SINKING

I have become that which I hate most; a badly badly baked bread amidst all the sweet scented ones. I have no fragrance. I do not even have a base odour. I am just not ready to be cut into equal slices and packed in a branded paper. I am not ready to be eaten with eggs by a family whose head belch in satisfaction after the first cup of coffee. Nor am I ready to be shared among filthy kids with mucus washing their surprised faces; they’d be in awe of me as their almost toothless mother,after ten years of beatings,tears the paper around me and watches me in naked admiration. It has been long but still,I am no ready.

Sometimes I feel like a senseless river. With no sense of direction whatsoever. I hate the way children violate me. Worst of all are the adults. Shitting and watching their mess flow happily like a kid who has seen Santa. They make me feel dirty. Other times I am plagued by a sense of regrets. Most times it comes in waves like that of an ocean. It swipes me off my feet knocking me down. Other times it comes like a canopy of angry trees itching for revenge. Such moments I am covered by shadows of my past. They pin me down,rape my hope and convict my sanity.

On Saturday I felt like I could walk on water,might be Jesus calling unto my wretched soul. For one fleeting day,I was happy. I smiled at my neighbour and laughed at a new mom being reprimanded. Sometimes I laugh a lot. Like a lunatic straight from the asylum . I laugh until I cry. My friend says I like laughing at other people. Might be because I want to forget about my suffering and pain. Pain that has found a home in me. Pain that likes the type of drink that I like; a hot sizzling cup of coffee ,black as my Kenyan behind. Pain that blinds me to the point of being blind . Accompanying it are always guilt and inadequacy.

The fact that I might not be enough gives me nightmares. That I am not up to standard. Inadequacy is a disease I’ve gotten accustomed to. I question myself whether I am a good mother to my kid,whether I am doing enough for my partner. Guilt trips me daily. First the things I could have done better,of how I could have handled my situation.

I used to be afraid of my shadow. Now I know why. I suppress. So much that it cripples me. My mind is photogenic,it saves. I still remember the inappropriate touches from him,a neighbour whom my parents trusted. And that rough hand on a bus at night still gives me nightmares. Of a baby I could have had but I did not. I hear its cry. I hate it. It hurts my ears. Sometimes I feel sorry for it. I am tired.

I hate what I am becoming. A walking shell. Some smiling skeleton with scars like a tattoo. I move without feeling. I do not even taste my food a more. I donot know the difference between tangy and sweet. They taste the same; tasteless. They feel the same; meaningless. I am on a rollercoaster, a stolen one,with no intentions of climbing down. I do not know which road to take. I wish God could guide me and show me the right way before I lose my mind.

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