Into the Abyss.

The three hour drive to Yacht Peninsular ends up being futile. On the way my analytical mind attempts to rationalise the situation. “Maybe that was his way of affirming my calling to Mermaid Beach? Maybe, I read the circumstance completely wrong? Maybe they are not together and he really was, just teaching her to surf? So, why not just be honest with me then? Why the pretence? And why the fuck am I once again, struggling to make sense of a situation that which makes no fucking sense!” I cannot cope with this any longer. I am hanging onto my existence by that of a mere thread and if I do not get some answers to the questions that which leave me a prisoner of my own mind very soon, I fear I will lose what little bit of strength in which I have left. By the time I get to Yacht Peninsular, I am fuelled with the urge to go back home and confront him. I am not quite sure how I will accomplish this when he blatantly refuses to talk to me, though? To help shine a little light on the darkest of places within that of my psyche, all that which pertain to him and exactly what his intentions are, to put me through this? I have no choice but to catch him off guard. Right now however, I need to try to get some sleep.

I awake early the following morning, get dressed and begin the three hour journey back home. I do not so much as shower, for my focus and my determination lay within how I am going to attempt to gain the answers to the thousands of questions that which have become the eluding force keeping me hostage. I am dressed in my ripped jeans. My hair is a mess. My face is still puffy and swollen from the endless amounts of tears in which I have cried since yesterday afternoon. I do not even have any shoes! I look like shit, to say the very least. Driving into the city, I decide to swing passed the university and see if his vehicle is there. To which, it is. Parked in the same place as it always is. “Fuck it.” I pull my car over to the other-side of the road, almost directly adjacent to that of his own vehicle and make myself as comfortable as I possibly can. It is only half past nine in the morning, which means I could potentially be sitting here all day waiting for him to finish work. But I do not care. If I do not get the answers to my questions soon, I fear for what this will ultimately mean for that of my mental health. I am in survival mode and I need, to survive this! “Please dear universe, help me to survive this?”

Half way through that of the day, a man whom looks similar to Zabian approaches his car. He is wearing headphones and black sunglasses. However, this man is far too short to be Zabian. And, his legs attain a lot more muscle. His head most definitely appears similar to Zabian's, though? Intently watching him whilst he checks on that of his vehicle, I wonder if perhaps I am wrong and it is actually him? Another disguise maybe? Padding in his pants or something? Or maybe, he has hired someone whom looks like him so to do his dirty work? As the man turns around to walk back down Ocean Drive, I speak, knowing that he can hear me, “Are you fucking seriously going to just walk away from me? Fine, walk away, Zabian. I will still be here at the end of the day, waiting for you to talk to me!” The man, not looking back, simply shakes that of his head. “Oh really! Now you have to nerve to shake your fucking head at me? Whatever, Zabian. I’ll see you when you finish work, then.” The man shakes his head again, but continues to walk away.

The hours of the day surprisingly go by quite quickly. Contemplating how I am going to approach this, I am riddled with fear as it attempts to take a hold of my psyche and render me extinct. I will not let it get the better of me, though. I intend on ending this once and for all. Sure enough, Zabian comes skating up Ocean Drive, with his headphones in of course. Ensuring to take note of his appearance, I realise that this man is most definitely not the man whom checked on his vehicle at lunchtime. He is taller and has broader shoulders than I even remember the man whom showed up at the nightclub, having? I recall the first time in which I began to intuit that there were more than one of him. This sounds absolutely insane, I am aware. However, I was sitting outside of campus, to which there are only two entry points into that of the small building, both in my direct line of vision. Zabian walked out and made his way up that of the main street of the suburb. He did not return, or re-enter the building again. I finish my cigarette and head into the building, back up that of the stairs and into the kitchen, only to find Zabian, standing right fucking there! Even if he went through that of the other entrance after myself, there is no way he could have beaten me to the kitchen! Maybe the man in front of me right now, and the man whom was at the nightclub the other week, are twins? "Aghhh." My mind cannot not focus on this now! Whilst he approaches my vicinity, I am quick to jump out of my car so to meet him before he has the opportunity to jump into to his car, and drive away. Taking out his headphones, he looks at me and in the most nonchalant of mannerisms, he says, “Howdy.” Howdy? Really? Howdy? I have already intuited that our conversation will once again, be fabricated with a veil that which will be his attempt in masking the reality of the situation and his howdy, is my validation of this. I do not let it deter me, however. I came here to be real, and real is what I am going to be! Whether he chooses to meet me in this place, or not.

Throughout our journey, we have both made reference to the love in which we share feeling like, home. That in one another, we have discovered what home truly is and that upon our union, we shall have finally come, home. Home to that of ourselves and home, to that of one another. I look at him, desperate for him to meet me in this place of reality, truth and honesty. Begging that he offer me the authentic expression of his being in the rawness of his absolute vulnerability, transparency and trust, I ask him only but one, simple question, “Can we go home now, please?”

Zabian looks around that of the street before looking back at me, acting as though he is baffled by that of my question. “Sorry?” He states. My heart sinks. The entirety of my world crumbles around me as I witness this man in the biggest state of fear to which I have seen. My heart sequentially, softens and extends to that of his. I cannot force him to be real with me. My mind frantically races, searching for an open window in what I should say next. Then, I start to question myself, also. "What if he truly has no idea of that which I speak of?" The fear in which I see in him, instantaneously floods throughout that of my own being. “Well, in that case,” I begin to try to articulate, “Do you know anybody whom has connections to…” I stop mid-sentence, realising that which I am about to play into. “Do you know what, Zabian,” I begin saying as I wipe the sweat that which pours from my hands down the length of my jeans to where my thighs reside, “It has been a pleasure knowing you. Take care of yourself, ok.” I extend my hand to his, slowly, watching as his hand in turn, passively reaches back for that of my own. I gently instigate the smoothest of handshakes I've yet experienced, channelling all the love in which I hold for him into the gesture, as our hands delicately caress one another before departing ways.

I walk across the road to where my vehicle is parked and with disappointment in my soul, jump in and proceed to start my engine. As I am pulling out, I plead with my divine heavenly helpers in the language that is unique to my soul and not of this earth, at the top of my lungs I beg them, “Please, help me? Please?” To my dismay, Zabian, whom can hear my cries, shakes his head at me as though I am a complete mental case. In this moment, he does something in which I never deemed it possible for him to do. He breaks me. Zabian knows that I can channel this language. He knows this better than anyone! Fuck, even the tutor whom he acquired to do his dirty work for him back when I was still enrolled in that of the university, learned this of me! Whatever tether in which I am hanging onto so to keep that of my sanity intact, immediately snaps. “Mission accomplished, Zabian.” I weep.

Driving home, the radio presenters make multiple references to, home. I am numb to their attempts of trying to destroy me any further, however. I just want to escape. How can I escape? Where can I go? He has access to me no matter where I am and I do not trust myself not to fall victim to his emotional manipulation. Again. I request that of the universes assistance. “Show me what to do, please? Guide me to whence I will be safe?” Suddenly, the road sign for the hospital captures that of my attention and I am filled with a sense of clarity. I recall a friend telling me that to be detained within a mental ward of a hospital, whereby one will have no access to that of technology of any description, one simply needs to express that of their intent to commit suicide and offer the doctors a plan on how one intends to achieve such.” A little bit confused now, I ask my guides for further clarification. “Trust, Shaniquah.” The resounding voice of Goddess Isis permeates that of my clairaudient senses. Her energy is as cold as a frozen pond and the icy chills caused by that of her essence, create goosebumps upon my skin. “View this as nothing more than the space needed for some deep, uninterrupted rest, child.” I succumb to the invitation as though it has been handed to me on a silver platter. If locking myself in a hospital is the only avenue in which I can take so to escape this, then I will do whatever is required. And let’s face it, in this moment, the notion of driving my car off of a fucking cliff is not too far from that of the truth of which I wish to do right now, anyway. I quite often feel that the only way in which I am ever going to escape this, is to end my life. Hell, if I did not have three beautiful children depending on me, I probably would, do exactly that. At the very least, maybe I might come across somebody in the hospital whom is actually willing, to help me.

Entering the emergency department, I am beyond exhausted. I tell the cleric behind the desk of my situation and she requests that I take a seat. “Take a seat? I have just told you that I plan to end my life, and you casually tell me to, take a fucking seat!” No! “I look at her sternly, with tears welling in my eyes and demand, “You, either go and get somebody whom can help me right now, or I walk out of those doors and my blood will be on your hands!” Instantly, she makes a phone call and I am escorted to a private bay within that of the emergency department. I lay upon the bed, pull the blanket over me and curl into a ball. Burying my head into the pillow, I continue to sob as I await that of the doctors presence.

Finally, a young female doctor walks into my bay. I roll over and sit up, to where she introduces herself to me as, Shaniquah! "Great! Here we fucking go!" I immediately do not trust her. I mean, sure, the chances of her name being the same as mine are probable. However, I have learned not to trust anything that which smells dodgy. And this, most certainly smells like fucking shit! She asks me a couple of questions about my intentions, to which I am content with the oblige to disclose. Then, she begins asking me about an experience in which I had at another hospital, earlier in the year. Yup, here is the part that stinks to high fucking hell! “You had severe pneumonia, yes?” She questions me. Well, for a start, this is the first time in which I have been told that this is what they decided to label it as, because none of the doctors at the time were able to give me an explanation for that which had occurred, at all. Secondly, I am not an idiot, lady! There is absolutely no reason for you to be mentioning this right now, other than to bring my awareness to the profound death and rebirth that which was initiated for me through that experience, so that I will acknowledge the beginning of when the journey between Zabian and I, became enlightened. I shoot her a look of disgust and simply reply, “No.” She queries me further, “No, what? No, you don’t remember this? No, it didn’t happen?” I turn my head away from her and repeat, “No.” I then curl up into a ball again and proceed to ignore any other questions she wishes to ask me on the subject. It is not fucking relevant as to why I am here! When she attempts to leave that of the room I pipe up and sarcastically query her in return, “Are you going to help me now, or what!” She turns back and looks at me, but chooses not to say a fucking word.

Once I am moved into a secluded area, I am given some lorazepam to help me sleep. I awake to another lady doctor, wanting to ask me some questions. Once again, the questions that which she asks me are not at all relevant to my situation. This time, I have had enough! I get up and begin pacing the hospital room, screaming at my guides in the language of my soul, “Make them stop, make them stop! Make. Them. Stop!” The look on the doctors face is priceless. The fear that which this language has ignited within her is written all over her face. She thinks I am fucking possessed or something! My guides automatically calm me down, softly whispering in my ear, “Ready for your rest, child?” I inhale deeply as the tears stream down my face. “Yes! Please dear universe, yes?” Stripped of all of my belongings, I am given some more lorazepam and taken to the closed mental ward of the hospital. In my room is a bed, and nothing else. I lay upon the uncomfortable mattress and close my eyes. By the time I awake, it is the following day.

Bless. I have not been accustomed to such peace in so very long. Aside from needing a cigarette, to which the hospital are happy to gift me with a nicotine device, I am more relaxed than I have been in months. I spend the entirety of the day appreciating the quiet. Soaking in the stillness. Giving gratitude for the peace. “Thank-you so much.” I continue to repeat to that of my guides and to the universe, “Thank-you, so very much.” One of the nurses, whom has been extremely kind to me, informs me that the doctors will do their rounds in the morning and that I am expected to see somebody then. I am sure that the disappointment must be apparent behind that of my eyes because as she is relaying the message, the nurse gives me a weird look. It doesn’t matter, though. I trust that the universe will guide me in that which I am meant to disclose tomorrow, one way or another.

The following morning presents and I am the first patient to be called into a meeting with the doctors. “Why do you think that you are in here, Shaniquah?” The gentleman psychiatrist queries me. I do not so much as need to check in with my guides, for I have already intuited that I am not meant to answer a single question in which he asks. Without fail, he provides himself with an answer to his own question, anyway. “I don’t think that you belong in here, Shaniquah. I believe that you are very, spiritually gifted, and that the closed mental ward of a hospital is not the place for you.” I look at him, thinking to myself, “If only you knew, Mr!” However, I continue to say nothing. He offers me a compassionate smile. “We’re going to move you to the open ward and reassess your situation tomorrow, ok?” Perfect! So I’ll be back around technology and once again, in a position to have to submit into all of the ways in which he can access me? "Great!" I roll my eyes and nod my head, knowing that there is not a thing in which I can do so to prevent it. He has the power, and all of the control. My father and a close friend come to visit me before I am moved. I really don’t want to see them, though. Luckily, the visit has to be kept short in accordance with that of the closed ward’s rules. Later that day I am moved into the open ward, to where my mother brings me a change of clothes and a little visit from, my precious cherubs. "Fuck!" Upon seeing their little faces light up as they embrace me in the most warmest of hugs I realise, that I need to go home. For them.

When I am called into that of the meeting with the doctors on the following morning, I stop dead in my tracks. The same psychiatrist whom saw me the day before, the very same man who sat there and professed his beliefs about my, spiritual gifts, is wearing a fucking wedding tuxedo. Not only is he dressed as a groomsman, but his tie and the little colourful tissue that which hangs from his jacket pocket, are fucking turquoise! Purple and turquoise are the colours in which I have ascribed to represent Zabian and I. To represent the polarity of the masculine and feminine dynamic of our Twin Flame relationship. Purple being that of my representation and turquoise, being his. “So now he wants to, get married? Is this symbolism of him, being mine, perhaps? So to assure me that he is not, still with his wife?” The doctor then searches that of the expression on my face, before leaning toward me and affirming, “You will, be going home, Shaniquah.”

ThankYOU for taking the time to read that of my story, BeYOUtiful Soul. If It captivated You and You would like to explore more of Shaniquah's Journey, let me Know by tapping on the Heart-shaped button and showing me some Love, then head over to my Personal profile to delve Deeper InTo that of Shaniquah's World. If You Feel Called to offer Your Support to my Journey as a Writer, please feel free to tap on the tip button, also. All proceeds Are very much Valued and Appreciated, and Will go toward the Creation of my first novel. Infinite Love and Gratitude, Lollie.

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