Ups and Downs

Time is like an abusive partner.

It breaks a person,
sometimes when they least expect,
but it helps them heal,

till it breaks them again.

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Mrs

MrsI am experimenting a style of prose writing in which a character narrates the whole story to the reader in a personal way, like the reader is a spirit/ghost and the chosen character is the only one that can see them, like a secret best-friend of some sort. I am still working on it, not done yet. Enjoy!

We just spoke, for three hours straight. Tomorrow is ‘the day’, our wedding day, and to say that I am extremely nervous would be to say the least of the emotions that I feel right now. There are probably ten more that I cannot describe with words. See my palms; they are so sweaty.

My friends are having a good time in the room next to this one; I just don’t know if I need to let them know that I am freaking out. I need to use the bathroom so bad too.

Before I leave for the  bathroom, I just want you to know that I am very happy; don’t get me wrong, but just as worried as I am happy, worried that something might go wrong with this contract that I’m about to sign. I’ll tell you about the call I had with my man first, after my bathroom break, and tell you something I’ve never told anyone later.

I’m back. Sit with me on my bed.

About the call, I had never heard him say the words “I love you” so many times in three hours! He kept going on about how happy he was that we were finally getting married, and how lucky he was, and all that. I had never heard him talk so much, so I guess he is nervous too. In-between sentences, he would ask if I was listening, and I would say “yes”. Then he would tell me he loves me and I would reply that I love him even more. There were about ten “I love you”-“I love you even more” pauses before I told him I needed to sleep, and that he needed to sleep too.

There is a problem though. Well, I don’t know if it’s a problem or I’m just being petty. I had never really considered it an issue before now but I can’t get it out of my mind. He hit me a year ago with his belt, I’ll tell you why later, and I’m scared that he might do it again. I had never seen anyone that angry in real life.

He promised it would never repeat itself, I believed him, and since there were no permanent scars on my neck and arms, I didn’t tell anyone. Giving an account and telling someone else my business wasn’t at all necessary.

This is the thing- he has anger issues that I have refused to fully address, and I might be done for. Babe becomes a beast, a raging monster, whenever he’s angry. Oh! I should tell you something else before I forget. I went to an astrologer/psychic out of curiosity. I’m a Leo and he’s a Scorpio, if you would like to know. She said we have several Venus-Chiron-Mars-Pluto connections in our synastry analysis, and because those aspects are hard, we both need to learn to understand each other and we would be fine. He came up as The Emperor reversed/4 of Pentacles,and I came up as the Queen of Pentacles/Strength cards, in the readings.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said “yes”, but I love him. I don’t ever want to get a divorce; the thought of it is so frightening, because I hated it when my parents got a divorce. I don’t know; I don’t know what I’ll do if he ever hits me again.

Narcissus

narcissus.jpg

Richard Baxter – Narcissus and Echo (2000) – Detail

“I don’t love her
but I want to be loved by her.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?
You want her, right?”

“No, but I want her to want me.”

Dead Love

womanShe always had to ask if he loved her, and he often replied with a “yeah, yeah, love you, sure I do. Why do you keep asking?”

She was looking for the Àjọkẹ́, s’ó n gbọ́ mi? Mo nífẹ̀ẹ́ rẹ. The I am in love with you that was often said with a soft voice and a pleading gaze; it was what she was used to, what she had taken for granted. It was what she really wanted.

She hated herself for hurting a man who used to declare his love for her ever so often, sometimes with tears in his eyes, because he did so. 


There could be two different men in this piece, or just one man [the same man], depending on how you choose to interpret it.

Human Sacrifices and Sheet

BlckMTade’s heart is broken into three pieces. It was split into two whole halves for a long time, but it was shattered last night, and there are three pieces now.

Tonight, he’ll meet a new woman, and in a few days, he’ll make passionate love to her. She’ll think he’s madly in love with her, but he wouldn’t really be, obviously. He is, and he would be, in love with someone else who has declared herself unavailable, and for a while, the new woman would become his true love’s clone. 

Maggots and contaminated blood from an untreated, rotten wound in his heart, anger- fiery anger, and sweet-bitter desire would be the new recipe for his semen, for her new meal, and she would lick and suck and swallow in delight, without a slight clue on how or under what conditions it was prepared.

The good or not so good news, depending on what side you’re on, is that he will get better. Within 6-8 months, he’ll get over the old girl, and, unfortunately, the new girl. She would not be so new anymore. He would not be as vulnerable, and the wound would be fairly healed by that time, so he would change; he would become his true self again. 

It would be time to search for a real replacement; he’ll be totally done with the “living sacrifice”. The not-so-new-anymore girl’s heart will be split into two halves when his behaviour changes, and of course, it’ll be shattered into three pieces when he announces that she is of no true use to him; she was, but not anymore. 

‘No Use’ is Abuse

He doesn’t want to eat whatever meals she prepares; the old him wouldn’t even be satisfied with just one serving. Yesterday, she made this delicious plate of yam-pottage for him. He gets home, heads straight to the dining table, ignores her greeting and her presence, and calls his eldest daughter. She responds, and he asks, “Sade, talo s’ounje yii?” [Who made this meal?] She says it was her mother. He gets up to pour it into the dog’s bowl. “Sade, make me another meal with the ingredients in that bag.” He points to the nylon bag that he arrived with. “I don’t want to be poisoned by this witch.”

Liberian Artist Ehi Obinyan

Art by Liberian Artist, Ehi Obinyan

She says “good morning”, and “good evening”, and “good night”, and the days keep going by, but he never responds. He doesn’t sleep beside her in her room like he used to; he doesn’t sleep with her. He sleeps in his own room, and it’s been 10 months. He’s an angel of evil; nice in open spaces, psychopathic behind closed doors.

It all began the day he yelled at her for taking too long in the market and she, being very stressed and upset, briefly apologized but called him a “short-man devil”. He has always been very sensitive about his height, and it really hurt him. He swore to himself to show her how much of a devil he could be.

He hasn’t really spoken with* her since then; only the children know about it. They speak to each other briefly when they have visitors or when they attend social functions together but that’s about it. She has apologized many times. She even slipped an apology/love letter under his door one night, but he tore it into shreds after a quick glance.

It’s domestic abuse, but a different kind- the kind that kills the soul. It’ll be the 11th month in 10 days; it hasn’t stopped.