For years I’ve struggled (lol I say struggled like I’m not still struggling haha) with these thoughts. Thoughts that scream back at me, “YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH” whenever I say I want to go after something. Thoughts that say “over our dead rotting bodies” when I ask if I’ll ever believe in me again.
For years I’ve avoided anything that looked even a little bit like an opportunity to make my life, make myself better. And when I choose to go after them, the voices, those same voices, metamorph into beings, they hound and pound until I scream at myself, my voice joined with theirs “YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH”. Then I let it all go, everything. I find a way to botch it all, so, at the close of business, I’m right where I started, curled up in a foetal position in a corner of my brain telling myself the voices were right, I’m not good enough. If I was, I wouldn’t have ruined everything; if I was, I wouldn’t be here; if I was, I’d have proven them wrong.
It’s an unending struggle, one that worsens daily. The voices evolve, you know, they’re living breathing beings too, I’m just their host because they need a medium. Now they tell me I’m not good enough for life. They say no one would notice my absence after a few months. I want to fault their logic, I really do. But, I had a best friend growing up, Chinwe, she died when I was in Primary 5. There were days when i unconsciously looked for her, but it only took a few months before I stopped thinking about her. I got a new best friend, Ndubuisi; he moved into our compound with his family. He was the only other person my age, so it was meant to be. The point is they’re right; no one will miss me after a few months.
They weren’t always bad, you know, the voices. I created them when I was little; they were angels. I was one out of six girls, but somehow always alone. So I created my friends, friends I would always fit in with, no matter what. When my family would scold me, and I’d be close to tears (I was almost always close to tears) they’d tell me I was beautiful, and an angel and I was better than everyone, and I’d grow up one day and go away from everybody and they’d never scream at me again. I can’t tell you when they changed; I don’t know when they changed. I just woke up one morning, and they weren’t sweet anymore.
I like to think they’d leave me alone one day, but I’m a pessimist, so the thought never stays too long. I’m losing the battle, I know I should seek help, professional help, but how do I explain that my creations have turned against me? How can someone else help me deal with a problem I created myself?
I don’t want to get help. I fix things myself, I always have. I’ll be fine, I always am. So maybe my whole life is crumbling under the weight of this, na smalls, we move. I’ll fix this myself, I always have; I’ll be fine, I always am.
