The Last Time Her Head Exploded

The last time her head exploded

Daisy had become ill again. She had surrendered herself to an outbreak
of flu, eagerly embracing the symptoms like a thirsty child, and
greedily relishing the relief it offered her.
' I can rest now,' she murmured, as she sank wearily into her
luxurious sweat infested mattress and drew the duvet tightly round her
foetal shape. She admired the strained and painful hoarseness of her
voice, obsessively repeating whispers to confirm it's strangeness. Her
head pounded furiously, and her body burned. She delighted in the
lethargic agony involved in lifting her hand; her hair follicles seemed
to scream.
At last she could rest. Illness allowed her to breathe. Each symptom,
each restricted motion it created, enabled the desires of Daisy to
exist. It meant she could escape from everything she feared without the
perpetual ruminations of guilt and panic. Illness created a space in
which she could be.....
Without the deterioration of her physical health, Daisy knew she would
go mad, or at least feel as though she were. She thought back to the
cyclical routine of her daily life, cringing at her moments of social
contact. People were hard work, she reflected. On the surface ,they saw
all the illusions she presented them with. The slightly pornographic
appeal of beauty, the polite, but repressed spark of personality, only
revealing itself in controlled amounts.,( control she had learnt to
adopt as a child). A flash of white teeth, smiling, seductively
laughing at everything she had learned to hate. She had been forced to
teach herself the gestures, noises and facial expressions, necessary in
surviving a social situation, without any revealment of true self. It
was painful ,she reminisced; to be fearful of everything that life
considered normal. Beneath her facade, there existed a pained, and
emotionally troubled child, plagued by depression , fear and obsessive
compulsions.
Nobody knew how hard it was to engage in conversation, at work, at
pubs, to best friends whilst simultaneously struggling to fend off
intrusive thoughts so terrifying and disturbing, that she would break
out in a heated sweat amidst smiles and calm nods of agreement. Others
could never suspect that she was compelled to arrange theses thoughts
into patterns and sequences virtually impossible to human thought, in
order to feel 'calm' again, whilst enduring monotonous chit chat and
sophisticated smoking. It was her secret, one that followed her
endlessly, and tormented her maddeningly. Sometimes, when the pain
became too unendurable and the thought process so complicated, Daisy
would explode. She recounted the numerous occasions when alone in her
house, the frenzied and uncontrollable attack of frustration and anger
would engulf her. She became another self, blinded by the need for self
harm and punishment, mercilessly attacking her thoughts, through
repeated blows to her head. Bang Bang Bang. Hands outstretched,
clenched, pulling skin apart, blood releasing, screaming whilst
convulsing her body into a twisted, and frightened fit of rage.
It had to happen. She knew it would .She welcomed physical illness as
an antidote to her troubled mind. There is only so much one can take
emotionally, before the brain gives up and passes its symptoms onto the
body. 'At last', she sighed curling up into a heated ball, shivering at
the contradiction of coldness. Then with tranquil mind, thumb pressed
childishly through parted mouth, for the first time in months she
slept........

?2001 Gayle Davis