A Fevered Memory

Shit... Rest in peace to myself

Just woke up it felt like the universe personally hated me. My whole body is hurting, my throat on feels like swollen lumps of raw flesh, throbbing with every breath, every movement, and my nose had transformed into a never-ending waterfall. I couldn't talk. Couldn't drink. Couldn't eat. Even the simple act of swallowing felt like someone was stabbing my throat from the inside.

A rest sleep? Yeah, forget about that. Nose deciding to block itself completely, leaving me gasping for air like a fish out of water.

Tonsillitis. Fever. Cold. Watery nose.

The Four Horsemen of Suffering.

Wort combination of sickness in the history of mankind.

The last time I had this sickness back in tenth grade... What made that time so memorable? Well i will probably gonna do nothing today so let's just think about my past for the day or until i am fine since their is no future that i can think of myself in.

The thing was, i got sick right when a three-day school tour was happening. Perfect timing, right?

My classmates were begging me to join in.

The school had planned a trip. Three days of fun, apparently. The cost? 5000 KRD per student. But there was a catch—the teacher would only take us if we reached a total of 100,000 KRD. That meant at least 20 students had to sign up.

I knew my classmates weren't asking me to join because they wanted me there. They just needed numbers.

Still… I actually wanted to go.

Just hanging out in different place, enjoying travel, experiencing something new. I barely went on vacations as a kid due to some conditions. While other kids had stories about visiting cool places, my stories were mostly about school, home, and whatever random thing I found interesting that month.

So, I did what any desperate kid would do.

I asked my mom for the money.

She refused.

It wasn't even a long conversation. Just a simple "No." No explanation. No discussion. Just rejection.

What was the problem?

My best friend.

Or… my use to be best friend. He wasn't planning on going on tour. And what was the problem once again you ask?

The Friend was Practically a Family

He lived ten seconds away from me. I'm not even exaggerating. Just a few meters, a couple of steps, and I'd be at his house.

We grew up together. Like, from the moment we were old enough to form memories.

My mom worked all the time, and my dad wasn't even around—he had been working in a foreign country since I was born. So for the child part of my life, it was just me, my mom, and my sisters.

Since my mom was busy all time working, she'd leave me at my best friend's house. His family basically raised me alongside him.

Funny—or maybe not so funny—his mom once casually mentioned that she had fed me her milk when I was a baby.

My past is even more weird if i go in depths of it but ignoring that for now.

So we were pretty close like soul mate.

We did everything together. Played together. Studied together. We were basically brothers.

Though might sound little frustrating i actually lied about my past with my family

I know i know what was all that story for? Is probably whats going on your mind but... at that time i just didn't felt like talking about my past and stuff like that.

Honest this time

My family was completely the opposite of what i said.

The cared about though bit too much to the point where i ended up like this.

They were loud.

Criticising every mistakes i made.

Tittle too violent with physical.

To violent with mental.

If you asked anyone in my community, they'd say my family was doing well.

We had money. We were one of the wealthier families in the area. My mom and my sisters were well-liked. From the outside, things looked perfect.

But behind closed doors?

My family wasn't distant. They weren't absent.

They cared.

Too much.

They were loud. Every mistake I made was pointed out, criticized, dissected like it was the most important failure in the world.

They were strict. They didn't just scold—they made sure I felt my mistakes.

I grew up in a house where love and hate mixed together so much that I couldn't tell them apart.

When I was a newbie teenager, a point in life where my two of my sisters had already moved out. During one of our family reunions, they casually mentioned that my mom had been violent toward them when they were younger.

They said it in a joking way. You know, that kind of laughter that only comes from pain? When you've been through so much that you just laugh it off because that's the only way to process it?

I didn't have a problem with my mom, though.

My problems started when my dad came back.

For most of my life, my dad was just a name. A person I knew existed but never really saw.

Then, one day, he came back.

At first, it was fine. He brought gifts, chocolates—stuff to make his return feel like a celebration. The entire village came to greet him. Everyone was happy.

For a little while, it actually felt like we were a normal family.

Then the arguments started.

Every day single day from that moment forward was straight up hell.

Louder. Angrier. More exhausting.

Every single day on forward dad yelled at mom they fought time to time.

It felt frustrating, little guilt cause all i could do was watch and hear them yell at eachother, fight with eachother, i grew up in a place with fight among people were even i had fought people despite my age. But adults were different the whole house filled with the of hard footstep, shaking the entire house.

It was terrifying. Fortunately the third sister, the last born in the sisters group was still young though older than me was in house so i wasn't alone experiencing fear.

As the time passed by, i grew up enough to do stuff on my own. Seeing that.

Then his anger slowly started to shift towards me.

And I became made into the list of his anger.

I don't know why he is angry all time. My mom though facing harsh household justified his anger saying its due to the accident.

When dad was working abroad he got into a accident where he severally injured his head.

But i doubt that's the reason.

All I know is that, from that point on, my life became a cycle of walking on eggshells.

And that was when I started to regret being born.