dead beat human; dabbling in sorcery with my knees to God.

I feel like a dead-beat human.

That’s the first thought that came to mind yesterday when I woke up. Quite the morbid thought it was, but justifiably one I couldn’t really counter. I feel the need to defend myself over what I’m about to write just because it will probably come off as ungrateful or whiny even. This need I wish I could erase from within me because why do I need a defense over my own emotions, thoughts, and sentiments… and to whom really am I defending myself against so heftily in a bid to not come off anymore whiny and beat down than is already the case. Anyway, we can decipher later over my people- pleasing skills or my need for validation even from an audience of people and bots alike who’ll be unfortunate enough to read this post and who likely won’t give a fuck or two.

https://pin.it/bTBrA84

I didn’t intend for yesterday to feel or start off as exhausting as it sadly did, but well, it was just another thing beyond my control. What can I say, I have been fighting this very feeling every day since I completed college and graduated. I have fought off within my own thoughts about just how little value within my existence have I offered society and myself included. I eased my demon of inadequacy and consoled myself with the notion that I was taking a well-deserved time off to figure out what exactly was meant to be next phase within the course of my life, and let’s just say, this pity party might just have gone off for too long. I do not recall thinking that my adult life would become a further misery than what already was my childhood, but again, it seems I was wrong to think any different.

I had plans for how the trajectory of life was going to look like for me at the beginning of this year. It was the little hope I chose to accord myself. In as little words as possible, nothing really is playing out as was intended. It feels a lot like a hurdle after another keep popping up or better yet, keep further complicating things and remaining unsolved. Most of those hurdles if I am truly being honest are beyond my control by a long shot, and the biggest hurdle of all is my fathers’ retirement fund that has been in delay for over two years now and that has made the lives of my family and I gravely difficult. Those funds have had every progress intended to happen be kept on hold, i.e… My pursuit for my degree. I could bitch about each held back project and endeavor that has been delayed by the lack of those funds, but it will probably just further highlight how exhausted am I with the system of my country, as well as the mere cycle of misfortune that is the cards that life has delt my family, and by extension, me.

https://pin.it/1wTgy5w

I prayed at the beginning of February. My sister and I poured out souls to the ever-loving God with the hope and faith that His mercies would finally be shone upon us and that the trail of misery that has clung to us like a bad stench would finally be washed off by his Grace. It felt monumental pleading and crying our hearts out to His everlasting Father, a lot like how great I allude it felt for the prodigal son to finally trace his way back home to his father. That evening of devotion felt like the renewal of my faith and now, with a month gone since, it feels like I’m back to grasping through straws for that very said faith. I no longer know how God works, maybe I truly never did, better yet, I am of the illusion that He still hears little children’s prayers. My mother lived of the reassurance that God listened to little children’s prayers and now, it is all I can hope to believe that I still am His little child who is crying to be heard. In todays’ time, people seem to believe more in the manifestation of their words into the universe, than the Christian teachings most were raised knowing. I admit, it feels like a betrayal to my beliefs of the existence of God as the supreme being, but now I begin to wonder if maybe that’s just about what I now need to do. Manifest into the universe all my desires, dreams, hopes, and ambitions. Some claim of its imminent power and maybe I am finally desperate enough to put my faith aside and do more to speak will and power into the life I wish to exist within.

Funny now that I am in the subject of beliefs, seems my socials were offering another kind of alternative. My tiktok for a minute there kept bringing forth videos on sorcery and witchcraft and an array of those videos made it look so easy to have power within ones’ grasp. With just a pen, a piece of paper, some sage, honey and a candle lit fire, I could lure to me the love and affection of any boy I set my sights on, as well as any amount of luck I deemed myself worthy of. It all felt very tempting, but I was reminded that I cannot entirely discount the chance that the burning of witches on a stake will eventually make its way back into occurrence just from the scent of my dabbling into a bit of witchery.

https://pin.it/1JNixOX

This plagues my soul to say, but my life has felt and lives to feel like a steady occurrence of just lows, que the whiny part of this piece. Earlier today, in a bid to lift my spirits, my sister sent me a video of an influencer lady from my country, and she was talking about how when life has dealt her low seasons, she envisions those experiencing their high seasons and is then assured that those high moments wouldn’t have been possible without their perseverance through the low moments. In that moment of watching that, I willed myself to syphon the hope that my constant low season will just be but a stepping stone to a season so high, no amount of conjuring could have prepared me for it. I am uncertain I willed that feeling enough because it felt as fleeting as a breeze. The whole video had me take a trip down memory lane in search of a time when life offered to me a season where I felt content and at peace with the present; safe to say, all I could recall were rather transient times when life was bearable, but not satisfactory. Don’t get me wrong, or maybe, that is exactly what I hope you do: I have and still try to retain gratitude over the blessings in my life, but despite it, it has proven harder to act oblivious to lives hardships that are often painted as lessons. I can’t help but wonder what more I could possibly need to learn about living through inadequacy, insufficiency, and stagnancy than I already have had to live through.

So, with the little reprieve I have from pouring out my whiny life problems here, am left with the query of what more grace and time do I need to offer life before it can elevate me to those so-called high seasons that the lady in the video revered about. What peace do I need to make with God to be deserving of a flourishing life’s purpose? What grave sins do I need to have exonerated so I am deserving of a constant flow of happiness, contentment, peace and everything else good within this earthly existence? I can only hope to keep choosing this continuous trail of misery with the slight reassurance that it won’t be long before I can flourish within those said high seasons.

https://pin.it/6UEcLct

a kinship; a woman and a young lass

I don’t often have conversation with people.

If I’m truly being honest, I only ever indulge in conversation with my family, that compromising of just my sister and my dad. I can go on and on to justify that very non indulgent part of me as introversion, but I’d be half lying because I’d be omitting the very prominent part of myself that just doesn’t like people like that… but this is besides the point to this post so I might as well get to it.

https://pin.it/6b6IqKh

Every so often, at least twice in three months, discounting the months spent at home, I meet a woman who’s purpose in my life has grown over the years since I met her. She and I met approximately six years ago under different circumstances than those we share now. I still to date try to find the appropriate term to regard her whenever I mention her to anyone who’s unaware of the history between us. I admit, I like the aspect of mystery that surrounds the dynamics of my relationship with this woman. It also tends to feel tedious to explain and rehash our history to strangers. So, like every other date she and I have, our spot is always at an ice cream parlor near us, and there, we share in conversation I often can’t have with anyone else besides her, and maybe my sister when the context allows. Sounds a lot like a therapy of sorts; admittedly, it was exactly so at the beginning. She was my lecturer in college, who then transitioned to becoming the first ever therapist I sought out. Soon, over the course of my diploma, our dynamics changed again, she was neither a lecturer, nor my therapist. We had breached the conduct between client and therapist, and we broke the rules that govern those conducts. I do not recall exactly when she became my friend, and confidant. I can’t say I believe she too can trace when the shift in our relationship happened, and now, I was no longer just the young girl she talked out of getting pregnant at 20 years old. Now I was her friend, a friend with whom she’d invite over to her house for dinner and one with whom, she’d enjoy a tab of ice cream with every so often.

Today, I can say with certainty, the only conversation she and I haven’t had, are about my smoking habits and my sex life. Every other thing has been open to discussion between us. She better than anyone else, has seen the debilitating levels of my mind and mental health. She knows and sees through the tears that mar my skin and those that have continue to mar my soul. She has always known that ever since I lost my mother, I swore to never need a motherly figure in my life again, I remain stern to this decision till date, but that never derailed her from seeing me as a daughter she never got to have. Now that I think about, she has seen more of my reality than I ever let on. When I met her, I was desperate for the reassurance that whatever choices I thought about making then, were justified and held no consequence over the misery I thought I could substitute. I realize now that I am grateful that I never sort after expressing myself as a façade to her, because then, I am assured there would be little left of the relationship she and I share.

https://pin.it/7J6UGi0

Mentor surely doesn’t fit the spectrum of who I consider her to be. This is not to mean that she has not been of great guidance and reason, but rather, she has been more than just that. A spiritual godmother of sorts too would fall among the titles to which I bestow on her. I can assure you that as long as she exists within my life, God is a conversation we will live to discuss over our dates together. She has seen me through my phases of anger, misunderstanding, judgement, condemnation, and revelation towards God and all that He possesses to do in my life. I am believer of the existence of God and His son, Jesus Christ and she too is a devoted Christian, the kind of devotion that would have a sinner curse at her just for having a faith that often, is unshaken, even within reasonable doubt. Unlike most staunch Christians, she never insists on shoving her Christian beliefs down my throat, on the contrary, she often ever tells me that even within the greatest depths of anger and anguish that have been directed towards God, all within my right, were valid and did not fall on deaf years. She, like a devotee of Christ, lives and continues to assure me that God listens, always.

Last week, on Monday, she and I had our date, always at the same time, often either having ice cream, or the recently introduced pizza. Like a favourite song, played on repeat, we spoke about the very entity that drew us closer to each other, the existence of the shadow, my shadow, my depression. She was the first ever person to realize that beneath the turmoil that came about living with depression for me, an identity was in the making. I don’t like to think that because of my constant stints with this illness, that I have grown to sort of fetishize it into some glamourous aspect of myself. Depression takes away any sense of glamour or beauty and often, all that is left behind is usually remnants of its host. All one is left to do is create an identity with the little yet still damaged pieces of yourself left in existence. Till date, I try not to delve into conceptualizing into anyone’s mind what exactly about depression is stuck to me like gorilla glue. I understand that it isn’t meant to make sense to anyone else besides myself what exactly it’s like to cling to one’s illness like a raft in the middle of a sea. Depression at the beginning felt a lot like a chain that attached me to an anchor at the bottom of the sea, and within me remained the fight to detach myself from the chain, in search of a release, a gasp of air, a flicker of light … now, I quit seeing it as something that necessarily holds me down but neither does is lift me up. A lot like a raft, the struggle to hold on is still very much there, just now with the allure of what sinking would mean for me. I may be above water, but the fight to hold on, still very well exists. Depression and I will always have a strong history, a bond within which my life’s existence and purpose have been based on. Excuse me if I don’t necessarily know where I began anymore and where it ends , if at all it ever will.

https://pin.it/1qnDKQt

And like with every conversation had between us, I was left with a few things to ponder over. My faith, my identity, my relation to my traumas and mental turmoil, and all that other crap that often make up my entire existence. I am glad that she gets to share with me into having an introspective view of a life with little to nothing going on for it. The lot of you are probably wondering what it is I bring to the table with this very different, yet special friendship, and like a lot of you, I undoubtedly have no clue what purpose I serve to her. I guess it sustains enough purpose that she seeks out to remain my special friend, counsel, mentor-like, godmother, and teacher to a sorry lass like myself.

https://pin.it/fAz7oXO

Kismet; a tale as old as time

I learned a new word tonight…

I’ve not been one to believe in matters of luck or fortune, but neither have I entirely cancelled them out as hogwash. Tonight’s word is kismet. A very peculiar word for that matter. I believe it’s an Arabic word. It means fate and or positive karma. I won’t delve into where I just learned of the word but, I sure will say it has my mind on a loop, as I hope it will for you, the reader who happens to enjoy this entry of mine.

https://pin.it/2w84ikb

Fate. Quite the loaded term if I do say so myself. I think that I do believe in it, even when it often feels like I’d be better off trusting the judgement that it probably isn’t real. I cannot recall a moment in time when I was certain that the occurrence of any set actions in my life were as a result of fate or destiny. If anything, fate has always just never felt a lot on my side, but I do hope that not all odds are staked against me. Allow me to paint a picture of the precise kind of nature in which kismet is playing in my mind…

We all have in vivid recollection, the memory of our first loves. I for sure have never gotten around to forgetting mine. He was my first kiss; I doubt I will ever get to erasing that from my memory. I was a child when we first met, he too was just a slightly older child than my merely eight or nine years. I didn’t get to loving him until I was fourteen. Before then, I was certain he was the devil’s spawn. He was a pompous ass and I couldn’t stand his mere presence, at least until on one starry night, the moon shown on him at an entirely different light. He had me eating from the palm of his hand after talking for a couple of hours, and I doubt he realized the magnitude of change that took place that night, outside the shop that stood a few yards from my childhood home. Just as most stories go when it comes to first time loves, he too was my first heartbreak. I again, am certain of just how elusive he was and probably still is of how much of my then little heart that he broke and crushed into smithereens. As I think of it now, fate just might have had a hand in it that night when I finally saw the guy behind the imperious attitude. I was smitten. Destiny had to have me fall in love with the one person with whom I couldn’t seem to stand. That night surely made a mockery of any disdain I may have held against him.

https://pin.it/4yhugbD

Nine years later, I have had minimal to no connect with my first love. This not because I never thought about him, or about trying to reach him. Quite the contrary, I often find myself wondering just how different his life must be since I last saw him. I only entertained small morsels of information about him from people who we mutually were acquainted with, I never did quite consider myself ready to delve into the past of what he meant to me or what little of me still thought of him. About an year or so ago, I happened to see a photo of him and boy did it shake me in my knickers. He looked delectable. It began to play in my mind just how it would be to reconnect with him, as if the past eight years or so had never happened. I let myself naively think that fate would have us rekindle the young love I was certain we had shared at fourteen and eighteen respectively. I sort out that maybe destiny would find us have our way back to each other, now as adults with more levelheaded minds. It is safe to say, he and I didn’t do any rekindling. I couldn’t begin to fathom what I would tell him, or better yet, where I would start.

After learning of what kismet means, and trying to wrap my head around matters of fate or destiny, I was taken back to memories of him and of the little yet present  impression that I had that maybe, just maybe, my first love would be whom I would need only to love in this life time. I would have myself believe that the probable reason as to why I haven’t exactly felt as intensely or intentionally in love with any of the other guys with whom I have dated since him, would be because he was always just going to be the only love I would ever need to know and feel. I always try to catch myself before thoughts of a destined love with him completely override reason and the reality over the fact that he and I are now strangers. Who’s to say he hasn’t found the love of his life and is living the very best of it. Coincidence would have it that only yesterday, my sister handed over to me a tiktok feature that would show me who in my past would be the love of my life, and it so happened that the love of my life was someone from my high school years. I only ever dated two guys all through high school, and he happened to be among the two. So, it begs the question, is it fate that has me thinking that maybe, I am not too far deluded into believing that there stands a chance, though small, that my first love and I still haven’t quite yet concluded our story. Could there be a chance of an existing kismet between us… I guess, I can only wait to see if fate will have us flipping through the pages of another venture of love between him and I.

https://pin.it/3p0JaVK

undoubtedly, misery loves company

I am of enough sound mind to make decisions that may or may not be of life changing consequence.

https://pin.it/rHlABKh

I may be young, but it is quite unfortunate to regard my youth as a sign of insolence and naivety. Within this past week, I had a somewhat friendly acquaintance challenge my stance over a subject that I have made decisions over, and to which my opinion differed extensively from hers. To give a bit of context to this conversation between her and I, she has been a friend to both my sister and I for quite a few years now. In recent years, I personally decided to put a preferable distance within my personal relationship with her due to certain sentiments and actions that did not come off as genuine from her. The trust and reverence I had for her were compromised by certain actions and I thought it best to put a distance between us regarding the dynamics of my life. Despite the hurdles faced, I still share and continue to share a level of friendship and kinship with this person, hence our recent hang out at her place of work to catch up after quite the few months apart.

Before even embarking on the journey to see her, I had to mentally prepare myself to sit through endless conversation over her constantly failing marriage and those of her so called friends around her. I say this with no intent of malice, but I quite literally have been burned out and are over hearing about how shitty her marriage and those of her ‘friends’ always seem to be and how little these women do to change that, that has become the story of their lives. Over the years that I have known her, I have built an image in my mind of what marriage looks like for a middle class thirty-year-old woman in my country. Safe to say, the image I have as well as my opinion over it, is quite pitiful. I have seen her birth two children with a man in whom I am certain beyond doubt is a narcissist and one who’s definition of love is quite questionable. She remains tethered to the said man for reasons of love and the unfortunate circumstance that is their marriage. I had to ready myself to sit through a myriad of laments over what wasn’t right in her marriage and how little to which her circumstances could change.

https://pin.it/301c0Ps

The already built opinion I have of marriage, I mainly sourced from her. With three years of being her neighbor and building a very personal relationship with her and my sister, I got to see her live through being a mother and a wife. She often seeks solace from those willing to sit through an earful of her complaints about how life just isn’t what she had hoped it would have been. Now with a significant distance between us, I am only ever so capable to handle her and her stories in doses I can control. So recently, I was ready and armed to hear what new way her husband and those of her acquaintances had conjured at being the greatest assholes of their lives. Often before, I have always just chosen to hear her out and not try to offer a solution or some form of reprieve, not because I have never tried, but because they all but fall on deaf years and anyway, what would I know about being married with three kids and an often unbearable husband. Seems this time though, I wasn’t just willing to sit through these conversations without giving a few of my own two cents about how greatly unappealing marriage now seems for me.

Surprisingly so, the conversation over marriage wasn’t centered over her marriage this time round, but mainly that of one of her friends. Without going into too much detail, her friend got a nasty looking STD from her husband with whom they are married and have two kids. The man travelled for work and cheated with a younger girl from whom he contracted the STD, only to pass it on to his wife. This like conversations had before, only further proved to me that my stance over the subject of marriage is rightfully so. I shared my often sentiments over the issue but this time round, I didn’t leave out the part where I don’t believe in the sanctity that is a marriage. I didn’t have nor need much to defend why I couldn’t quite grasp people’s reasons for staying in marriages when all they seemed to offer was infidelity and spite for each other. I stated with enough conviction that I didn’t think marriage was in the books for me. With the utmost condescending tone, she was quick to dismiss my claim over not getting married. That already felt uncomfortable, but it wasn’t until she thought to offer me a wager that if I won’t have been married in the next ten years, she will owe me. That for me, just upped the already simmering displeasure I was beginning to feel. She further goes into berating me over thinking that my naivety and youth are why I think that I am beyond escaping the clutches of marriage. That like every woman before my time, said the same about marriage; that they would seek out an independence from being tied down by a man. That they would never stay in marriages where they weren’t treated as princesses. But behold, here they were. In loveless marriages where disrespect and resentment were their only ties, and not even the children gotten in the marriage could reconcile the fates that they were damned to live. Certainly, who was I to stand a chance of a life beyond the misery that is marriage. Not even being from a different generation all together, would save me from the never-ending cycle that is a loveless marriage.

https://pin.it/3Q1IFCk

As I stared at her plead her case to me over my future which she had no say over, I realized that her misery and that of the women around her in marriages a lot like hers, needed reassurance of always having company. It wasn’t about why I didn’t want to get married or what my reservations over marriage were, it was mainly just because I wasn’t willing to subject myself to the same level of complacency and staleness that their marriages gave them. I thought myself better than them, to not be tied to another with whom my life’s misery would stem from. Truthfully speaking, at that moment of her challenging my ideology and opinion over a choice that would always inevitably be mine, I was pissed and felt kin resentful towards her. This not being her first time, offering her unsolicited and unwarranted decree over my sisters’ and I’s life choices, I had just about enough of her. As much as I wished I could storm off and curse at her vehemently, I let her think that I cared enough to concede. I just didn’t care enough to dignify her with all the reasons why she had little say over how the next ten years were going to play out.

I am not of the notion that all marriages are doomed to fail, on the contrary, I think marriage is often beautiful when with the right person. My apprehension is over choosing to stay in a marriage that brings one more pain than pleasure. I cannot genuinely fathom existing within an unhappy marriage and not doing everything within my human capability to separate myself from such a union.  That complicacy to persevere through misery, heartache, unhappiness, and disappointment in the name of being married to someone is what I cannot bring myself to understand. I am not pompous that I am unaware of how circumstances sometimes give us little to no choice over certain decisions in life, but in a case where my will still belongs to me, I would rather die fighting for my autonomy than to be in a loveless union. So yes, she may be right that I will eventually reconsider my stance on marriage, but it still gives her zero right to admonish my stance now, just because I don’t have the vast years that she has over me. truthfully speaking, sometimes I can’t help but see just how different we perceive life and how deeply rooted the difference in our views of life are. She is a different generation, maybe not one too vast in difference in terms of the years that separates us, but mainly the beliefs we each carry. Safe to say, I won’t be keen to seeing her again, at least not until I am well and ready to talk and hear about something other than the misery that is her and her friends’ marriages.

https://pin.it/16wNXSx

the hurdle that is friendship

Friendships have always just seemed to be a hurdle for me.

https://pin.it/5bFUPQt

I can’t say with certainty if I have friends anymore. This is not because I don’t wish I had them, every so often, I find myself in sympathy of the loneliness that befalls me, and I wish I had a cluster of friends to whom I could call my own. I sound sad while writing this, but I wouldn’t consider myself so. Like I said at the beginning, friendships seem to be hurdles that I haven’t quite had a hold over. Truthfully speaking, the last person to whom I gave the entirety of myself in the name of friendship, tore through the already broken pieces of me I had left when I met her. I believe it is safe to say, there have only been a few to even glimpse through those pieces of myself left, all in the name of friendship. But I do not wish to write about the myriad of failed endeavors I have had with people who for a moment, I felt a kinship towards. The essence behind the term friend for me carries a lot of weight. A weight that I often admittedly have never willingly offered, at least not in the past seven years, and, nor have I willingly been forth coming to receiving. Interactions between me and others sadly usually feel and quickly become dispensable to me.

https://pin.it/T7uyxzt

Some would claim that interactions between them and myself are as a result of a friendship. Now, I choose to neither deny this claim, nor can I ascertain the truth behind it. I prefer acquaintances as the term I would use for the few with whom I have interactions with every once or twice in a year, give or take. Maybe I am wrong to not call these people friends, maybe it is a fault on my part for not according them precedence in my life enough to be regarded rightfully so as my friends. I am no saint either within the hurdle that comes along with friendship. I have had my fair share of biases whenever I feel unjustly treated. My apprehension often overrides the empathy I might feel towards anyone whose actions and intentions begin to blur. A lot like an already wounded animal, I am more prone to bite off the hand that seeks to reach out.

It is not my intention to be misunderstood by people, but often my need for seclusion also stems from the belief that I am not understood enough. I guess we all aren’t in some ways or another, but unlike many who go further out of their way to bring forth a better understanding of themselves to others, I just have chosen to dispense myself further from the situation because of it. So maybe, rightfully so, I am the biggest reason as to why I don’t have friends. I cannot bear the responsibility of maintaining a friendship without letting my fears and biases get the better of me. Now, I can only seem to contend with the kinship built with others, without putting my emotions on the line, but truly, what are friendships without the weight of emotion…

https://pin.it/gg2RJ9w

My body; with all its flops

My body won’t always feel beautiful.

As I was about to take a shower today, I couldn’t help but look at myself for a second too long at the bathroom mirror. I stared at myself within the confines of those walls and felt unpleasant. The reflection of my naked body felt anything other than beautiful. It was quite the surprising feeling, considering how much self love and plus size positivity I’ve been championing, especially over this very same body that I couldn’t help but feel displeased by. Why was I all of a sudden unhappy by how saggy my tits looked, or by how large my belly was looking… This body hasn’t been drastically different since I last wrote the post of https://whosagoodgirl.wordpress.com/2023/02/07/my-body-with-love/, so why was it that looking at myself this morning felt a lot like staring at an unrecognizable body.

This is the said body, and I love it.

I am not too naive to believe that there won’t be days when I’ll feel unpleasant or indifferent towards my body, and the fact that it is fat or plus size. I acknowledge that it will always be there, this feeling of inadequacy and sometimes disdain over how I look, but despite its looming presence, it is I who’ll decides if I give it precedence or not over the also very present feeling of self love and appreciation I have towards this same body. In the second longer that I took to dislike the body I saw reflect back at me today morning, it took me the rest of the day to build back the belief already within me, that this body, even with its flopped down breast and the big belly, is and will continue to be beautiful and most especially, adequate. I might not be quick to change those aspects of my body that will sometimes bring me feelings of self loathing, but I will continue to be intentional at loving the changes that happen and continue to happen to me, especially the changes that I won’t have much power over.

Yes, I’m in my grandma underwear, don’t I look dashing. 😁

So yes, everyday won’t feel the best and everyday, I won’t feel like a conqueror within the body bestowed to me. Though, on the days when I do feel shame, I will make sure to double up on the days when I feel amazing. I will not give in to loathing this body anymore than I already have over the past years. I have a lot of days to double up on where I remind myself just how incredible I am and just how beautiful and enough this body of mine is and continues to be, flaws and all.

That’s a little video of me, at the same bathroom mirror reminding myself how bombass I look.

the beauty of my mind

I’ve contemplated for a day whether the piece I’m about to share here will feel as beautiful and as monumental as it did for me when I read it last night. It brought tears to my eyes and a shiver to my soul. This piece felt raw. It felt like a piece of me. I guess it is. A piece of me that feels like an explosion of a whole. I think it’s a beautiful piece, a piece that I still feel hesitant to share but one that I will regardless. I’m proud of this piece, for without it, I would have never come to applaud the writer behind the words.

To Question; What is my Peace?

I ask a lot of questions, but a lot of them never see the light of day. All my questions are stored in the pages of my sacred book. Maybe it is because no one will ever need to hear them, for they are my questions to ask, and my questions to ponder over. So here I am, about to ask another question that sounds a lot like a life life…

What is my Peace?

Do I have a peace or am I so accustomed to chaos, nothing about my puny little life will ever know what to be peaceful means. When I try to focus on the now, the now where I am not in the eye of the storm, I still feel like I am floating above the embers of a flame. Always ready to burn and fizzle into ash. Have I known chaos for so long, that any form of peace is unrecognizable to me?

As I write this now, I feel lost. Would peace mean feeling found somehow; would it mean having my mirade of questions answered… Will it mean having a destiny fulfilled? I cannot paint a picture or portrait of peace in my life. For me to put up that canvas, I’d have to have a lot of my questions asked, and possibly answered. For now, all I guess I have to ponder is, what is my Peace?

https://pin.it/5wB2puQ

A lot like how I feel.

A lot like how I feel.

Whispers for the wind

I need reprieve from the aches that bare within my soul. I no longer know what or where to seek solace. I’m tired and keep buckling my knees. I can’t seem to get things right. Nothing and everything isn’t changing.

I need reprieve from my life. It no longer needs to be tethered so tightly to me. I wanna experience the glories within people’s lives and put aside the damnation that has been my life’s experiences. I should not covet but God knows it’s becoming harder each day to not do so. Harder everyday to not yearn for the breathe in someone else’s lungs, as long as it’s no longer my own. I’ve failed to live, now I do less each to remain a survivor.

I need reprieve, period. I need the good Lord to save me because this time, I wish to put the armour down. I don’t want to fight the good fight anymore. I can no longer fight the opponent that life has so readily chosen to become for me. Repreive from the damage harboured inside my head and my heart would be about right. It is all I can do to hope that this whispers to the wind, will seek out the good Lords’ ears.

a girl in need of no rescue

Enjoy the candor in my writing, but don’t try to date me for it.

I’ve been a writer and a blogger for over six years now. I think writing is beautiful and expressive, and for me most especially, it has given me an outlet for thoughts I’d otherwise never have had the chance to share. When I started writing, it felt liberating to share my ideologies and stories to people, despite not amassing as many readers at the beginning. Everyday I write, I hope to resonate to someone or merely have someone enjoy my writing and candour. I’ve always loved the idea of having people reach out and tell me they enjoyed reading my work. It has always felt amazing and over the years, I’ve had different but entirely welcomed comments by readers from all over. Besides expressing myself beyond my mind and onto a blog, I also wanted writing to connect me to the world. Very early on, whenever I would write, I’d always put it up on my socials with the hope that more people could get to read and share my two cents. I still religiously post my writing on the few social platforms I’m in and I’m grateful for the growth it’s given me in terms of my readers. There is one thing though, that I recently had to make a stern decision over in regard to creating any kind of relationship with readers who have interacted with my work.

https://pin.it/5p5Mng6

Early in 2019, I had an adult male of over 40 years reach out to me over twitter, which is one of my most active social media’s. I was a naive little girl, I gotta admit, because I entertained him. I was freshly 21 then when he reached out to me and asked me to be his sub, submissive for those who might not know what sub means. There was no beating around the bush with him, there was no level of courtship, flattery or anything that alluded to emotional attachment. I had then since recently written on my first blog, dawnmercymuhoro.wordpress.com about how I was learning or trying to learn about my kinky side. I was exploring what BDSM, dom/sub relationships and the like were and where I fit in, in all that. When this man approached me, I have to admit, I was flawed that my amateurish writing had captivated him of sorts and he was interested enough to “guide” me on my journey in the kink life. He was a Dom. Came off very stern, no nonsense, and for me, I was still quite naive on what I thought a dom was meant to act like or carry himself. All I had to go off on, was the countless smutty books I’d read on wattpad over how a dominant male was perceived to be. This man, was anything but what he said he was and for about two years, I trusted him and his manipulative judgement over his supposed knowledge on bdsm. He never once applied anything of what I thought I was meant to be learning from him. He bluntly was emotionally and mentally manipulative. He took advantage of my naivety and youth to get sex from a young girl who didn’t know any better. Till date, I can admittedly say this with no qualms whatsoever, I wish he would drop dead everyday for what he made me feel. Over our last conversation ever, he gaslit me over my mental health issues and I never thought I could conjure such disdain for myself because I believed his lies over what he thought he knew about my mental illness. That was the scariest most heartbreaking night of my life, because I knew that I wasn’t deserving of living for being a fraud over a mental illness that was irrevocably real. Safe to say, he can die wherever he is today. Lord forgive me, but my sentiments don’t change.

https://pin.it/7jXx1Kk

Cue to a year and a half ago, again, through my social media, I had a young lad reach out to me after having read my blog for a period of time. I was slightly older then and I wanted to believe I wasn’t as naive, but I found myself proving that wrong. He absolutely love bombed me. I didn’t even know the term love bomb until I experienced him. I didn’t even know that love bombing was a thing before him. He had all the right words any girl in my position wanted to hear. He could spell out my deepest desires because reading my blog have him that armour to use in luring me. He vowed to slay my dragons, especially those that were caged within the walls of my mind. For those who might not know, the bigger portion of my first blog entails my experience with having major depressive disorder as well as anxiety. I’ve been candid over how much of my life, especially in my twenties, has been plagued by depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation and self harm. I’ve clutched so hard to survive to be here and to write this, and writing got me through many of my dark days. This guy, he made it out to me how perfect and aligned he and I were. I stood no chance of escaping his attempt at engulfing me with his sentiments of love. Until, he wasn’t strong enough to battle my demons. My naivety was capable enough to believe that he stood a chance against the monsters in my mind, but my monsters knew me and had been with me longer. He never stood a chance from the beginning. Within a month of getting to know him, I began to feel the tell tale signs of depression kicking back in like they hadn’t just left me grappling for dear life. He soon got to understand that being mentally ill wasn’t an aesthetic I was trying to live. I had little to bargain with over the pains of the mind. He got angry once over me self harming and I couldn’t exactly blame him for it. How could I begin to elaborate why I coped the way I did… It surely was never going to make sense, it usually never did to anyone besides myself. I knew then, that not even his declaration of love was going to keep him by my side. Among other reasons, it felt best to end things, which I did and felt immense relief over. Another relationship down, just because guys thought I needed some kind of rescuing.

With this final nail in the coffin, I knew now not to make the same mistake. I was cautious because clearly, the perception with guys was that I needed some type of rescue. I was a damsel in distress in their eyes, a naive little girl who needed a strong man in their life to shake off this invisible illness. Cue to my recently ended relationship, my partner was solid. I met him on a dating app, a good first step away from my writing. He didn’t know until later that I was a writer or that I had a blog. When he did ask about it, I thought of it harmless finally sharing this side of me. We’d just started seeing each other and had gone on two dates when he learned of my writing. When he got to start reading, as always I was a tad bit apprehensive. I didn’t want his perception of me to change just because he’d get to learn of my weaknesses. He took it quite well actually, or at least well enough, and relayed quite the empathetic shoulder to lean on. I just might have been on the right path with this one. Over the short course of our relationship, I didn’t get to write much, I was in a good place mentally and there was little to no fuss between us. It wasn’t until we broke up, did I learn of how much he felt the need to shelter me from everything. My fear of his perception changing after reading my blog was entirely real and it did happen. He claimed to have been my soulmate, just because he knew me and thought he could shove down his ideologies on how to rid myself of depression. He thought, just as the guy before him, that I needed rescuing.

https://pin.it/2XBZoMm

Do I think meeting my “soulmate” through my writing would have felt fantastic, absolutely. I might have initially hoped that would be the case, but now, I’m not so sure any partner I ever get will have the chance of knowing me as a writer or at least, ever read either of my blogs. I no longer want assumptions of rescuing me to be their goal in life whenever I’m dating anyone. I don’t need a saviour, besides Jesus Christ. I have gone through life and being mentally ill without the assistance of a partner, besides my family. I’m not saying it would not be great to have my own person root for me, I just don’t want what I write to be all that this person sees about me. It surely is a big portion of myself, but not entirely the full picture. I want certain aspects of me to only be shared with a lover in person. I don’t write everything thought in passing, I don’t express all my feelings through pen and paper and those are the aspects of myself I want to share verbally with the next partner I get. I’m immensely grateful for everyone who takes their time to read about whatever I ramble on, but it’s not the full image of who I am. It’s just a part of me. So this right here is my halt to whoever may think that I need some kind of rescuing or love bombing and gaslighting. This girl wants to be loved for more than her sorrows or her pains. She wants to be loved and known too for her joys and happiness.