Chapter 1
I was lying on a hospital bed. I was in the ER. I had no idea what had happened. What momentous occurrence had so threatened the mortal vessel in which my once-precious mind is ensconced?
As I was about to hit the call button, a nurse walked in and I raised my left arm in an attempt to wave to her but a sharp pain caused me to drop my arm instantly. Ah of course I had a drip tube sticking out from my arm.
"May I help you sir?" she asked.
"...." I tried to speak but my mouth and throat were so dry I could not produce any sound. After forcing some saliva down to lubricate my throat I asked, "What happened to me? And may I have some water please."
She regarded me with such soft, caring eyes and it is this, I believe, that brought the shock of waking up in a hospital all alone to the fore. There were no loved ones sitting by my bedside. Before she could respond, I started to cry uncontrollably. I tried to hold it in but I was soon sobbing and I could feel panic gripping my insides. I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was being smothered. My heart was racing. I was terrified. I was trembling and clinging on to the nurse with my left arm.
I think she realised I was having a panic attack and she started stroking my hair.
"Breathe, honey," she said. "I'm right here. Take deep breaths. You will be fine," she comforted me.
I did as she advised. I was no stranger to panic attacks, but it had been a couple of months since I'd had one. The trembling was now under control and I could breathe without feeling as though I was suffocating. Just then a doctor walked in and drew the curtains around my bed. He walked over to me already reading whatever notes were on his clipboard.
"Hello Armel," he said.
"I prefer Felix - my middle name," I said without thinking, having repeated this line for the past 9 years.
"Felix it is then! Well, Felix we think you had a seizure. Our emergency team was called by one of your friends you were with when it happened and they brought you here half an hour ago as you were just starting to come around. Can you tell me how old you are - for legal reasons?"
What friends? I wondered.
"I'm 19" I responded automatically.
"Date of birth?"
"The 3rd of October 1994."
"Height?"
"1.72 metres...or about 5'8'' in 'American'"
"Weight?"
"55kg. Multiply by 2.2 to convert to pounds"
He looked at me and smiled. I found nothing amusing. I was trying to remember how I had ended up here; unfortunately I never remembered the all events that led to my seizure.
It had been a warm spring day and I was sitting on one of many benches scattered across our beautiful campus. I had been on my computer shopping, without a doubt, for more books. I spent all my money on books. I had been listening to my new favourite violin concerto in G minor by Bruch. Then a black hole - where neither time nor space exists. I vaguely remember being hauled onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance. Then another black hole. It seems though that I did come out of that black hole, albeit in a more mangled form as Hawking recently suggested in a very brief paper.
I had a CAT scan, an MRI, an EKG and a blood test before my residence hall counsellor (RHC) came to pick me up after being discharged. I was very distant and felt quite detached from my body and disconnected from the world - as though I were a small piece of clay suspended in a river or ocean just going along where the current took me.
My RHC took me up to my room and asked me if I needed anything. I said no, and that I was very happy to have her as a RHC. I thanked her profusely for driving me from the hospital back to college. She miraculously had my laptop, wallet, phone and bag which I had with me before I had my seizure. After she left I stripped off my clothes very slowly, still in a sort of daze, and got into bed even though it was only 18h00.
I wanted to just take a double dose of my clonazepam which would send me straight to sleep. But I was too tired to move and most importantly, I wanted to torture myself as was my nightly routine. I started, as always, with my biological mother leaving me with my grandparents while she married another man. While this is frighteningly common in African society, the agony of it on the child is excruciating. I remembered how abandoned I felt.
Then I remembered that day - the 24th of November. That is when she died. She stopped breathing, her heart stopped beating and her brain cells shut down. That was one of the worst days of my life, but certainly not the worst.
I never knew my biological father, who apparently fled before I was even born. And he died on the 9th of September, a year after my mother died. I always tried to understand why he left me. Why they both left me. Back when I was unenlightened I always thought it was God's way of shielding them both from the abomination that I was to become.
I remembered how I had to take charge of my life from the age of 10 because my grandmother was too absorbed by her own grief to know that I needed support and care. She loved me, of that I am sure but she had just lost a daughter. I used to cry myself to sleep every night, with no one to share my pain with.
I then remembered how I was carelessly shipped off after my mother's death to visit relatives. I remembered Him very clearly. I had been drawn to Him. Not in a sexual way - I was only 10. He made me feel safe and that I mattered but I never expected Him to do what He did. I suppose it was only fair; I fed off Him emotionally as a trusted older cousin and so he deserved something in return. And He got it. He violated my innocence and took my virginity. I was only 10. And barely a month had passed since my mother had died. But I never protested or screamed. I allowed Him to have His way with me. I thought he cared, but after I left he never wanted anything to do with me. Not a word from Him for the past 9 years. He hurt me very badly. Not so much by his furious lust, but the manner in which he tossed me out of His life like I was an overused and torn blow up doll.
Reliving these memories made real the feelings of the absurdity of life, the uncaring universe that is deaf to our cries and protests. And it was to these memories, serving as a dissonant and harsh lullaby, that I fell asleep.