My Story...

I am ready to fulfill the promise of sharing what I have been up to. writing isn't as easy as I thought, the knowledge of how to write from the FPV( first point of view or POV as it is called was insightful. so please read and let me have your thoughts; Stay or Delete?

If God were to ask each one of us how beautiful we want to be, the answer I know He will hear is" very", "extremely", "dashingly" beautiful. Maybe I am the weirdo- that would trade it all.  I sure know what I will certainly not choose to be in my afterlife. That is if there is one.

I gazed intensely at the word "afterlife" after I had scribbled my entry for the day like it was the golden ticket out of the dreary world I found myself in. I had begun keeping a journal since the incident that changed my world for the "worse"

Why me? I exclaimed

"Why not you", the voice I constantly heard goading me when I dared question my descent.

Well, if I kept hearing voices and conversing with the "invisible being" maybe the pastors and prophets my parents dragged me to see for deliverance were right to think I was from the underworld.

Or not? Could it be the case of schizophrenia that I read about on the internet two days ago?

Chuckling as I remembered how I screamed with joy and relief as I read the information online. I was excited; I kept telling myself I was normal as I ran to tell my parents of this wonderful news.

I thought convincing them would be easy but you see it was like talking to a brick wall. My parents had primary school education and so couldn't understand or grasps what schizophrenia is and why I was excited about it. Not that I blame them since they made sure I had the best education they never had, but times such as this make me wish they had gone the whole nine yard.

"It is a mental illness whereby a person can hear voices and talk back" I began again trying to explain in simpler terms so they could understand and thus seek professional help rather than the orthodox and spiritual.

If I had known what my reward would be, I would have kept my mouth shut.

Before I could finish, I felt the sting before I saw the hand that landed the slap on my cheek.

"Those Oyinbo have brainwashed you abi," my mother began her tirade of abuse, you are from the spirit world, you are a “mammy water" you can't take my daughter away from me, and before I knew it she began speaking in tongues and cussing the spirit inside of me to hell and back.

Still holding my swollen cheek in my hand, I started to tell her I wasn't a spirit but a young teenager who didn't choose to be "what" I am, and as I made to tell her all this, my mother slumped to the ground.

"Yes" sally screams. “Now, we will have some quiet”,

Shut up" I whisper angrily, it is all your fault  and as I made to carry her off the ground, my dad shoved me aside and went about drenching her with "holy water" and chanting phrases I couldn't quite hear but sounded like "I bind".

I can already sense the accusations from you, why don't you let me go on

You see unlike the hobbit Frodo, I don't have a -in –the- flesh Sam wise. As an only child I was all alone, guess the barbie dolls and toys counted for something? So why couldn't I have imaginary friends I could talk to? My plea for a little sister always had  the same reply "soon" until I became weary of waiting and I stopped keeping the dolls I thought I would pass on to my precious sister.

So I grew up lonely and distraught but for my constant ally, I could have probably attempted suicide. Well...Maybe that is going too far, attempt was what I said. What broke the camel's back was when I began overhearing my classmate whisper to themselves whenever they thought I was out of hearing distance, or when conversations would suddenly stop as soon as I step into the class, I think the worst was when my friends started to avoid me. All but one person left me- Sally. She wasn't like she is now; she tells me she is trying to protect me as my parents are hell bent on separating us and sending her to limbo.  The thought of those times brings shivers as I remember all of them while taking stock of my unconscious mum

I want to be loved. Or is that too much to ask? I want to hate them all; the world, my parents, friends, Adam and Eve. I blame the latter pair the most; if they had obeyed and not ate the fruit, I would be in the garden as I write and this horrible fate wouldn't be my lot.

The love I wanted badly pushed me to asking my friends why they didn't want to play, share my lunch with me and go back to being how we were. Dupe my ex best friend told me her mother said she should stop playing with me let alone accept food from me because I talk to myself but deny saying I was talking to “sally” and since I look beautiful there was only one explanation for my act. I was a mermaid but came to earth in human form.

Since I had no idea what dupe spoke of, I waited for my parents to arrive home to ask and the expression on their faces told me it was a bad thing. Typical Naija woman my mother is: always quick to associate everything to the occult didn't wait until dawn before she began parading me in front of pastors and prophets.  I experienced it all even as far as being dunked inside the Atlantic Ocean just so the spirit would return to its place of birth. Yet no one bothered to ask how I felt.

Did I ask to be pretty? Did I ask to be fair skinned? Did I ask to be tall? I became the lab rat for the spiritualist, I had to use soaps made from God knows what to bathe and drive out the evil inside of me, my dresser could only boast of olive oil, anointing oil, and whatever new antidote I was to use. Where girls my age used perfumes, lipstick, and wore tight clothes, I was banned as it was feared that the spirit would gain more control and even inflict harm on people around me.

I see a change of emotion now, you don’t know whether to believe my story or even if you do, you don’t know whether to offer sympathy or to even pity me. It is good to know you are open to possibilities and not stiff as those that surround me.

Science opened my eyes to the symptoms inherent of a schizophrenic, I don’t want sally to go but if that would make me normal and loved, I know she would want that for me. But for the closed mind of people around me, I am stuck with the label; mermaid. Didn't they see I don’t cringe from the blast of holy water during deliverance, or shrivel at the mention of the name Jesus? I read the bible, pray and try to keep the commandment. Can’t they leave the judgment to God? That way, I would have a fair hearing. The thought of seeing some of the pastors on their way to hell’s gate is sweet revenge for the hell they have put me through.

Dear God if you were to ask me the question, my answer is this; "I want to be normal".