South Circular. But I was too scared. To open the door. And hit the tarmac. With my head. To meet my Maker. Hollow-headed. Brains splattered behind me. Another time. Running after court. Changed into Lycra. Anthony Hamilton in my ears, ‘Pass Me Over’. Inspiration. I wanted to jump. Off Waterloo Bridge. I imagined myself doing it. The thought of hitting the water made me feel free. The protection of my mother’s amniotic sac. Before the stairs. Before the birth. Before the trauma. I wanted to sink. To the bottom. Never to rise again. I don’t think I was ready to die. Not then. I just wanted to be able to put one foot in front of the other. Without thinking about it. To not have to struggle. For the pain to stop. I couldn’t live with the pain any more. I can’t live with the pain any more. Not for another second. I just wanted to improve the quality of my life. I can’t improve the quality of my life. It felt like death. I felt like I was dying. I feel like I am dying. My whole life has felt like that. My life will always be like this. Nothing good has ever happened to me. Nothing good will ever happen to me. And I was tired. Of living like that. I am tired. Of living like this. I just needed it to stop. I need it to stop.

 

The packaging cracks as the first tablet pierces its seal. It sounds like freedom. I start to feel better when I swallow. I am on my way to the light. I cannot see it yet but I know it is there. My maiden voyage. From my bedroom and mausoleum. A constellation of silver tablet seals forms on my bedroom floor. I am on my way. The more I swallow, the closer I get. It feels like peace.

 

Farah is on her way. I called her when the butterflies started beating their wings in my chest and I started shaking like Vesuvius. Again. My lungs suffocating in water. Liquid ice, dancing, like a flame on my brain. Again. The synapses, short-circuiting. Again. Farah says she is coming over in an Uber right now when I say, ‘I think I’m dying.’

‘If I don’t answer the door. You can come through the side entrance. I will leave my bedroom door open for you. I will be at home. I am going home. Take care of Mai for me. Thank you for being such an amazing friend. I love you.’

 

I am in and out of sleep. Between today and tomorrow. The darkness and the light. I am in between this world and the next. My eyelids are heavy and happy. When I open them, Farah is kneeling by my bed. There are tears in her eyes.

‘Farah. You’re here. I’m tired, Farah.’

‘I know you are, Stella. I know you are.’

She holds my hand. It feels like love.

‘Stay with me.’

 

When I open my eyes again. Kemi is holding my hand.

‘Kemi. You came.’

‘Hi, beautiful. Hang in there, okay?’

‘Kemi. Does it look like I’ve been burgled? My flat. The dishes—’

‘It looks like an angel lives here. I’m going to sort it all out for you, just you wait and see.’

 

She smiles. A smile of love.

 

I am not alone. I close my eyes.

 

I am in and out of consciousness. When I am conscious, I am in the ambulance. Farah is calling my name in between serious conversations with the paramedics. My blood pressure is low. When I am unconscious, everything is black, like peace not death.

 

Obstruction. They want to keep me in the castle shackled and chained. To stop my crossover to the peace place. The master prefers choking to whipping. He is forcing a tube into my nose because he does not want me to breathe. When I get to the freedom place. He is threading it like pain down my oesophagus into my stomach. He wants to get my stomach. I want to get to the sea.

 

Farah writes down everything the on-call psychiatrist says about referrals and medication. There are options, so many options available to me. He diagnoses depression and anxiety. The depression is multi-faceted and complex. Farah says the on-call psychiatrist is very competent and handsome.

 

When I leave hospital, Farah teaches me to say something over and over again, like a mantra:

‘There are options. There is hope.’

 

I am lost and scared. I don’t know anything about anything.

 

Farah takes me and Mai back to her home, where she cares for me like the child I have become, unable to care for myself. She walks Mai, feeds her and cuddles her for me. She tells me when it’s time to take my medication and time to eat. I don’t have to get up to eat. I can eat wherever I feel comfortable but I do have to eat something. I am in and out of sleep. She calls doctors, collects prescriptions and liaises with Kemi and Eimear. They want to know what’s going on. They want to be kept informed. My phone is off. It has been for days.

 

‘Farah, can you wipe my butt, please?’

She looks at me, ready to mobilise. I try and make my face smile.

‘Stella! You know I would— Right, an episode of you can do it.’

 

I switch on my phone. A message from Sol.

Stella, I am thinking about you every second of every day. Farah says you aren’t quite up to visitors yet. But I am waiting by the phone for your call as soon as you feel ready to talk. You are the most intelligent, amazing and beautiful soul I know. I love you so much. We all do. Please tell me what I can do to help.

I switch my phone off and close my eyes to sleep.