Over the passage of time, during those sad, ugly years of my life when I suffered through domestic violence, the doctor became my friend.  He was the only person that seemed to understand my troubles.  I could always go to the doctor and pour my heart out, or let my tears flow freely in his surgery.  He kindly listened patiently, and never interrupted, whilst I spoke and sobbed like Mother Mary weeping at Jesus’ tomb.  Between sobs, he gave me tissues to wipe away my tears.  I wish no woman from my womb should ever experience my world and what I've been through.  How I hated the thought of those years and how cruel they were.  Just the thought of the words “domestic violence” sends me into a jitter and the words become stuck in my throat like a lump of hard clay.  I could almost vomit, and writing about it made me sick.  Apart from the doctor being my friend, medication became my personal best friend.  The pills were the only hope I had of getting through my days.   I used to visit the doctor very regularly as I needed the pills to see me through the bad times.  Headaches were regular and I suffered greatly, oftentimes ending up with terrible, blinding migraines that almost drove me out of my mind.

On that eventful day, I finally finished work and had to face up to going home.  With a heavy heart I walked away from the office, not thinking or knowing that it was going to be the last time I ever saw the inside of that office again.  I walked out of work and went up Gold Street, towards the town centre, to catch a bus going to Kingsthorpe that would take me home.  On reaching Kingsthorpe Hollow, I decided to get off the bus and stopped at the home of one of my friends.  It was a dull, dismally cold and dingy April evening with black fog slowly rising and falling down on us.  It was cold and depressing, with a smell I find hard to describe.  By the time I reached Estellanna's house, I felt like all the blood had been drained from my body.  On reaching the front door, I gently tapped on it.  Before anyone said come in, I let myself in, knowing the door is always unlocked   and I was in desperate needed of a shoulder to cry on.  Just by the look alone on my face, Estellanna knew, or saw I was in another world from hers.  The moment I poked my head through the sitting room door, she began looking at me with questioning eyes, then she asked, "What's the matter with you, Meranda?”  But that evening, of all evenings, although I felt I wanted to speak to someone, to anyone that might be able to understand what was happening to me, I just couldn't express the way I was feeling; I just couldn't speak! With worried looks on my face, I sighed deeply and just stared at her as though I was deaf and dumb. Then I heard her say, "Your face is looking like death warmed up, what’s going on?" I remained standing by the door, just staring into the nothingness of the bare blank space, heart as heavy as a chunk of wet clay.  I was just staring because the words couldn't come out my mouth to explain how I was feeling. 

All I knew and felt was that the weight of death and its shadow had been overpowering me all day.  My burden was so heavy, with too many problems to bear, my mind just switched off, like a dead car battery.  All I could do, therefore, was only to stand and stare at the blank space as though I was totally dumb.  For a moment, I directed the stare at Estellanna.  She was sitting in a chair, in the middle of the living room, gazing at the television and cursing at the programs as she sipped a can of beer and pulled and puffed away on the cigarette between her fingers.  I noticed the smoke coming from her mouth like a chimney on a rooftop.   The swirling smoke provided a temporary focus for my confused mind.  Estellanna looked hard at the cigarette fastened between her fingers; she inhaled as hard as she could, and then exhaled smoothly with a painful sigh of relief.  For a moment, she muttered some words pertaining to me, but I wasn't listening, and neither was I in a state of mind for reasoning about anything, even though I felt I wanted to speak to somebody.  I stood at the door by the window, wishing I wouldn't have to go home.  Estellannna, glancing sideways at me, observed woefully that, "Something is bothering you. What on earth is the matter with you this evening, Missis?"  Then she pulled hard on the cigarette again.  “Have you lost your tongue at work today, Meranda?"  She continued, in a quaint voice.  For a moment, I felt to burst out crying, or to swiftly get out of the room.   All my tears had dried up, only feelings of numbness, and confusion consumed my body.  I couldn’t concentrate on anything, except maybe how broken I was feeling inside. 

For a moment, I turned to go away, and then I looked around again at Estellanna, still sitting in the chair.  Could I have a piece of un-sliced bread to eat if there's any, Estell?"  I asked her, having no idea why I'd asked for such a specific piece of bread.  It was as though my life depended on that special slice of bread.  Maybe I was very hungry, or it was going to be my last supper.  I was not sure which.  “Look into the bread bin, in the kitchen, if there's any bread,” said Estella, quite reluctantly, still sitting in the chair as though she was glued to it.  Immediately I went to the kitchen and looked into the bread bin.  There was no bread.  I felt disappointed, and more hungry than before.  With my head hanging like a withered rose, I walked back from the kitchen, feeling like a dying duck in a wet thunderstorm.  As I got back to the living room, I peeped in.  "I'm going home now,” I said, with a quaint expression in my voice, looking at Estell.  She managed to yank herself up out of the chair and came to the front door.