On this particular day #2

It was a few minutes past 3 a.m. and she woke up, drenched in sweat. The fan was blowing hot air at the bed but none of it reached her. She pulled away the mosquito net, hoping that would help, but it didn’t make much of a difference.

She winced as the cramps in her stomach got worse. They weren’t painful, but the discomfort was not something she could just sleep through. She tried to ignore them, but the wetness and coldness she felt when she wiped away the sweat on her forehead using the back of her hand scared her.

She rolled out of bed and switched on the light. Opened the second drawer of her dressing table and took out a pad. Rarely had periods been pain-free for her. She knew that other people had it worse, but she also knew that that did not mean her pain wasn’t real.

When it was really bad, she would toss and turn in bed, cramps in her lower tummy area, pain in her back and calves. She would run to the toilet to vomit the water and painkillers she thought she could keep down.

When her grandmother was still alive, she would be given a hot water bottle that soothed her. Her grandmother would make her sour lime juice to drink after she had had a nap and the cramps were gone. Her grandmother would sit by her side and rub balm onto her back.

She would talk to her about the past, her own pain from decades ago. And now, whenever she felt those cramps in her stomach, she yearned for her grandmother. That love she had received in abundance had been snatched from her without warning one night and even though the years had passed, the pain of her grandmother’s death was yet to dull in intensity.

And now, as she felt more pain, she exhaled and inhaled and exhaled and inhaled. She wondered what day it was. Was she supposed to get her period today?

Her period had been consistent for close to a year and then that consistency had been lost, perhaps to the uncertainty and stress she felt during the pandemic.

Nevermind that, she thought, walking to the toilet. But once she got there, peed, and cleaned herself, she realised her period hadn’t even started. And just like that the cramps went away.

She had always imagined symptoms and pain. Headaches. Fever. Cramps. She knew they weren’t real, they were made up, and yet she would take the occasional painkiller or drink hot water or gargle with salt water.

All of this made her feel like a crazy person. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked her reflection in the mirror. But she didn’t have an answer to her own question. Maybe her therapist could be of some help, but she hadn’t left the house since March and she was terrified of doing so.

She was also terrified of asking for help and felt that pretending to be all okay whenever her therapist spoke to her made her feel better about everything going on in her life. She knew how bad this was but she also knew that figuring shit out and dealing with herself was not something she had the energy for.

Not now, at least. Not while the entire world had been turned upside down.

She went back to bed and tried to fall asleep. But it was still so hot and her body was sticky. She scrolled through Twitter, retweeted a video, liked a tweet.

One of her friends had posted a picture from a bar the previous night. She felt a tinge of envy that he was going out, meeting people, and living a life that was incredibly close to what he lived before the pandemic. She still couldn’t do this. She couldn’t leave the house. The thought of walking into a pub made her feel sick.

And then she started thinking about one of her favourite days. They were at a bar that stayed open till the early hours of the morning. Everyone was a happy mixture of drunk and sleepy. Everything was funny to them and they didn’t want the night to end yet.

She had rarely felt such joy in life. But now, when she looked back at that day, she realised that none of them wanted to go home not because they were having so much fun but because they all had their own demons awaiting them at home. Under one bed would be heartbreak, under another would be regret. Under her bed would be loneliness.

The kind that made her burst into tears while doing something as mundane as slicing onions or crushing garlic. The kind that made her heart ache in a way that made her feel like she would collapse to the ground. The kind that made her want to hold on to what little she got from people, even if it was bad for her.

On that particular day, after they had finally decided to head home, she had called a cab. Four of them had piled into it, giving directions to their various houses. She would be the last to get down, being the one who lived the furthest away.

During those ten minutes or so that she had to herself, she had struggled to not burst into tears in the vehicle. This unexpected and inexplicable need to cry always took her by surprise. She could never predict when it would happen and it made her feel vulnerable.

But she managed to hold in her emotions until she got home and closed the door behind her. And then, because she was so tired and the house was so quiet, she couldn’t stop the tears or the sobbing. She sat on the floor and just wept. And when she felt like she couldn’t weep anymore, she rubbed her eyes, got up and had a glass of water in the kitchen.

The next day, waking up later than usual, she felt that usual sense of exhaustion she felt after nights out. She felt drained and could barely manage to make herself a cup of coffee.

But she reminded herself that it had been a good day. She had been happy. And what more could you really ask for? Someone to drop you home? Make sure you are okay? Hold you close to them?

She didn’t deserve any of that. She wouldn’t know what to do with so much love. It would drive her crazy. She would not be able to accommodate it in her life.

And yet…

She felt a great desire for such a life. And lying in bed at 3-something a.m., sweating and uncomfortable and unable to fall asleep, she didn’t have the energy to deny this. She didn’t have the energy to pretend that she was happy with the way her life had turned out.

She closed her eyes and whispered into the darkness, “I’m so fucking lonely.”