Of Reality, Fear and My Experience
The expression of fear, I believe, throttles the heart and suffocates the mind, because of the gullibility and frailty of mankind. So was my case when the Frankenstein finally paid me a courtesy visit at an uninvited period.
I live my life daily unable to answer some questions that confront me, questions that sit in the heart of many like a disease waiting to be unleashed. Like, which is terrible, the fear of pain or pain in itself. The answer to that I still do not know, but one thing I do know is that Pain and Fear have always been an enemy that stays closer than a brother.
Growing up to realize I have special nails have been quite relishing and sometimes exciting. Though some have tagged it has being of a feminine root but I decline to hold on to the opinions of others.
The caveat behind this attribute brings to fore a nightmare which hurls it ugly face only when beckoned. My nails tend to be beautiful and hard at the same time, so hard that it breaks the cutter. Imagine reusing an old cutter multiple times because it delivers compared to the newer models that seem not to understand the peculiarities of my nails.
This faithful day the old and even the new cutters were nowhere to be found but my nails needed to be chopped off. I searched. Oh. I searched, my wardrobe and every other robe I could see and Yes! it was during my undergraduate at the University of Lagos.
Had someone stolen my cutter? I could not tell. Was it somewhere staring at me in mischief? I also could not tell.
But what I definitely could tell was that I needed to reduce my nails
After all searched and done, nothing seemed to come forth except an innocent looking alternative that though I have never used, I have especially feared it, but I thought giving it a try wouldn’t be a bad idea.
For a moment, my mind seemed to be out of sync with my hands and unperturbed by the peculiarities of my nails and the possible harm a first time user might encounter using such tool.
I started the expenditure with my left hand, the going seemed to be good as I scaled through my two fingers until I got to my middle finger. Then it got stuck. Trying to get through that phase and move on to tougher nails, seemed to be a priority, then I applied efforts but that was soon to be a waste, as the exerted efforts drove the blade right into my index finger. The rest they say is history.
What just happened seemed to be the reality of what I feared the most. From a drop to more drops of blood. This isn’t happening to me.
I was also confronted with the reality of boyhood and the responsibilities of catering for yourself. I made my way for the Health centre with the blood gush becoming intense.
My brain froze has there was a pile of things to be thought about but which should go first?
Thoughts of how I shouldn’t have done it? thoughts of how do I get out of this mess? thoughts of how do I suppress the pain and even the pity part that would come after. But it still I made my way to the doctor and since my blood tissues were becoming visible due to the depth of the cut, it had to be stitched immediately.
Here I was staring at the doctor has he inserted his curved needle into my finger with the intention of sewing it. An experience I never saw coming but came even before I envisaged it.
So fresh is this experience in my mind that recalling it, triggers a mixture of sorrow and fear. sorrow because I gave life a chance when I shouldn’t have. Fear because the experience bores livid trappings.