The Visitor
It’s here again, she realized. Lately it seemed like it had been visiting more often than usual. She tried to focus on cutting the peaches, that is what one did after all, carry on. One did not, under any circumstances, acknowledge it. To acknowledge it would be to admit its existence, and thereby the failure of her belief system to bring her the comfort she so loudly proclaimed it did. There was no rhyme or reason to it, it seemed to come and go as it pleased, taking entire weekends with ease. She blinked away a tear and tried to shake the thoughts out of her mind, again giving her best to invoke her religious training and simply terminate such lines of thinking.
The problem was, the harder she tried to shut it out of her mind, the louder and more violent it became. It hissed and throbbed and pounded, like a child who had not been given adequate attention, and whose pain had never been properly treated. So here she was. It had been like this since as long as she could remember. Eventually, and usually within a few days, it would leave and she would feel relatively normal for a few weeks until the next visit. The visits were painfully obvious to those around her. In the beginning, she had attempted to disguise them but soon this effort became too much for her. For decades now, everyone around her had been able to clearly identify the visits too.
But why have they increased? Why do they seem to stay longer now than ever before? She didn’t know. She had been told that the golden years were the time where one could finally settle down, finally be at peace. The beginning of her golden years had been anything but. She spent her days scrolling her social media feed, waiting for one of her children to call, or reading a book. At least she had books. She had always loved books. They were her friends even during the most painful visits. Well, not all books. She liked books where the characters who do the right thing get the reward, and in which the world is viewed through a lens which provides clear consequences and definitions of right and wrong, good and bad. Where those who suffered mental anguish did so only as a result of their own wrongdoings.
The phone rang. It was her son. “He abandoned you!” the visitor hissed venomously. For a fleeting moment, she attempted to resist her unwelcome guest but she quickly succumbed. “You’re right,” she thought. She talked to her son for a while. She was sure her son could tell that all was not well, but she didn’t particularly care. She had raised him, supported him at every turn, and then - ”ABANDONED!” the visitor repeated, this time much louder. Her son asked her if she had any plans for the day. As if he cared. “He’s keeping your grandson from you!” the visitor spat. “Stop!” she thought. “Please, stop! He’s still my son.”
Eventually her son had to go and she hung up. She was crying. She didn’t understand. She felt confused, frustrated, and angry. Yet a strange sickly sweet comfort at the same time. The visitor had been such a dependable presence in her life that it lent her a certain synthetic warmth. She had been told that alcohol had been known to have a similar effect on a person, but she didn’t know herself. She had vowed never to touch a drop after she had witnessed its destructive potential realized in her father. It was evil and anyone who touched it was evil. “Your son is evil! Your son…IS LOST!” the visitor exclaimed. She tried not to think about her son who did indeed imbibe and had left the religion she herself had converted to.
Maybe I need help, she thought. She had heard whispers of another woman in her church who had seen a specialist and who seemed to be doing bett-“No, NO! That is for weak individuals! That does nothing!” again the visitor interjected without letting her finish her thought. She was exhausted and it wasn’t even noon. Her husband sighed from the couch at the sound of her sobbing. In the beginning he had tried to understand, but had never made much progress. “Vapid! Vacuous! Lazy!” the visitor proudly proclaimed of the man she had married decades ago. She again tried to shake the visitor loose, if only for a moment, and continued cutting the peaches.