*After all is said and done, I’m back home… right here where I feel safe and unafraid…
*I feel the need to state here that I’m quite terrible at keeping in touch… so to all those whom I daily forget to reach out to, know that I pray for you as often as I pray for myself.
*I’m exploring a different style of writing. We can only hope this experiment doesn’t bite me in the ass. 😀
“…in time I have lost time focusing on you…”
Truly There are some combination of words that leave you lost in their sublimity.
But I digress.
it takes a lot of courage to admit certain truths about ‘ourselves to ourselves’.
It is therefore taking a lot of courage to admit to the woman I see when I gaze into the mirror that I absolutely am scared of being alone. This fear is surpassed only by my fear of being left alone ‘with my thoughts’.
But again I digress…or maybe not.
Ok. Now lets imagine for a second that…
**The pain woke Daramola up from her dreamless slumber.
It was a sharp intense pain gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She sat up ever so gently and after fumbling with the bedside switch for a few seconds turned on the lights in the room.
She glanced at the little star shaped clock on her bedstead.
The time was 2:46 am.
Still a couple of hours till sunrise and with it any hope of getting some respite from the pain that was both nagging and nauseating.
She took a sip from the glass of water she had placed on her bedstead just before drifiting off to sleep and was assuaged only but for a fraction of a second. Then for the first time she felt the dampness between her thighs and slowly her gaze fell on the flowery sheets on her bed.
When Dar saw the blood her stomach turned to ice.
Terror held her like a vice like grip and she blinked sweat from her eyes.
Maybe not everywhere but enough blood to inspire fear and panic until she let herself recall what osaretin had told her as regards the drug and it’s side effects;
‘…you’d feel nauseous and you might even throw up too… you might stool though thats unlikely but crazy stomach cramps and heavy bleeding are a must so when that happens try not to panic….’
Still staring down at her bloodied sheets Dar tried ‘not to panic’ and took long deep breaths.
Slowly fear gave way to another jolt of bold unrelenting pain.
Dar felt like someone was using a drill to excavate the contents of her insides and she was desperate to stop it.
She winced and bit into her hand, attempting to help the pain by numbing it with more pain but that yielded no results,
The pain was persistent and seemed,.. angry.
The air conditioning In the room was functional yet Daramola was breaking out in cold sweat.
The room was totally quite but for the almost inaudible tick tock of the star shaped clock and Dar’s silent scream of pain.
Distracted by the pain in her gut and the blood on her sheets Dar was unaware of the tears that had welled up in her eyes as freely as water from a drinking fountain. The tears brightened her coffee brown eyes and made them glitter like darks stars in a stormy sky and in a steady stream they fell down her face.
But amidst her tears she smiled.
She smiled at nostalgia.
She smiled at de javu.
She smiled because all that she was feeling were familiar feelings.
She smiiled at the thought of The three words that were needed to tell all of her life’s story.
Dar cried. While smiling she cried.
Because as Dar sat unmoving in her blood, sweat and tears, she was no longer the 19 year old trying to get rid of the life that has bin growing inside of her for almost six weeks.
No. She was no longer that young woman.
She was a distant memory,
She was a clinging past.
She was the six year old girl sobbing quietly as uncle Akin used his fingers to feel the inside of her woman parts.
She was the 8 year old been scolded by her mother;
‘Dont say that about your uncle you silly child. What would your father think or do if he should hear you saying such nonsense about my brother?’
She was the fourteen year old standing beside a coffin, absolutely devoid of evey feeling of loss as she stared at the battered remains of her mother.
She was the almost 16 year old lying in bed eyes wide open listening for the familiar footstep of her father as he made his way to her room and into her bed looking for comfort in her arms and between her thighs.
She was all of these… and all of nothing.
Dar cried some more,the tears flowing down upon her like a bower of billows and washing the smile off her face.
The clocked chimed.
The time was 3 am and Dar was still lost in the depths of her familiar hellhole.**
Talk about digression.
*in whizkids voice* oya back to the matter,,,
This morning I spoke to a friend of mine for about thirty minutes on the phone and it was a conversation that left me emotionally exhausted. It also in a lot of ways inspired this piece because it reminded me of some words said by the notorious Madea character in Tyler Perry’s Madea goes to jail;
“Everybody got a story…
People all up in here need to understand something okay,
Every body got a life,
What you do with that life is up to you.”
In my adult life I have come across people who never seem to want to take any responsibility for their own actions. People who allow past tragedies affect their present happiness. I encounter Young people who are comfortably playing the victim by living recklessly While hiding behind the mask of some childhood orAdolescent trauma. And it really is depressing.
We all have a story.
At some point in our lives something tragic/traumatic has happened or would happen.
We have almost all suffered deprivation and or neglect in one form or another.
We do not always have all that we need.
We are not all picture perfect, literally.
Yet we are all here and we are marching on.
So when I come across someone who acts as though they have no choice but to make certain wrong choices and display certain inappropriate behaviour because of what has happened to them in the past I feel the need to say to them,;
“this is complete and utter bullshit and you know it.”
There is no disqualifying the hurts and pain of the past because it and its inevitable issues contribute to who we are. But what we need to realise is, we can go beyound the pain of our stuff and make good and new lives.
As much as the past lays a foundation for the future,It alone and in itself doesn’t necesarily determine what that future would be,
In this journey Where we are coming from is important but not in any way as important as the destination we have in mind.
It is often said that your life right now is a compilation and sum total of all the choices you’ve made up to this point.
The key word here is CHOICE.
Think about it
Its not so much As what happened to us, but what Happened because of us.
we are the people that we are right now not because of what someone did or did not do but because we made one choice instead of another.
Im not tryng to make light of anyone’s tragic tale and I undertand that life for some persons haven’t been a bed of roses but trust me mine hasn’t either. But blaming our circumstance on other people even when they are partly or almost totally responsible, only makes us victims and keeps us stuck.
So, As an advocate of tough love I admonish y’all to ‘get your shii together’! 😀
If the situation is one you cannot change then accept it for what it is and make the best out of it.
Be strong, there’s much to suffer.
Be brave, there’s much to bear.
Under stand your weaknesses. Dis regard the seeming limitations.
Live, learn, love and Forgive.
Life would definitely hand you lemons but like Ron White said;
“When life gives you lemons, you should make lemonades, and try to find someone whose life has given them vodka and have a PARTY.”
As usual all grammatical errors were fully intended. 🙂