Wednesday, 12 April 2017

BIRTH OF A PSYCHOPATH.




Hey awesome people! I’m back!

Who is a psychopath? How does the average psychopath manifest?

The psychopath sat out in the open January heat, the sweltering sun nothing like what she is feeling on her cheek after some thugs she encountered on her way to school dealt her a mighty slap that sent her glasses flying and her will to live diving. Her soul draws out every ounce of inspiration the song “The greatest” by Sia pumps into her ears from her exorbitant Beats by Dr. Dre headphones.

All around her students laughed and hugged each other merrily. She had no psyche for this pre-class ritual; only saying “Hi!” politely to her friends. Her leather dress clung to her pelvis and emaciated thighs…she has been forgetting to eat. The sunglasses she wore to ‘represent’ her glasses hid the anger and frustration her heavy makeup did little to conceal.


Blushing, she unstuck the gorgeous dress from her body and stepped into the now vacant class; smiling at her classmates and screaming deep inside for the lecture not to go through.

Why can’t the lecturer have an emergency and leave? Like a defense meeting? Or a myocardial infarction?

The microbiology lecture started. The erudite professor quickly but smoothly spoke, illustrated, drew and dictated some of the most fascinating facts for the students, so fascinating that the psychopath mellowed and let down her guard, albeit for the next one hour. She literally felt her body fill her seat from the edge, and made a conscious effort to concentrate on the movements and words from the gentleman.

Soon, the class ended and other kids filled out to enjoy the rest of their Friday afternoon.

They are probably going to town to chill in malls, or clubs, or swimming pools. The place that give her the chills.

Suddenly she sighed heavily and the dam holding back her tears failed. Two rivers of mascara formed on her red hot face and she sneezed, appalled by her body’s reaction to nothing. The lecturer, Prof. Olunga saw everything, and approached her.

“Doris, are you ok?” he started.
“Not really, I have a terrible cold,” she replied, wiping her face with a white handkerchief.
“Liar. Someone hit you. There is a mark on your cheek,” he said, concerned.

As the glasses flew off, they left a small graze that the lecturer saw.

“No!” she exclaimed, panic beginning to fill her chest. “That was another accident!”
“Please tell me the truth. Who did this to you? I want to help you…”

The psychopath yanked her sharp pointed pen from her pouch and aimed it at her lecturer’s eye.

“Stop probing into my life! You can’t help me, no one can!” she growled to the now petrified gentleman who held up his hands in surrender.

“Ok, relax. Relax! Put it down Doris. This is incredible!” he whispered to an equally terrified Doris that dropped the pen.

“I would never hurt you…I would never hurt you…I would never hurt you…”she whispered in a painful psychopathic trance that twisted her face and curled her fingers.

Prof. Olunga grabbed both her fists with super normal strength and brought them together.
The psychopath, in her forced praying mantis posture returned from the unknown, opened her eyes and saw Olunga’s eyes boring into hers. Seeking answers, begging for his life in a much deeper way. 
Efforts to yank her hands back bore no fruit; Olunga’s grip held like electricity.

“You are not a threat…no threat… plane is crashing…children dying…broken…”she drawled on and on as Olunga watched, aghast.

“Stop!” he commanded. “I’ll call you an ambulance. Just calm down!”
The psychopath ran out of energy and slumped back into her seat, throwing her harsh black mane back.

Oh my freaking gosh!

Prof. Olunga was famous for his brusque nature and indifference. However, unlike everyone else who had crap to go and accomplish, he stayed with her, and held her hands. No one had ever done that.
The psychopath ran her eyes over her new protector as if looking for a knife or wire. His usually hard features were softer and he seemed relaxed.

You can trust him.

“Please don’t call an ambulance. I saw my doctor last week, I should probably return,” she started, and then her face lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Thanks for helping me calm down. I never get rescued from myself that often,” she said with a small smile, and gathered herself to walk away.

Along with the music, sound of her heels and encouraging voices in her head, were a thousand questions.
How on the planet was she supposed to tell Olunga that her giver of life wanted to take it back? That she knew too well what poisons were because her mother pumped them into her blood to try and abort mission #WelcomeDorisToPlanetEarth? That her mother wrapped her little cold body with a beat leso, put her on a bed and hit the road almost every day? That was when a little black hole started to grow in her heart…and trust me, it ain’t the one that small babies have when the foramen ovale doesn’t seal up, it is one that occurs when a child is not cared for and natured. It absorbed all forms of positive energy and left her empty. 

That she was alive thanks to the tales of baby Jesus who apparently loved her and needed her to be kind, caring and compassionate to other people however nasty they were? How was she to explain that she made a friend called Keziah? The one with whom she played with and returned her warmth; only for her to end up being killed in a nasty hit and run by a drunk truck driver? How can she tell him that she will never forget how her only friend was sprawled on the road in a pool of blood, her body mangled in a small heap? That mum never cared to assist her grieving child? How bullies grabbed the doll Keziah left her, cracked its head and called her a freak and how she roamed the streets with it like a lost spirit; its head broken like her own heart?

That she has decided to be strong, cheerful and kind; which has enabled her to make new friends and study but the voices in her head overwhelm her and night terrors drag her five thousand steps back? That she mended her relationship with her mum after discovering she was also ill, but can never ever trust her enough? Now her dad returned to assist with her upkeep, and enjoys his company as her mum recoils from him like a snake? That with time she saw a counselor and doctor whose meds and sessions have healed that black hole?

That she has been through a lot but she has taught herself to work hard, love her family and friends because their smiles encourage her to live on?
That now she is praying furiously to the very Baby Jesus to keep the thugs away from her campus apartment because she will attack them with a kitchen knife if she sees them again? She has to protect herself from getting that black hole again because it hurts much more than any beating they could give her and takes years to heal.

Naah! I think it is better that he doesn’t know.

“Thank you so much for helping me. I’ll be fine now. Can what happened remain our little secret?” she quipped at Prof. Olunga with a sheepish grin.
“Of course. Take care of yourself. If you need anything, you know where to find me,” he replied with a reassuring smile.

Psychopath loosely means illness of the mind. My Wikipedia app suggests that it is a “personality disorder characterized by antisocial behavior, impaired empathy and remorse and bold disinhibited egotistical traits.” Someone who would hurt someone else and not feel bad about it. Does anyone feel like they are surrounded by those? The ones who break hearts and steal and kill and are “zero chills” about it?
Now those are the typa people I will write about in the next two weeks, and I hope y’all awesome people enjoy. 

Cheers!