26–07-’22.
collapsing, unraveling.
It’s my birthday today, and I want to tell you about how my world has collapsed and the rut I am stuck in.
No, don’t do that - don’t get angry or sad or worried, or all of those things you feel when a person you love (yes, I’m assuming you love me - adore me, even) — when a person you love opens up about being sad or unsettled. I appreciate the goodwill, the well-intentioned sighs, frowns, and I-am-so-sorries; but right now, I want you to listen, because I have things to say. Agonizing things, embarrassing things, but as always, honest things. You know I’d never lie to you. So, listen, okay? There’s time to be sad at the end.
My life unraveled on a Wednesday evening a couple of weeks ago. I lay on the bedroom floor in my Aunt’s house and cried — well, I tried to cry but what really came out were hoarse noises, the type a drowning person makes when they get their head above water, their entire body begging desperately for air. I too was desperate for air.
The unraveling started the day before, Tuesday, when I found out that the woman I was in love with didn’t feel the same way. The last time I wrote here, I talked about the horror of unrequited love. It really sucks, I’ll tell you that for free. She occupied my mind like she owned the place. I bent to her as plants bend to light, to water. Then, in the twinkling of an eye, someone covered the sun with black; turned off all the springs; and poured ice over the rivers, oceans, and lakes in the world leaving my love plant to struggle, then die; painful withering leaf by painful withering leaf.
There is no animosity here, I need to be clear about that. You can’t go around being angry at people because it doesn’t work like that. If they don’t feel it, they don’t feel it. Nobody’s fault, just an unfortunate situation. But, in the context of the mess that is my life, it was just one more nudge to the edge of the cliff.
The push that sent me falling happened on Wednesday morning. I was going to my Aunt’s house from school, and when I stepped outside, the sun was hitting my face in a way that made me grab my phone and take a selfie. I sent it to my friends on the group chat, and they ignored me.
I have struggled with telling this because even though ignoring a picture of my gorgeous face is an annoying thing to do, it isn’t inherently earth-shattering. But I was, to speak contemporarily, down bad. I hadn’t told anyone about the withering leaves or the pain that was eating me up. I was seeking reassurance that there was something likable about me, something eye-catching, interest-grabbing. I wanted, needed, someone on the group chat to tell me that I was beautiful because I didn’t feel like it. But they ignored me and just carried on like it wasn’t something to note or consider. It hurt.
When I got home that afternoon, chores and activities stalled what I knew was coming. I was grateful for the distractions, because, let’s face it, nobody likes to confront difficult/sad feelings. But when everyone went to bed and it was just me and my feelings, I fell to my knees and started gasping for air.
My friend’s Twitter bio reads thus: “I don’t really have a personality, I just have TV shows I like.” It’s a fun bio, and I’m sure it makes him feel clever, but it got me thinking. What is my personality? Who am I, really?
All my life, I have tried to blend in the shadows. Throughout primary and secondary school, I survived by fitting in with everyone. From people who read novels to those who loved sports, to the bible fellowship, I was able to meld almost perfectly. I didn’t take initiative or an active role in my life because I just wanted to pass through without being seen.
Everything I did was at the request or suggestion of others:
- “Hey, you are always reading, participate in this spelling bee.” Okay.
- “Hey, you write really well, I think public speaking would suit you!” Okay.
- “Hey, you’re a Pastor’s son, don’t you think you should do this bible quiz?” Okay.
Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.
The truth is that our personalities are always influenced by external factors. Your dad played songs in the car on your way to school, and now, while your friends are hip-hop heads, you are a 17-year-old highlife aficionado; your mum owned a bakery so now you eat puff puff anytime you’re sad. I get it. But, this was different. Like a mirror, I simply reflected the personalities of the people I was around at every point in time. All my values have been other people’s values — I did not have a base to build from, to question from. I still don’t. I just accepted everything and threw it down the mix.
When I was gasping for air that Wednesday evening, these thoughts played in a loop, my mind returning to the realization over and over again. I reached for my phone and started typing furiously, telling my friend, Timi, everything I was feeling and thinking. I told him I wasn’t even sure I liked meatpies (for the uneducated, meatpies are my brand. My friends see meatpies and immediately think of me), I told him that I felt like a chameleon - no soul, no sense of self, just multiple disguises, only temporary fixes.
I wanted him to tell me I was overreacting and that I needed sleep. But instead, he said “I know. I’ve known for a while. And I’ve actually been kind of expecting this to happen eventually.” That shocked me because I thought I was hiding it well, but I also felt relief because it meant my concerns were valid, and I was barking up the right tree, even though the reality was painful and disconcerting.
But that’s the thing about diagnoses, isn’t it? Despite the hurt and worry they bring, they also bring a clear path to recovery and wellness. And even when there’s no solution to the ailment, the patient is aware of what comes next: the acceptance of pain, the decision to spend the remainder of the time in love.
Wednesday evening had become Thursday morning and it hit me like a truck. This was the main thing: an absence of self. Yes, there were multiple factors that combined so the explosion could happen: work, for example. I have worked so hard in the past year and I feel the toll. I am so tired of having to show up every day, juggling 2/3 jobs for money that never seems to last or have tangible use. There’s also school. With the lecturers on strike, it just hangs over me like a cloud. I can’t be truly free to face life until this phase is over. I keep blaming myself for the extra year, even though I know I need to stop and let go.
But I gauged that the reason I am so terribly shaken by these things is the absence of self. My jobs, being a student, being in love, these are things I do — they aren’t me. I’ll graduate eventually, resign or get fired, fall in love with the next woman that replies to my texts for three days straight, and who I am will remain, despite all of the changes, in spite of all of the changes. People will come and go and I, the real me, will remain; adapting to, embracing, and making space for all these substitutions.
It took me an awfully long time to realize that I needed to free myself from the compulsion to be likable, the urge to blend and be passive. It explained the undercurrents of uncertainty that flow through every decision, every relationship. It has never been about what I truly want, but how it would come across.
I am not fixed - two weeks is too short a time, and I know it’s going to take a while before I discover who I am, but it sounds like an interesting journey, so I’ll stick with it. It’s difficult restraining myself from falling into old habits, though. That’s the rut I’m stuck in. I am also looking for who to fall in love with next and that’s an annoying search, trust me. Real rut.
Thank you for being here, dear reader as I have tried to make sense of life. I am aware, as we established at the beginning, that you love and adore me, and it feels really great to be the object of your affections. I love you too.
Birthdays are days for reflections, and for wise quotes and insights about life, so here’s mine: men shouldn’t wear jeans. Birthdays are also meant to be celebrated, so pour one out, raise a glass to me, to us.
Till next time ❤
Oluchukwu,
Something Else.
