Man's best end

I flinched at the bright sunlight. Mum always made sure to open the door slowly to let me adjust, but I still wasn’t quite there. She knelt to my level to make me feel safe, to make me feel that we were a team against the snarling evil of the outside world. She spoke softly, as she always did. Her voice a light and soothing song - even though I could only understand some of the words.

Together - we step outside.

The smell of the flowers is instantly overwhelming; pollen clawing its way up my nose and forcing me to sneeze. I hated that - distractions. Ones that stop me from surveying the environment, from keeping myself safe. I was never allowed outside when I was living with Dad unless… Unless it was a trick. Mum was rubbing smooth calming circles on my back while my lip quivered, teeth chattered, and bones shook at the memory. She was nothing like him, nothing at all. All sweetness and love, respectful of my boundaries, and full of endless patience. She knew just when I needed that physical contact, and could read my body language enough to know when her offering a hand to me would make me flinch or fly into a panic.

I didn’t know why I was like this. Why I couldn't stop it. I’d lie awake in my bed wondering what was wrong with me, why was I always doing everything wrong. But when I felt unsafe, cornered and suffocated, I would just explode. I’d scream, kick, growl until my chest burned and I began burning energy from a deeper place - one that could only be activated by uncontrollable fear. It's like I had two brains, one that wanted to be able to trust, wanted to be loved. The other brain said ‘No, get away from me. Away, away, away.’ sometimes gently, sometimes with the roar of thousands of teeth. Most times I don’t even realise what I’m doing until it's over, so blinded by a rage birthed from fear.

I’d snapped at Mum a few times - been beside myself with upset afterwards. I never meant to react like that with her, but the truth was it wasn’t who it was that dictated my outbursts, but how I felt inside. If I was overwhelmed by too many stimuli attacking my senses, if a hand moved faster than I could anticipate, my body reacted before my brain could catch up on what was happening.

I’d made Mum cry once. I heard her speaking on the magic box to Grandma about how she didn’t know what she was doing wrong, she didn’t know how to help me, and that maybe she should take me back. Back? Back, back, back - no. I couldn’t go back - please. I’d clung to her, snuggled her, nuzzled at her tears. I tried to show her how much I loved her. I clawed at her body, please hold me, hold me tight. I cried and whimpered in her lap for days, followed her everywhere, terrified that if she left a room I’d never see her again. I cried when she left for work until she returned home, not knowing who would open that door. I’ll be good, I’ll be good. I’ll do better, I promise.

Things had been a lot better since then. I’d been trying really hard to hold it all inside, not to snarl at the world every time it came at me too quickly. Mum was trying too. We’d try together. Today’s gentle lesson to coax me into the garden was proof. She didn’t force me, push me, yank me by my neck. She let me take a few uneasy steps toward the threshold in my own time. Then she gently took a step forward and sat down in the sun, showing me it was safe. If anything was going to attack it would get her first and not me. I knew she loved me. I didn’t know why - I didn’t deserve it.

The longer I stayed out there the more my jittering subsided; rapid breaths returning to a steady rhythm. Mum was telling me all about this place. I couldn’t understand much of it but I still appreciated her for it. It was calming. Outside under the big stretching of sky that threatened to pounce on my head at any moment, noises and smells assaulting me from every angle, so much happening that I couldn’t anticipate, too much to be able to sense - and yet, I was calm. This was big progress and as I looked over at Mum she knew it too.

As time passed we’d take a few steps further out into the garden, day by day, a single step more. There had been bad days; I’d heard a lawnmower, or the older man who lived next door talking loudly to his wife inside the house, and flew into my habitual panic ( I hated male voices. Loud ones especially. They reminded me of Dad). But mostly, I’d been good. With Mum’s gentle voice and patient approach it wasn't long before we could take a walk down the grassy path that led from the garden. We’d often go early in the morning so there was no one around to spook me; I preferred it just me and her - that meant safety.

I was almost normal. I was almost good.

Then he arrived.

A deep voiced man. Big. Tall. Loud. He tried to come up to me, all hands and overenthusiasm. Mum thankfully stopped him. I went up to my bed where it was safe before she could place a reassuring hand on me to check I was okay. I could hear her saying my name to him, probably explaining how bad I was. That I acted strange.

I thought maybe that would stop him from coming back. Who wants to be burdened by me after all? But he kept coming. More and more. Over and over. Each time more comfortable, as if he owned the place. Until I felt like the stranger invading his space.

Eventually I got used to his scent and could smell him coming before his thundering voice could catch me unaware, but I’d still hide. I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want it to happen again. If he saw me being bad, I was sure he’d hurt me like Dad did.

Once I heard him raising his voice at my Mum. Instinct sent me rigid, raising my head to listen carefully.

‘Stupid’ something ‘bad’ something ‘your’ - I couldn’t make out the rest.

Were they talking about me? Was he telling Mum what a horrible creature I really was - what I deserved? Asking her why she didn’t already see it?

There would be a few more occasions of this shouting when the man came to stay. Sometimes Mum would even shout too - it felt so wrong coming from her, so alien. I wondered if I’d got her all wrong, if this was just one long cruel trick to get me to trust her before she finally turned on me. But, the next day they’d always go back to normal; as if they’d changed their minds. I’d be on guard, just in case. Whether I meant to or not.

One day I heard Mum say my name to the man. They talked for a while and it was calm, contented. Maybe I was being good now? I had tried to be on my best behaviour. As the man walked past me I’d simply lower my head to avoid looking at him. If he was being loud I’d leave the room. He’d keep trying to touch me some days, over and over, mess with my ears - I hated it. Hated it, hated it, hated it. But I couldn’t be bad. I had to let him do it. I’d wait until he finished, trying to control my shaking until I got upstairs into the safety of my bed, curling up and staying out of the way until he left.

The next morning I heard Mum leave for work. I went to check all areas of the house, as usual, making sure there were no intruders - just the safety of my loneliness. I padded downstairs, turned the corner and there he was. The man. He held a rope in his hands - I knew what that meant.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, please. I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.

I was completely frozen. I looked at the door that trapped me between the outside and him - an enemy on both sides. He took that as a sign that I wanted this and slipped the rope over my neck, pulling tight. My lips quivered as that hand approached, I wanted to run, to shout, but I couldn’t - I had to be good.

Be good. Be good. Be good.

The door opened. The front door. One I’d not been through since the day Mum brought me home. I didn’t remember what it looked like, what was out there, what to expect. It was all new and terrifying and as I stood there petrified, panting, panicked; it opened. I was yanked by the neck; what little oxygen I’d managed to take in with my irregular breaths was forced out of me as I was choked out of the house.

The sun was higher than it usually was when I walked with Mum. Mum, who’d take her time and do things at my pace. Mum, who was the only safety I’d ever known in this world.

There were lots of people. Women, Men, little people, big people. People sat on bikes and went so fast that ticking noise shot through my ears and rattled around inside my head, scrambling my brain. I jerked my head with overstimulation, confusion, fear, This just caused the man to pull me harder.

‘Come on’ he said in that low warning growl of a voice he owned.

A small person squealed with delight as they saw me and ran over with their small sticky hands, and they were touching me. Another one joined and I couldn’t focus on who’s hand was where, what they were trying to do.

‘What are you doing?’ I yelled in a panic, quick and warning. I was twisting and turning, trying to escape those ever exploring hands.

‘Look, he's excited to see you.’ the man said to the small hands, mocking me.

‘No, no please. I'm scared.’ I screamed back, louder this time ‘Please stop, I’m scared, I’m scared.’

I tried to tell them, I kept trying. I screamed and yelled and tried to wriggle from the feeling of those hands on my body, the sound of all those people, the cars, the bikes, the smells. Colours. That man with his rope around my neck.

‘Where’s my mum?’ I screamed ‘I WANT MY MUM’.

They were still touching me, and the man bent down and added his own hand - that evil one that never asked permission. He was speaking in that low voice, just like Dads. Then he picked something up and held it to my face, my eyes, my mouth.

‘No.’ I snarled ‘NO NO NO DONT HURT ME I DONT WANT TO BE HURT NO NONONO-’

The stick waved. The hands touched. The smells swirled. Bike. Car. Hand. People. Man voice. Man voice. Laughing. Loud. Car. Pollen. Bike. Man voice. Hand. People. Hand. Hand. Stick. Hand. Hand. handhandhandhandhandstickstickstickstick

I snapped.

The next thing I remember was being on a cold table in a white and blue room that smelled funny. Mum was there. I was so excited to see her at first, she’d come to save me - she’d come to take me somewhere safe again.

Then I saw that look on her face. A mixture of pain, love, and tears.

I’d been bad.

I knew I’d hurt her when I saw the look on her face too - what was left of it.

Frantic, I tried to explain things to Mum. I didn’t mean to hurt that little person, I swear. I was so overwhelmed and scared and didn’t know what to do. No one was listening to me Mum, I was screaming at them, trying to get away - they kept doing it anyway. I tried to tell them, I tried to tell them, I swear! I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to.

‘I know’ she said in that sweet calming voice I loved ‘I know, sweetheart.’

She wasn’t angry? I’d been bad, and she wasn’t angry? How did I deserve this person as my Mum? She understood me, she must have? She always understood me. I love you Mum, I love you, I love you love you loveyouloveyouloveyo

‘Settle down Buddy, that's it. Shh–’ she calmed me ‘--It’ll be over soon.’

I didn’t understand that. Just the calming voice and the gesture of her resting her forehead against mine.

I felt sleepy.

‘You can rest now, Bud. You’re a good boy, always my good boy.’

Mum's voice was so soft and sincere it was going to send me to sleep. Usually I’d never sleep in a strange place like this, but it didn’t matter now. I was surrounded by Mum’s smell. Her warm face on mine. And she thought I was a good boy, after everything, she still thought I was a good boy.

Good boy.

Good boy.

Good.

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