Hi all, this post is somewhat personal so if you do not like to read sob stories, I highly suggest you stop reading NOW. You’ve been warned.
I read this post on Mimi G’s blog, and something she said touched me so much. The whole post was so inspiring to read, and the last paragraph read like it was meant for me. The exact line I have been repeating to myself since I read the post is:
“…it doesn’t matter how you started out it only matters how you finish” – Mimi G
So yes, we are all each other’s pillars sometimes.
Lately I have not been posting regularly. Yes I know, you are all aware of that.
It is not because I have started work again, and work is keeping me busy. No, it so happens that I am going through a rough patch. Some call it being blue, or feeling low, others call it depression. I don’t like the word depression. It sounds so negative. A few people in my life are whispering the words ” postnatal depression”. Hmm. I don’t know.
I was not going to write anything about my feelings on this blog. No, talking about my dark feelings publicly is not something a British person would do. A British person would rather internalise their sufferings. I am totally aware of the fact that my previous statement is a generalisation which might be offensive to some people, and I am sorry if you are offended. It is not my intention to hurt anyone’s feelings. I am only speaking from my observations of the British people I have come into contact with. So, yes, whilst Mr.Dibs is English, I am not, and I do not mind talking about how I feel. I spend time writing about my life on this blog, the good and not so good. To pretend everything is going swimmingly in my little universe now would be quite the lie.
I have not sewn anything. I don’t want to. Even if I did, I won’t be able to take pictures. Not because I don’t want to take pictures of sewn garments, but because I can’t fake a smiling happy face when I am the total opposite inside.
I have been functioning, going through the motions, waking up, going to work, coming home, playing with Noah, breathing, eating…I am not happy though. I am not happy, and I really don’t know what to do. I keep seeing bathtubs filled to the brim, with floating strands of hair. Not healthy thoughts I know, but I have them. My sister says I should think of Noah when I have this otherworldly thoughts. I try. Sometimes it works, sometimes I just wait it out. I’ve finally convinced myself it can’t be me floating in the tub because my kinky afro strands are most determined to remain coiled. No floating silky tresses for me there. And no, I don’t plan on getting extensions any time soon.
I can’t pinpoint the exact source of my troubled state. Everything just seems to be wrong at the moment. Everything. I was crying the other day to a relative, and she did not get me. She saw no reason why I should be crying about anything, and said I should think of my relatives in Cameroon who had nothing. That might sound mean, but you need to understand that in Cameroon, many people just go along with what life deals them. They complain about it though, whinge to everyone who would listen ( kinda like what I am doing now, so there..)You kind of accept where you are, and tread on, no tears. I’m not like that. I can’t pretend to be ok when I am not. I can’t pretend I am happy with where I am presently because I am not. Bottom line, I am kinda messed up in my afro covered head.
So while I still read your blogs, I am not in a state to write on my mine regularly. So please bear with me, while I try to out-shrink the shrinks, dissect my brain, and get to the root of my melancholy.