Bonus post … Trapped!

Welcome to my mind.. TRAPPED! Yusuf’s POV… The truth is this – I KNOW HOW WORTHLESS I AM. That’s the whole reason behind treating Fatima so badly. I needed to feel powerful. I needed it at my fingertips, to touch, to hold, to mold and control it. But it’s not like I planned to hurt her and it definitely wasn’t like I wanted to destroy her, well not intentionally anyway. I can’t explain it at all. My focus isn’t Fatima, my focus is me, it’s always me, it’s only me! I don’t know why am I the way that I am. If I could, I would be better than this. It’s like, it’s like I have no control over myself and the only thing that I feel I have any control over is weaker human beings, those inferior to me, my wife, my illicit affairs, my juniors at work. It is an insatiable need to enforce myself. An unquenchable thirst for power over something or someone, and I did it the only way I knew how. I once read somewhere that no one is born evil and I wondered about myself, was I born this way? Why do I inflict such psychological confusion on others? I took psychology at university and for a few chapters, it felt like I was reading about my own life! Abusers plant seedling abusers. The hand that strikes leaves an imprint so deep that there is no other choice but to strike the person next to you leaving that same imprint on them. And breaking that cycle of abuse is more difficult than drawing water from a rock. I didn’t take pride in knowing or admitting to myself that I am an abusive person. I know it’s not healthy and it’s unnatural. But if I don’t control others, this thing that I’m inflicted with… this essential need to overpower, will control me! After I closed the psychology textbook that day, a shiver crawled over my flesh like spiders released from a jar. My first thought was – is that why I am the way that I am? My second thought went straight to my mother… 1996… I can remember it happening from the age of five but it probably started even before and I have no memory prior to the events of age five. I was locked in the cupboard for being naughty. It was dark. It was scary. I pleaded with my mother to let me out, I wanted her to hold me. I cried and scratched on the chipboard wood with my finger nails, calling out to her. But she wouldn’t release me. She wouldn’t answer me. Eventually she whipped the side of the wood to silence me. The vibration of the leather against wood sounded like something cutting through dense air. I stopped crying immediately. And whenever I was locked in the cupboard after that, I closed my eyes tightly to hide from the darkness. Then I wet myself losing all self control and I sat there thinking of how to get free, how to control myself the next time that I was locked in the darkness. I never did learn how to control myself, but controlling others that I did skillfully, like an artist. And the more I realised I had this control, the more I used it on others. Sometimes she used to lock me in the bathroom at night and turn off the light. I would scream and cry, begging, pleading for her to let me out. But my cries and screams were only matched by hers. Afte a couple of hours I would eventually cry myself to sleep, physically and mentally exhausted.. And an hour or so later she would frantically turn the lock and find my little body huddled up in the bathtub, asleep, my face damp and salty with my tears. She would pick me up, plant a thousand and one kisses on my salty cheeks and then tuck me into bed. “I’m sorry bachoo, I’m so sorry,” she would say. She tucked me in lovingly, only to damage me again the next day. Those memories are so dark and disturbing that I successfully blocked them out and told myself that it was nothing but a nightmare. Eventually I felt like I reclaimed the power I had lost in that little cupboard with the cracked wooden side… And for years I used my power, my charm, to mold people, to make them weak. I felt strong and worthy, I felt powerful. It was like a drug but like all drugs the feeling of euphoria, the high was short lived and the crash was enough to send you back wanting more! And then there was Fatima. She was sweet enough. I could have kept her but she was too consumed with other things. She tried to make me happy but she couldn’t. She hesitated alot and I couldn’t have that. I needed full control and power over her and she couldn’t give me that. Her thoughts were always attached to her parents, her sister, her Creator! Hey hey take it easy I’m just painting a picture for you to view. Truth be told, Fatima wasn’t even my choice, she was mother’s choice for me and if there was on thing I learned in life it was not to argue, deny or go against what mother wants. Time and time again, even after all these years, I’ll still submit and surrender to her without a sound… ~H


One thought on “Bonus post … Trapped!

  1. Ummi Israa (nawaal) says:

    ” That’s deep bru”
    Scary that there are people like that amongst us.
    Ya Rabb! Keep us amongst those you favor, keep our Umma our children from the evil clutches. For only in you do we put our trust…
    Wonderful thought provoking chapter.
    Well Done

    Liked by 1 person

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