Buddy, welcome home. 💜
I trust you’ve been well since we last spoke. In the past week, I have seen in real time and virtually, a lot of people that have lost… People, things, etc.
Dealing with pain is not a walk in the park most times. So, I wrote this memoir for them and for you, because we all deal with pain one way or another.
Enjoy the read;
Friday, 5th July, 2018.
It was my mother’s birthday and I was happy. All was right with the world (or wasn’t it?).
How could I have known that the evening of that day would begin a new chapter in my life?
It was the day my part one Mbbs results were pasted—The day the result with my 3Fs was released.
It came via a call, at about 8pm.
Would I have believed if someone told me I’d go from almost being in year 4 to repeating year 2? Absolutely not, yet, it did happen. 😂
A person could drown in the river of fear in my mother’s eyes that night; fear that I would do something stupid to hurt myself, and her concerns were valid, because I was unusually calm after hearing the result.
In truth I wasn’t calm, I was numb—numb as in, I could not feel a thing.
I remember I did not call myself a medic for the one year I repeated, because I was afraid I would be withdrawn from school.
I struggled for months with reading because my mind said “You read last year and failed, why do you think you can do any different this year?”
There were those days I would sit for hours on my reading table and nothing would be retained in my mind.
Days that turned to nights, nights I wept to bed, nights that lasted months.
There were days new friends I made would suddenly avoid me like I was a plague once they knew I was a repeat student.
Days…
I doubted the grades on the result board; I kept expecting that something would happen and the 70s would revert to 30s.
The love from my family (by blood and love) was my everything in those moments.
I remember the day I returned to school, it was the Monday after results were pasted.
A clement day, complete with a fancy wind and moderate sun.
I wore a beautiful pleated skirt and a long sleeved blouse to match; a gift from my elder sister.
A song was playing loudly from my earpiece as I walked from Pav 1 {Pavillion 1} to college building. I wanted to see Mrs Fischer, (an anatomy lecturer) to know if I could recheck my result. I was too sure I had passed at least one of the three courses I failed; sadly that visit crushed the last seedling of hope that dared to take root.
I smiled to the music, as I stepped out of the building. It was a sad smile punctuated with short bouts of sadder laughter. As I came out of Pav 1, I met a friend from the class I will forever refer to as my former class, as long as medschool is concerned.
With good intentions, he gave advice. I had a trailer load of them, from well-meaning people, but good intentions are not enough, however let’s not stray from the story, right?
Today again, this song has found me—Today that we received the news of a dear family friend’s departure—it found me, and the memories it evoked are so strong.
This song, I will dance by Ty Bello. A gift. Always soothing my heart and bringing joy.
That Friday, in my numb state, I planned my comeback. I was going to return to school by Monday and begin attending classes. Nobody believed me.
They said I needed time to heal; I waved their concerns over my shoulder. I was fine, I said. Was I? No, I was numb, and numb should never be substituted for fine.
The Monday I returned to school, nothing prepared me for the experience. I was unsettled. I had a roller-coaster of emotions rush me in a moment as I sat at the back of the class. Tears stung at the back of my eyes but it was too late to return home.
Did I hate myself? Every pore of my being oozed hate. I detested my shadow. But, thankfully Abba’s love never leaves.
For each pore of hatred, he gave me an oasis of love. I was broken to contain more love, to be a better vessel unto honor, because He loved me.
His love ensures that all things work together for good. For you see, that year I discovered art (as I know it now). It was in December that year that I decided to be a storyteller and writer, and the very next year, our virtual getaway spot was born.
That year, I found life in the pages of art.
Today, I’m healing.
Do I shed a tear or two sometimes? Yes, I do.
Do I have triggers? Yup, but there’s no pain anymore (at least not as before).
But if I never had that experience, I’d probably not have started this blog and I’d miss out on another year of knowing you. (Just imagine that.)
Probably there’ll be a “Numb II” or not, because there’s a lot more than words can say.
What matters most, however is that in the seasons we are broken we allow ourselves be both a masterpiece and work in progress.
In the pain lies a blessing. Reach inward.
💜
Xoxo, GJ.
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Have you had similar experience? Would you like to share?
Talk to me in the comment section. 💜
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