The dawn of this year’s Valentines has landed on me like a hurricane, like a meningitis migraine!
Valentines found me back to my parent’s house after I had left never to return (because am an adult) and watching my younger siblings lives in progress as I struggle to battle the urge to leave for the streets because as a firstborn, I am fucking embarrassed!
Not only do my younger siblings have jobs that are earning them but they also had valentines plans this year. Being left with my parents made me feel like that daughter who stayed back with her parents, never made anything out of her life and was left to take care of the house after her parents died.
I feel miserable I swear. Not only do I feel like a failure, a loser but I feel like stagnant water filled with mosquito larvae.
I feel terrible having to write this article but then if I don’t write about it, I think I might drown, never to surface again.
At this particular point in my life, I feel like a fucking maniac, a psycho even! And I am doing the thing that I hate the most in life, questioning all my steps, choices, decisions and sadly even the essence of me.
I have no job, no house, no money, no clothes, nor perfume and even
worse, I am afraid I am losing my sanity.
How the fuck did I get here?
When I look back to my life, I remember a vivacious person. That was three years ago. A woman who was unafraid of any challenge that came my way. I remember seeing challenges as an opportunity to prove my resilience to the world. I shared my challenges with people as a journey to my success story. I thought if they see me at my lowest, then they will remember me as the eagle that shed of all its feathers and came out stronger than before. I saw myself as the phoenix that burns up and emerges from the ashes.
Currently I see myself as a tortoise, with the slowness and heaviness that can’t transform me into a bird.
I can’t explain to you how difficult it is to write this article or any that I have tried this year. Writing used to be a safe space for me, and now, I constantly find myself staring at multiple blank word documents afraid that if I begin to play with the keyboard, I might lie about exactly how I feel.
Last year was a hard year for me. I went through obstacles that made me full of fear, I am still struggling to get out of that hole. Even the multiple efforts that I gather to change this feeling, I find myself back here, at zero, no hero coming soon.
Maybe it began three years ago with the loss of my son who I met for only three days. I thought I had moved past it. But all I did was shroud myself from the spotlight. I abandoned everything that gave me the limelight, including acting which was my mojo.
Three years ago, I was on the journey towards a successful media career. My acting was taking off; I had acted six movies in Eldoret and I was hosting a TV show which gave me joy. I have currently postponed an Instagram channel more times that I have writing this article.
Last year, I tried getting into a relationship that shook the very nature of me. Of course, it began nicely, I met a person with whom I shared interests in art, activism and spirituality and I didn’t even imagine that would one day stare at each other blankly in the eye with no tenderness, love or respect.
A person who had said respected me turned his words around to say that I was a fraud in my personality. He questioned my very existence and even though I should have grown to defy people’s words, it hurt me to the core. He spit on me, my feminism, the way I eat my eggs, how I interact with people, and my Good, even I write this, it pains me.
After our eventual break up, I got a call from another person who had loved me dearly, said he wanted to treat me, take care of me for a while
. So stupid me, got on a bus only for him to take the opportunity to embarrass me in front of strangers on how less of a woman I was, not worth of being his girlfriend. I got back to my house on a bus in tears, having to spend a huge portion of my rent.
This part hurts even more because of how stupid I feel having relied on the goodness and kindness of human beings.
Not only did I lose my rent but also other jobs that would have enabled me to pay my rent and progress in my life. But I find myself here, heart damaged, pockets empty, back to my parents’ house, and a feeling of inadequacy as well as stupidity. How could I have been so stupid.
Honestly, those two close incidents made me feel unworthy of being loved, cared , treated tenderly. Believe me I am bleeding into this word document. This comes from deep within.
Is this end of me?
I don’t mean to be overindulgent when I share these pieces of me with you. I don’t like talking about my personal life unless its with very close people
. But I haven’t even been able to share this anyone coz I am afraid of being thought of as stupid or as a fraud. I do not want anyone to tell me I should have known better because I have already beaten myself more times than anyone can. Hearing these words from another person, will simply crash me. And I know there are so many people who would like to see me fall, many people who will read this article and share it, only for the tea. I am sure it’s a success story for my exes.
What me most is not having a private space to cry it out. I have been crying myself to sleep since I came back home and I swear every time I walk; it takes every bit of me to not break down in the streets.
Is this the end of my career?
How do I even get my mojo back? How do I get the confidence to get in front of a camera and talk to people again? When will I begin this podcast that I have been talking about since 2018? When will I complete my first audio production and show the world my many talents?
Am I going to age without grace then regret how I lived my life?
Do I get to establish the most vibrant media house in Afrika? Or are those just hallucinations of a marijuana lover? Do I get to be the biggest thing in Africa still? Or have those dreams been washed away by life’s challenges and my dying resilience?
Am I still the hard-hitting and honest writer that I once was, or I am slowly getting swallowed into producing content that my audience will like at the expense of myself?
Will I get to see Issue 400 of my magazine? Do I still get to have a shelf filled with books of my poetry and stories?
It seems like I am always so close to taste the fruits of my labor, yet so far from even touching them.
Is this the end of my freedom?
My life choices, behavior and attitude have been a point of critic from everyone around me, ever since I was a little girl.
Ever since I said I am both a Luo and a Kikuyu in class three onward, I have been chastised for not speaking enough Dholuo and Kikuyu.
I was criticized for not being girlish enough when I was an adolescent.
I have been critiqued for not being gay enough for having unique sexual tastes.
For not being woman enough to clean a man’s clothes, or house. Not wanting to get married but wanting to be loved still.
And I have always being adamant in who I am. But this world joys at me conforming and being like everyone else. And its difficult to fly my flag at times.
I wonder if I will get enough money and courage to leave home again and take my journey around Kenya meeting different people and places.
Am I even Pushing Hard Enough?
is the off chance that I simply haven’t given my all to everything that I want out of this world.
I am a procrastinator just like everyone else, too much that I procrastinated writing an article about procrastination. Sometimes, I block inspiration and hate myself when it passes.
I give up at times when I scroll through my website’s statistics.
I compare myself with people I went to school, people I grew up with, all who seem to have their lives in order and seem to know exactly where they are going.
I find myself alone. No friends to talk to about my life. All of them have gone away. Maybe I pushed them. Maybe I am so toxic no one can withstand to be around me. No one calls my phone anymore. No one gives a fuck really. Or maybe I expect too much from people, many of my exes have cited my exaggerated expectations as the reasons why all my relationships fail.
I have no lover to give me warmth, nor hold me tight in bed. I am too grown to tell my mother to cuddle me. I really miss being treated like a baby. My body misses personal contact, intimacy and tenderness. I miss whispers in my ear as I sleep. I miss having someone to share with my worries and dreams.
I am in need of a savior, but I don’t want to ask for favors and seem weak.
Photocredit: Mariah Tato