Imagine being in a world, where ever since you left the womb of your creator, that same creator constantly created and searched for flaws in you. Imagine an illness. Sickness. Constant pain. In which all were non-existent, but because you were only young you fell into the trap of believing, hoping that what your mother told you was true; so that pain, that illness, that flaw became real, it became reality. Imagine being oblivious to what lay between you and the truth.
0-2 years of age - mummy would always say ‘you look pale, you have a temperature.’ Or ‘your head must be killing you, its killing you isn’t it?’ followed by ‘Navaeh, baby I think we should get you to the hospital, you’re always sick.’ That gentle, soothing tone that a genuine caring mother has, but that persistent echo in her voice made me believe that’s what I wanted too, what she was fixating, was telling me was the pain I was going through. She would always tell me what to say to the doctors, describe what I was feeling, the severity of each word she spoke and those vivid images still ring in my head as I remember being programmed like a robot, telling them what she had once whispered in my ear. I was a hospital sensation I had at least been 4 times a month, and stayed over at least twice.
However, as I began to get older and develop into a child who could only believe in the things that she saw or felt, it meant these lies and strange truths she fed me, were no longer to be as persuasive and real. For I now knew what pain meant, I now knew the fine line between what was wrong and right, she taught me that. Mother knew this, she realised that as human beings we only accept the world in which we feel we have control of. Instead of now just feeding me lines, she had to make me feel what she said, really feel it this time, so she did. ‘Have some orange juice, Navey,’ ‘But mum I don’t…’ ‘Navaeh I’m your mother and I’m telling you that if you ever want to be able to be well enough to leave here then you’ve got to help yourself, don’t you ever want to know how it feels to feel fresh air blowing on your face apart from the strong winds that follow you as you enter the hospital?’ She knew she had me there, so I accepted it all the time. I drank it, swallowed every last drop like an over excited toddler who was told they were going to the beach for the first time, in hope that someday I would be able to experience the real world. Each day it would either be water or some kind of juice, mostly juice so that I could not taste the molecules of pain that she threw inside of it.
Thousands of misdiagnoses, the doctors could never properly diagnose me because every result was clear, but how could they? How could they diagnose something that never existed? I was constantly isolated, constantly told ‘the world is a place of cold and germs’, the only thing protecting me, separating me from the outside was the bricks entwined in the walls of both the hospital and home. I loved the hospital! The hospital was my only escape from the same bricks, the same rooms, the same feel of wool carpet brushing my delicate feet; I always imagined that’s how sand felt, between our toes. I always noticed how much she loved the hospital too, I would watch her face light up, her sun-kissed cheeks blossom, her eyes glisten when she knew it was another day in the hospital. I was oblivious to the possibility that how she felt was wrong, you see I was presented with a world where my mother could do no wrong, and so only perceived her reactions as positivity, as if she actually thought that the hospital would benefit me in some way, I always thought her actions were selfless, and that there was not a slightest bit of selfishness within her, for this I hated myself. I always imagined that the anticipation I saw within her when going to the hospital was because she was once a nurse and what I saw was her chance to relive the memories of her old duties, to forget that I was a massive burden on her. I hated the fact that my pain controlled my mother, changed her lifestyle, and to an extent it did, but in ways I could have never imagined. For pleasure. For attention. For affection. But one day it happened, one day her driven desires and disturbing ways came to an alt.
Aged 15 – ‘Navaeh keeps fitting, but we can’t see why, it doesn’t make sense, her MRI scans have come back normal, and it doesn’t match up to any previous symptoms, no sign of epilepsy.’
‘Is she going to be okay?’ She asked.
‘We’re not sure, I’m afraid we can’t see anything sinister, we’re going to have to do some bloods, see if anything shows up in there,’
‘Bloods? Are you sure that’s necessary?’ I remember hearing that; it was the first sentence I heard after finally stabilising from the fit that stopped just in time for me to catch what she said, like it was meant to be. It wasn’t just that she asked if it was necessary that seemed odd, but it how she asked. I heard hesitation creep in and hospitals were usually her place of comfort. No one else heard it; they were too busy rushing over to see the after mass of the fit as I began to open my eyes.
‘So the bloods? Are you still going to do them?’ I looked over to her and I saw the woman I adored begin to bite her nails, anxiety crept over her face. My initial thought was that she was worried to find the result of whether something was extremely wrong, but I just had a feeling that that anxiety rooted from a deeper tree.
‘Yes, but in the mean time we have a specialist consultant from the neurology team coming to speak to Navaeh, if she’s up for it?’
I remember nodding, I remember seeing a face appear out of the curtains, and I remember the scared expression, as if seeing a ghost when the doctor saw my mother.
‘Cheryl?’
That was the moment that I was exposed to the truth, when I found out that that doctor use to work with my mother, and that when the blood tests came back their was various poisonous chemicals, rat poison traces of arsenic, which had been given to me, by who? - Mother. The disbelief, my mother going in to frantics, my life shattering, and the questioning of why.
She had Munchausen by proxy syndrome, she inflicted pain on me for attention, for sympathy. Every poison she inserted into my ‘juice’ was for herself. My pain controlled her life! Everything began to make sense, she was an ex nurse, not because of me, but because of mental unstabability she was forced to leave her job, that’s how the consultant knew something wasn’t right, because she used to be his colleague. I couldn’t get past it though, I still cant. How was I suppose to face the world on my own? When my pain, my life, my own mother’s nurture was an illusion. My mother was instantly arrested, what happened to her I don’t know, but it was then at that moment when I felt the most pain! Pain that was indescribable, real, it tore at me like the poisons tore at my intestines. Freedom was the last thing I felt, I wasn’t free.
1 month later – I stayed in the hospital for a month, whilst doctors battled to undo the malicious acts of my mother. For the first time I had a real symptom, a real diagnosis, and a real cure. I remember leaving the hospital and as I left I was allowed to finally see the world through my real eyes, but as I walked deeper and further into the outside, reality became harder. After months of being on the news, I began to see that no one longer cared. I became another lost face in the crowd. I no longer had an illness, I was no longer constantly in pain so no one noticed me anymore, all my life I was cared for by many, but now my physical being was stronger and they let me be with the rest of humanity.
‘There are helpless beggers! The outside reflects nothing but shadows of the past.
‘I see humans but no humanity!’
‘No one notices the pain I’m going through no more, they don’t know how hard it is to be one of them!’
I couldn’t cope with the ways of our world, I feed lies into my brain. I’d rather be destined to great pain hospitalised, then a soulless figure in the background. Here no one cares for you. My mother hurt me to protect me from the pain of the world much greater than my own! Now I must protect myself! I have Munchausen syndrome… and society gave it to me.