This feeling all over my body. Especially in my chest and stomach. As if something is pressing down on my chest. Making breathing difficult, laboured. Butterflies in my stomach. The blood in my veins pulsing. I am aware of the blood. I can feel it in my arms, burning a trail from shoulder to elbow. I am under threat.
I remember that day. It was 15 years ago. I sat in the chair opposite the doctor. Deurmekaar. Befuddled. Feeling woozy. The night before I’d had a meltdown. In despair, I foresaw a loveless future. A treadmill of chores with no relief. Living on the margins. Alone.
Who is this man to judge me now? This doctor in his chair of churlishness. Looking down on me with his curled lip. At the time, I did not care. But now I think, who were you to criticise me for my actions? You did not utter one word of kindness; did not even think to ask why I did it? Ironically, I had abandoned my actions halfway. Deliberately.
So he was wrong anyway.