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When Dylan came home, I was happy I had a little brother. But soon, strange incidents began happening. No one could explain the hideous things he did or why he did them!
“Nobody loves me!” he cried, as he was forced to sit in the car. Dylan was red with rage and tears covered his face.
“That is not true. We love you a lot. You will be away just for a short while and then we’ll get you back home”. Mother didn’t believe her own words. For the first time she wasn’t sad that he was leaving.
This was not the first time Dylan was being sent to a mental institution. At 8, he had already been there more times than the total number of years he walked on the earth. I don’t blame anyone else for his condition; he called it upon himself.
He was buckled into the backseat of our car as he was still too little to sit in the front and like always, had his yellow teddy in his hand. He considered the teddy as his best friend and was never without it. He had it with him since he was a small child. Mother wanted to throw it away after the last incident but he didn’t want to let go of it. They were inseparable.
The only difference now was that it was covered with blood stains and it had two huge sockets in place of the eyes. The neighbourhood puppy was found dead with its eyes gouged out, and Dylan’s teddy was found in his toy shelf, with the puppy’s bloody eyes!
It was just last year that Dylan was adopted by my family from a foster home. My mother lost her baby three years back and slipped into depression. She didn’t eat or drink and always cried. There was an empty space in her heart that needed to be filled, and adopting Dylan healed her in many ways more than one. He was the apple of everyone’s eyes and within a month, he ruled our hearts and our home.
I was so happy to be an elder sister. Finally, I had someone I could play with, share my toys with and pamper! He was everything I looked for in a brother! He loved being with me and followed me around everywhere. We have a difference of 3 years and have so much fun playing together.
But there are strange things that always happen around him…
It wasn’t noticeable at first but there were unusual and unsettling incidents that happened since he came and he was always right in the middle of it. Two weeks after he came, he drew pictures on the wall- a black face with red eyes. Black was his favourite colour. Mother patiently sat and explained to him that we don’t draw or paint on the walls. He was sorry about it and promised never to do it again.
A week after that, his school teacher found a knife in his bag. He removed it in class and sat staring at it. Our parents were called and then he was left, after a warning. He acted like he didn’t even know about it; small kids are very good at making up false stories.
One Sunday, we invited our family and guests over, it was a welcome party for Dylan and we were all very excited. When food was served, some people started throwing up. I didn’t understand what was happening then we realized that Dylan had cut all the fish in the fish tank into pieces with a knife and mixed it with the salad.
People were sick and horrified; they left the party and judged my parents for adopting him. Some advised them to send him back to foster care or start therapy.
That was the beginning of long therapy sessions that lasted for hours. The doctors explained that this behaviour could be a result of childhood trauma and abuse. Children whose parents leave them at a young age, are very troubled at times and take time to settle in. Maybe this was his way of showing defiance, but my parents said when a child acts up- that is the time when he needs love the most. They never gave up on him and the weekly therapy sessions continued.
As days passed by, he became quieter, he stayed in his shell and was always in a daze. Our neighbour’s puppy went missing and he was never found. After a couple of days, we found it wrapped in an old cloth, covered in blood, hidden below our kitchen sink. The stench of rotten flesh overwhelmed us; I felt I was going to faint and ran and hid in my bedroom. My mother let out a savage scream; she was hysterical and couldn’t believe her eyes. Dylan ran away from the scene and hid in the bathroom.
We were traumatized. It was clear that Dylan needed help and we couldn’t give him the same. He was sent to a mental institution for treatment and proper diagnosis. My parents were in pain and my mother was beginning to get paranoid all over again. Her crying bouts had returned and she was devastated.
He returned home after two weeks but then it started all over again. People started calling him the ‘Demon’s Child’. Everyone cut ties with us and looked at us with a mix of terror and disgust. Dylan didn’t change one bit, he put up a show of being the good child but had sinister intentions. No one could explain the hideous things he did or even why he did it.
The creepy teddy he had, was thrown in the garbage but it miraculously appeared again in the toy box. I knew he would never put his hands in the garbage and I defended him and believed in him even when no one else did. I knew it couldn’t be him; such a sweet, loving and playful child couldn’t do such heinous things.
My parents questioned their decision; their life was pushed into chaos. The love they had in their heart was now replaced by fear. Dylan definitely had a past that no one was aware of and they wanted to find out more about it so that they could get to the root of the problem.
The local priest was called and he said that there could be a possibility of demonic possession as a year had already passed and there was no improvement in him. He had gotten worse, the weekly therapy and trips to the doctors yielded no results.
My heart went out to him. I couldn’t imagine what he was going through; he spent a lot of time in the mental institution and his visits home reduced drastically. My mother was back to taking her depression pills, and my father spent more and more time at work. I was very lonely and missed my playmate and my brother.
It has been quiet at home since Dylan left. I look forward to hug him, play with him and I wait for him to come back, in spite of everything that has happened. My parents always taught us that we were a family and, in the end, family always sticks together. He is my little brother and I love him a lot! Nothing will ever change that.
I often complain to my mother that he has been away for too long. This time it has been six months and I miss him terribly. She said that he will be back soon and then we can play together. I am beginning to get restless without him!
What started as fun before has now become an obsession!
I don’t have anyone to put the blame on anymore, it is difficult acting like a good girl all the time!
Image source: Pixabay
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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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