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‘A thousand times we die in our life. We crumble, break and tear apart until the layers of illusion are burned away and all that is left, is the truth of who and what we really are.’ – Teal Scott

2015 was the year of death.
Of passion, drive, relationships.

Sometimes, I felt like I had broken, and had been hurriedly patched together again, but somehow, whoever patched me up forgot to restore my soul. Many times I felt like I had actually stepped out of my body, and was watching someone else be me.

Am I making any sense?

PLAY.

Let me start from the beginning.
In November 2014, I was assaulted and almost raped.

By a motorcycle rider.

In the bush, by the side of the road.

He didn’t penetrate me,but that’s all he didn’t do. He groped and touched and ground on me. Then he beat me and beat me. Because I wouldn’t stop fighting him. My saviour came in form of the headlights of a car,driven by a man who didn’t know that had he been 30 seconds late, a madman would have broken me – body, soul, spirit. I told my self it was no big deal and tried to move on. In my post on Olatoxic’s blog, I said I was going to heal. LOL. I didn’t. The problem with sexual assault is that sometimes it seems to stamp itself on your forehead, and announce to interested parties that you’re available.

In 2015, my neighbor tried to continue from where the mad man stopped. My boss too. Then some rich man who was supposed to sponsor a project I was working on. Everywhere I went, there was a moron who thought I’d be a nice addition to his conquest list. I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me.

So the first 6 months found me full of hate and resentment. I HATED Anambra. Hated NYSC, hated the people. In fact I hated anyone who tried to get me to not hate the ones I already hated. The only ray of light was the man in my life. I’d recount my experiences to him at night, and he’d make all the right sounds and statements and stuff. The best part of my days was talking to him. I couldn’t wait for July 2nd. I just wanted to go back home to him and my family.

PAUSE.

“This is not something anyone can teach you. Heartbreak you must learn on your own.”

And boyyy did I learn!

In June, two days after my birthday, ‘my man’ ceased being ‘my man’. I was distraught. I cried and cried and cried. I cried myself to bed at night, then woke up and cried some more. To be quite honest, I didn’t realise I had so much capacity for misery.

July came, and NYSC ended. I came home. Or my body did. My spirit was dead. Everything I did was on autopilot. I sent out applications, then went into my mother’s kitchen and cooked. And cooked. And cooked.

I had saved up a sum during service, because I intended to register for a course and fully launch my outfit immediately after but I was empty. I couldn’t be arsed to do anything extra. I was devoid of all the passion that made me save up in the first place. So I left the money there and just pretended I was a mannequin.

My relationships suffered. I finally accepted I may never be the child my mom wants me to be, and so I stopped trying. I didn’t pick up my friends’ calls, didn’t return them, didn’t hang out. I stopped praying, stopped reading my bible, and I missed church a lot. I missed calls from my pastor, I got bored with service. I basically just stopped. Everything.

My health went to shit, and I spent too much time going in or out of a hospital. Recently, my doctor placed me on a 3 month medication. If I missed a day, I had to start again. Well I missed plenty days, and didn’t bother starting again.
I got three job offers between July and October. Unfortunately, by November, I was jobless. Funny right? At some point I had to choose between two offers, and I chose the one that would later downsize. Tough luck.

END.

“In a state of pseudo-death you restore your substance.”

I was kind of just stuck in limbo when I volunteered to write this review. About 2 weeks after, I started an internship with a startup company (by the way, please check out www.iwemoto.com). On my way to work, I read SisiSugar’s review. Then Anita’s. Then Deaduramilade’s. These 3, for some reason, struck me, and, surprisingly, my mood began to lift.

I got a contract for a wedding, my biggest yet, got a car (it’s a hand-me-down though, but its sha my own LOL), I have a new job offer pending, that I’ll start in january if I accept and most importantly, I feel Iighter. I still have dark days,I still wake up sometimes with an acute sense of loneliness, I still catch a lone tear sneaking down my face sometimes, but baby steps are steps still.

In all, I’m thankful. For life. For grace. For the darkness that showed me light, and for the death that showed me life. For you, Olatunji S. You’re a sweetheart and you really do not know how much you mean to me. I’ll do better with calls and responding to my IMs, promise. I’m thankful for you Olu, platonic friend with the beautiful ‘gift’ *wink*. I haven’t forgiven you for dec 12 sha. For you, Amyn! God bless you, Amyn. And Khuddie, the one that was seized! Every time I remember this, I smile. God bless you. All of you.

I think 2016 will be a tough year, and I don’t know if I’m ready, but, we move, abi?

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We move! It’s odd how you can be in your own world and in your own lane without realizing just whose story you are living. Stories like these are why I gently pressure people to tell their story no matter how alone it seems. Somehow someone somewhere sometime will be inspired by it. 

Tuns, we love you and can’t wait for your testimony next year. Happy 2016!

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