This is Day 11 of my 30 day writing challenge. Today I have steered away from Postpartum depression a little, and put my thoughts as they were on paper. Somewhat cryptic, but authentic thoughts nonetheless. My reflections of the subject. Of past hopes and dreams. Here goes
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I have had to gather a lot of courage to write this. The year is drawing to a close and I realized I had made a promise to do this (in 2014!). I am not sure whether I have any structured prose, but I guess that is a good thing because I will write it from my heart. Words unspoken, thoughts unsaid, the travail that accompanies such is sometimes too heavy to bear… and this necessitates this letter.
Ever since I came of age, I do not remember a time where I had a conversation, you know, a real conversation, not a one-way talk. Even then, most of that one-way conversation revolved around school, grades, pocket money… never about my dreams, my aspirations, my hopes. This reminds me, back in the day, when Stomp was the in-thing, I dreamt of been a female DJ, gospel DJ. I shared this with you, and the vivid memories of the acceleration with which you picked a wooden mwiko remain fresh. You wouldn’t pay all that money for one to end up a DJ… I am not sure that Bachelor’s degree has been of much help…
Many events over the years have made me think of your place in my life. Does your role culminate in the formation of the XX chromosome? Does it extend to infancy, toddler stages, and adolescence? Or maybe it stretches all the way to adulthood? Granted, perfection is a grand illusion, a distant mirage.
Over the years I have learnt to grow some thick skin. Thick skin to scathing remarks, heart-wrenching insults, and the occasional violent reaction. These, from perfectly normal strangers does not often get to me, but when it comes from you, it realigns quite a number of things. It changes the way you think, for life. It dents your self-esteem. It stings. It hurts, most importantly, it leaves an indelible mark. This mark remains etched in one’s brain for eons to come.
May seem like something that will change, someday. But it never does. It becomes the new normal. Normal starts to be different, unusual, peculiar… whatever the name, but it is never the same way again. Sometimes this new normal pushes you, stretches you, redefines so many things so that you are never the same again. You trudge on in life, sometimes in despair, sometimes in jubilation, seemingly perfectly normal. But this is a new normal I am yet to get accustomed to.
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