Sitting in a dark corner of the room and nervously biting her nails,
she wished the images would stop popping and the voices stop screaming
in her head.
Images of her children crying, tugging, clutching
at her skirt. Her husband cursing and yelling, "You cheat!" "You whore!"
She couldn't take it anymore. She shut her eyes
and covered her ears, and started to scream. "Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!" It
was a long and agonizing scream...
Fists pounding frantically on
her door outside. She didn't move from her corner. She stared at the
door while gently lifting the bottle to her lips. With a few big
gulps, she downed the tasteless liquid in a matter of seconds.
slowly crept in...enveloping her whole body. She started to relax.
Carefully, she lied down on the cold floor. A smile formed on her lips,
thinking tomorrow all the pain of the memories would be gone...
I have never heard of the phrase “Morbid Jealousy” used as a
medical term before. Yes, I may have
heard or even used it to describe my ex’s jealous thoughts a long time ago, but
I never thought that it is actually a mental disorder. And that my experience of what I called morbid
jealousy back then was not even close to real “morbid jealousy”.
I became interested in the subject because of a friend who
recently tried to commit suicide because of her frustration and helplessness
about her husband’s jealousy and baseless accusations.
There’s this indie film that I recently watched at the
Cinemalaya 2012 Film Festival. It’s called Bwakaw. The story revolves around
the life of an old homosexual man who lives in an old decrepit house with no
one but his dog named Bwakaw. He named the dog as such because it was voracious,
gluttonous, or ravenous, which is what the word “bwakaw” means. Rene, the protagonist in the story, is a
cranky old man. He has friends but he doesn’t treat them as friends. He keeps
to himself and doesn’t like being disturbed for anything. He’s irritable and prone to yelling, arguing,
quarreling and even hurting people. Rene lived his life as if everything is in preparation
for his death. All his things are already packed in boxes and carefully labeled
to whom they’d be bequeathed. And he
already has a handwritten last will and testament, which he entrusts to the
parish priest. He even has a coffin in his living room, which he bought a long
time ago and had to keep it in the house because the funeral parlor had already
closed down. He believes this is the best way to live his lonely life. A
childhood friend asked him why he doesn’t think of things that would make him
happy instead of preparing for his death. His answer was, “Nothing could make
me happy anymore.” Both he and his dog,
whom he says his best friend, were sick.
Bwakaw was dying with cancer. Such was his sad life.