“The day I stop writing is the day that I’m dead”
I can’t remember when I said this but as far as this year is concerned, one thing I haven’t done is find expression through words. Talk about actually dying. I don’t like the sound of that, so here I am.
Originally, I take on the alias “The drunken writer” on my website but due to some situations “currently” outside my control, I’m here.
On finding expression, there’s something that bothers me a lot and it has to do with my faith.
Honestly, I feel some sort of shame and a fear of being judged as it’s seemingly believed that as most people get older, “women” especially, they tend to tilt towards faith as an escape or hack to achieve certain “biological goals”
Maybe, I am in denial of the above. Maybe not.
However, I do not seek a husband from Jesus, money? Oh definitely but at the top is peace of mind.
Which brings me to second part of my mental tribulation.
I’m aware I owe myself ‘this year’ a booster session or therapy again.
I mean, 2023 has been quite a lot for me and somehow, I have sort of found delusion to be a sweet escape.
On a brighter note, I have also seen a full coagulation of my common sense floating above my ever raging, impulsive and intense emotions.
As a people pleaser learning boundaries, I have learnt to tell myself “it’s ok to be a bad guy”.
As a hopeless romantic, I have learnt to take people and situations for what they are and either make peace with it or do right by me.
As an upcoming believer (as I love to address myself), when I fall short or act contrary to the parts of the scripture that I know to be true, instead of self condemnation, I tell myself “Progress not perfection"
Still, I’m so scared of a relapse.
Three days ago, I felt a huge wave of intense feelings that I wept from my core, lost appetite and almost sought to isolation.
After sitting with myself, I realized I was heart broken but why? How?
I’m single pringle, mind you.
Sighs, I was just disappointed.
For full context, I was faced with three love interests; a verbal and physical worshipper of me with a girlfriend, a cocky eastern man with a big bag & D and my first love; the girl in the mirror.
I choose the girl in the mirror but it hurt so much. Even as I write this, I’m still wondering why it hurt that much.
Coupling with the uncertainty about Nigeria, economic anxiety etc
Like, I don’t ever want to feel that way. It was scary.
Oh well, for a lack of words, I’ll like to end this with a quote ‘for myself” and anyone who might find this;
The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Love and light! 💡❤️
