I wish I could muster the passion or anger to rant about shit. Right now, it feels like a mash of forcefully quelled hatred, disappointment and anger towards myself, love and God.
Yes, God. Yes, I still believe in God. So how dare I be mad at Him, borderline hate? Well, how dare He not show up neither when I request silently and quietly nor when my tears force out the angry, painful knot in my throat into a scary roar-yell thing that my unfortunate pillow has to bear the brunt of? How dare He not fulfill His word to be there when I call? Have I not called enough, Lord? I thought You loved me. I thought You’d never desert me, not like the others have. What is it? Have I been too bad? Am I too filthy to stand in Your presence? Is my heart too dirty for You to cleanse? Is my mouth too full of shit that I cannot pronounce Your name properly? Did You change your name? Your number? Boss, why, you delete my contact san block me or somtin? You unfollow me? Like tell me eh. “New God, who dis”? Cool.
Love. Damn love. Fuck love. The greatest gift and the darnedest curse. And I’m blessed with it. See, I like love. Love the stuff. Smother me in love and let’s lick it off each other kinda love. You’re my friend and you make me happy so lemme treat you to whatever you want kinda love. Jollof kinda love. Plantain kind of love. It’s all dope. But as Poetra quoted the other day, “I will teach my daughter how to love. But most importantly how to stop. They never teach you how to stop”. Yeah. What do you do when the thing/person decides they don’t want it anymore? Like, sooo me that you’ve left me with all this love in my heart right now, what mek I do? And then it cannot be filtered out of your blood because there’s just no exit route. So it turns into heartache. Knocking on your cardiac muscles. Demanding attention. And you don’t know what to do with it. Because the love you knew turned sour.
Me. Hmm. Lol. See, I’m actually a small girl. I’m not yet 21 but I’ve made a grave many stupid decisions in this short life. And I want it to be over. The making stupid decisions, not the life part. I think. I think a lot. And then when I think I’m done, I think a bit more. Then a lot more. And it gets me nowhere. It’s just a cyclical torment. I’ve grown quite familiar with all of it, though it does not get any easier with each month it shows itself. That depression thing. #MyDepressionLooksLike worthlessness, helplessness and loneliness. It’s a powerfully unholy trio that inhabits this superego. Superego. Random, but I learnt that word in Psychology at A-Level and haven’t thought of it since 2013. In Psychology, we studied depression too. It was one of my favourite topics at the time because I was just going through my first spell. So it was fascinating to learn that it was an actual mental health disorder. Causes, different methods of treatments and preventions; learnt all of that and it wasn’t even chew and pour because I still remember most of it and could re-pass that exam quite well. Upon all this, me dis. Still greeting depression good morning and fighting with it at night for bedspace, headspace and peace of mind.
Hope. Morkporkpor. Awerɛhyɛmu. Espoir. Esperanza.
Faith. Xorse. Gyedzi. Confiance. Confianza.
At the start of this post, man, I was in tears. And I was angry. But I’m okay now. I’ll be better. I still have hope and faith. In myself, in love, and above all, in God.