A BODY AND ITS MIND

Three hours moment of weakness

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I know I’ve been like the worst writer the past month. I’m not even denying that. It’s not short of unbelievable that I have not actively written anything since the 13th of last month. I wrote but I didn’t share(I will probably do so and call it my closet series). Maybe this piece would even be the first of the closet series because I don’t know if I would share this at the end of the day. But I believe in myself. This would go up today.

I’ve had a really busy last few weeks, I was preparing for exams, writing the exams and moving to the next department after the one I just left. In between this, I have not done anything asides from MEDICINE. I tried, but then I quickly soon realized how my time was not mine. I don’t know how this made me feel but the height of it was on my paper 1 exam day. I felt so overwhelmed.

I cried.

I cried because I got screamed at by my consultant during the exams(I hate people shouting at me). Asides from disorienting me, it makes me exhausted especially when you could communicate the information calmly without putting pressure on me.

It was supposed to be a short moment of weakness, but there I was, crying an hour, two hours, three hours after the exam and I was trying to pacify myself because I didn’t want to get puffy eyes. I don’t like crying because it prompts me to cry about every other thing that’s messed up in my life.

So when you ask me why I was still crying three hours later, I’d tell you it’s because I hate how soft I am as a person. During creation, strong hearts got exhausted before I was created. They let me go with being such a “softie”. 

How am I so soft-hearted? I forgive easily, make jokes out of things that hurt me. Laugh everything off like I’m in a circus. Have you met me? Like I crack myself up every minute of the day. I make other people laugh(this has to be my essence). My ability to move past things like that thing did not just send me to the brink of death or that my heart just shattered, how am I wearing a big grin with my offender. I can’t just. No matter how hard it is, I cannot even be mad at someone. Maybe for that second, I could rage but 19 seconds later. I am laughing and we are good.

I’ve seen people say things like “anyone in my past is my past”. I’ve heard phrases like “I cannot make contact with my ex’s”. But then there’s me. The first guy I fell head over heels for and I got heartbroken. We are still good friends. I am a call away for him. You’d see me smiling the brightest with someone whose actions almost took my life and you’ll see me giving moral support to someone who left me for someone else(the someone else who’s currently dragging him in court for child custody). My forgiveness will is top tier.

But then why can’t I forgive myself?

I have forgiven people who did me the worst but I am struggling with forgiving myself for letting myself go through everything I did. Forgiveness is living, forgiveness is loving.

In between my tears, I started wondering if I was living. Because if I’d not forgiven myself for not being enough, how then am I supposed to live to fulfillment?

Everyone has once lived a life they are not proud to show everyone else. Everyone has a past they hate. But the worse is living in the body of a mind that has refused to forgive itself. 

I am overly obsessed with conveniently hating myself for things I have done in the past. Things I outrightly have no control over. Somedays my scars precipitate the anger, other days emotions like this precipitate it.

I sometimes get angry that I allowed certain people to see me or know me the way they do. This is because I could have ended the bond before it even started. Allowing people into my life and realizing they’re temporary is exhausting and it does nothing but leave me with a reminisce of how they came and left even before their final arrival.

I know I’m not supposed to judge myself for people's actions but the blame has to be on someone and well I have chosen to blame it on me. 

I get mad at myself for not doing everything I should have at the point I was supposed to do it. For not telling my secondary school housemistress I’m sorry when I was the bad prefect. For concealing a truth that could have saved everybody from suspension. For doing things I can’t share with anyone. For exploiting myself in ways I shouldn’t have. I hate myself. 

I hate myself even more for not respecting my body. For hating my body and for taking solace in disfiguring it just because I wanted consolation for all the pain I felt. Why did I choose to transfer my emotional pain to physical pain at the expense of my body? 

Do I blame my body for choosing not to forgive its mind?

No.

Because at the time my mind felt the cloudiest, it hurt its own body.

But would I keep living with all of this hate and resentment?

I guess not.

Forgiveness is living, forgiveness is loving. Forgiveness breeds happiness. Forgiveness has to be, for peace to be.

I know I’m working on forgiving myself but I’m also so angry at myself for being quick to forgive everyone but myself.

So there I was three hours later crying because I just wanted relief to my heavy heart and a chance to cry out all of my hatred and resentment pent up in me for a while now. 

I hadn’t cried like that in a while, I’m talking months. So when I finally had that chance thanks to my consultant who wouldn’t stop screaming “Speak louder!” “You’re smarter than that!” “Think! Tutu Think!”. 

I cried.

And four hours later, While playing “Sungba” by Asake, I was having a plate of pounded yam and egusi and telling myself, “make I use this one hold body first”. I took the first bite on the chicken I bought with it, gulped down the Fanta and I told myself,

“Tutu, it’s going to be fine”.