Posted in CocoAbba

Numb; when the pitcher broke.

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I remember I did not call myself a medic for the one year I repeated, because I was afraid I would be withdrawn from school.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.

Ps: Did you love the read? Kindly subscribe.

You know someone this may help to heal? Please share.

Have you had similar experience? Would you like to share?

Talk to me in the comment section. 💜

Author:

We are alike in more ways than you know, it's why this blog exists. Every entry is my attempt to show you that your body has ability to heal from all forms of trauma and that the sound of your laughter and joy do not have to be visitors to you. Every entry is an attempt to remind you that peace and wholeness are attainable. I hope you find home here, and I hope, like me, that you fancy dodo, bread and brown pages. Subscribe already. ❤️

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