Esther's Bipolar Disorder

Nobody believes me anymore, I plead, I cry, I tell my story all over again, but nobody thinks I'm telling the truth. If only my Dad was alive, He would have fought for me, He'd have told them that I'm telling you the truth. I sit here all day and recall dreams, I've also told them about it, but recently I find it difficult to differentiate which dream came first. I'd tell you my story too, maybe you'd believe me. You're just like them, I dont think you'd believe me, but I'd tell you all the same.

It started two years after dad died and mum remarried, she asked me what I thought and I told her I want her to be happy. Uche, as he was usually called was a very strict step dad, he was everything my dad was not, but overtime things adjusted and we lived like normal people.
Before my 13th birthday, I really really wanted a guitar so I begged and begged but mum would look helplessly at him and he would say nothing. Mum would come to my room later and explain that we were having financial issues but I knew better.

The night before my birthday, he came into my room in the night and turned off the light. Why do you like to sleep with your light on? he asked. I kept staring at him wondering if he was really there or i was imagining it. He told me he would get me a guitar if i allowed him to do somethings with me. and I had to promise not to tell mum.

I agreed, he took my clothes off and rubbed his hands over my small breasts and then he spread my legs and dug inside me with his thing It was painful but I ignored it. I thought about how I'd go to school with my guitar and join the private music lessons with chidinma. I imagined myself playing so well with the guitar and at the end the audience clapped loudly for me. I was about to play another song when he told me to get up and wash myself.

He angrily asked me why there was no blood stains but I said nothing. What's there to tell? That last year John who was supposed to help me with math after sch, also dug himself into me, as if looking for something that he could not reach with the help of his friend who held my hands firmly. And that when I told him I'd report him his parents begged me not to and told me I'd get an A in math and I did. John later commited suicide. they said he took some acid mixture.

The next morning he told me my birthday gift was in his car, but it turned out to be a toy guitar.
I cried and put the guitar under my bed. I never asked for anything ever again.But he didnt stop coming into my room even though I fought as hard as I could.

He suggested to my mum that I be enrolled in a girls school because he has been seeing me with boys. Mum agreed and it turned out to be a boarding school which somehow my mum managed to convince him for me to go. I never came home again after that, I'd go to stay with grandma during holidays, until my 4th year in university studying medicine and surgery. I decided to go home and see my mum, she told me her husband traveled, but it turned out she was the one who traveled but she wanted me to reconcile with my stepdad because she felt I was still angry with him over the guitar story.

When I met him in the house he smiled at me and I turned to leave. He stopped me and begged for forgiveness, he told me how much he'd changed. I told him I had forgiven him, and decided to spend the night there.

I wasn't going to leave anything to chance. I put a knife and scissors in the drawer next to my bed and wait. Insomnia has always been companion, I wanted to take my sleeping injection but I kept it under my pillow and waited a little. He had intentionally broken the lock of my door when I was still at home and no one repaired it. Then I heard him, I knew he was going to come. He jumped on me and I froze. He pulled up my gown but I didn't move. He slapped me. "Won't you fight me today? Come on, fight me I love the stubborn ones. I put my hand under my pillow but he shoved me out of the bed and I fell, the injection fell to the floor.

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I slowly reached for my sedative injection and wait, bidding my time, waiting to attack, then he came at me again and this time I stabbed him with the injection and injected the full dosage into him. "You little slut!" he cursed I ran into my bathroom and locked myself. When he got tired of banging on the door he lay down there and I went to sleep.

I dreamt that I pulled him inside the bathroom and tied his hands to my shower.
And when he woke, With a blade, I cut a straight line from his left nipple downwards (only 4 inches). The shower rails shook as he jerked. The pain was more intense than he thought it would be, making him grip the rail tighter as his breath was caught in his throat. I did same to the right nipple. He screamed like a woman in labor. His breathe heavy and sweat running down his face.
I shave off his pubic hair. I told him How neat he looked but he called me insane. I started digging into his pubic region with a knife. he passed out Regaining consciousness, he quivered at the sight of his blood flowing down my shower drain. I injected him with 15mg of diazepam and 1g Ceftriaxone and sewed up his wounds.

When I wake up, He was nowhere to be found and I had to report to the police. But my dream wasn't over.
I dreamt that I baked cake that looked like a woman's genitals and gave him to eat and when I looked at his hands, those hands he used to batter me, I remove the nail on his index finger with my knife and pliers from the car park, then the nail on his thumb. I do this till I peel off all his fingernails and toenails. His nailess feet look so good.
Even this morning just before I woke up,
I dreamt again; the same type of dream where I cut open Uche’s sewn up wounds, this time with the broken toy guitar and pour iodine in them and enjoy his scream and tears. I want him to feel what I felt all these years to cry how I cried.

I suddenly wake from this bad dream.
I beg the detective to take out the cuffs; they are mistaken. I tried to tell them it was a bad dream but they say I did it. They show me pictures of his fingernails and toenails in my toy drawer. They showed me pictures of his battered body. I’m not a murderer. I’m a surgeon. I save lives. But I know you don't believe me either, They say it’s not the first time, that I put some acid in the water of my classmate, John and that I may be connected to two other murders. They say I have bipolar disorder. I cannot bear the shame I've put my mum through, so this night I'm going to slash my wrists - the quick way.

This story is an entry to @steemit-virus creative contest #5
When I saw the picture, I thought of someone being attacked but who could do something about the situation.