My Deepest Regret
Photo by Serkan Göktay: https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-wearing-grey-and-orange-hoodie-sitting-on-brown-wooden-park-bench-during-daytime-66757/A part of me did not want to post this story out of fear of what others might say about me. But I decided to share this story either way.
Sometime last year, around October, to be precise, I made the foolish mistake of secretly packing up my suitcase the day before. The reason? I wanted to run away from my home in Ikeja and go all the way to Ibadan to stay with my boyfriend at the time.
Why you might ask? The truth is, I was losing my sanity with each passing day. I did not realize it at the time, but I held on to so much emotional and mental baggage growing up, baggage that became too much for me to bear.
I was a bully victim, still scarred by those horrific experiences. I was that one child in my family that came home with terrible grades and could barely take care of herself. Like if you saw my hair, it was a bloody mess. I was that kid that was labelled a ‘crybaby’ by everyone. Once, I cried in class and everyone laughed at me. The teacher, at the time, brought a bowl and placed it in front of me, and asked me to cry well so that the bowl got filled up. Talk about cruel. And my mother would blame me for shit that was beyond my control.
It got to the point where my mum and sisters would get into arguments with me due to miscommunication on all sides. The insults got worse with each passing day. I would rant on WhatsApp to my boyfriend who would listen and never once stopped me.
This would later bite us in the ass, one fateful day. I was about to make a run for it, but my mother’s driver caught me and stopped me in my tracks, and then reported me to my mum once she came back from her school run.
I had the misfortune of having to explain myself to her and she, in turn, reported me to my sisters, all of whom agreed that I should leave. One of my sisters came back home and took away my phones from me as I lied and tried to cover my boyfriend’s tracks.
She went through both phones and came across the WhatsApp rants and the voice notes that I recorded where I said some not-so-nice things about the family.
Besides holding on to years of trauma, I was also jealous of my mum and sisters and a lot of my peers as they were all more successful than I would ever be. Or at least that was what my mind was telling me at the time.
For a bit of context here, besides struggling with my grades at school, I also had no job. I kept on applying to various companies and tried to launch a freelance business. No offers came pouring in. I got a string of rejections every single day. That made me break down in tears. Anytime I saw someone achieving some milestone, I became green with envy, not taking into consideration what those people might have gone through to get to the top.
Either way, they saw all those messages and were disgusted. They took away my laptops and sent me off to Ibadan the following day.
Ibadan was a nightmare as his parents grew to hate me and my presence, no thanks to my sister sending them screenshots of the messages and the voice notes. Aside from that, they noticed that I did not cook or do chores and mum pointed this out as part of her criticism of me. According to African culture, if a woman does not cook or take care of the house, she has failed in her duties as a wife and no excuse is tolerated.
As far as my mum was concerned, my inability to do certain things was shameful, as people would point fingers at her and blame her for whatever shortcomings I had. It did not help matters that I was being selfish and never considered anything she and my siblings or anyone, for that matter, ever did for me till that point.
Another thing to point out, I was born prematurely. According to my mother and siblings, I had breathing problems. That was my first brush with death. I had a sort of normal childhood amidst the bullying as my mum and sisters would buy whatever it was that I wanted, like the latest Barbie doll or a Disney Princess movie—Pocahantas being my favorite.
After spending about nine days in Ibadan, I was brought back to Lagos by his father who dumped me at the front gate. I broke down in tears thanks to the horrible disgrace. Not helping was my sister mocking me and mum refusing to let me in as they came across a WhatsApp message where I said I was going to stab my mum.
The truth is, I can never ever stab that woman. I was very angry then and people say all sorts of bullshit when they are mad. Anyway, one of my sisters took me to a hotel to spend the night and she even spoke to me gently and asked me questions about my experience and I told her. She even asked if I wanted to go for psychiatric evaluation as one of my uncles suggested that as my messages told him something was amiss. I agreed.
The following day, I was taken to a rehab center and was checked in as an in-patient. The following day, I did the psychiatric evaluation where a startling discovery was made: I had been suffering from Bipolar II for years without realizing it. The theory of me suffering some sort of brain damage as a baby might be true.
I heaved a sigh of relief as I got to understand what was going on, but after that, I was like “And now what?” I panicked a bit, but the psychologist calmed me down and told me not to worry too much. They gave me medications that I still take to this very day.
I still struggle with depression and occasional bursts of manic behavior, but for the most part, I am alright. When I told my family, they felt horrible for the way they treated me for years and forgave me.
I have since forgiven them and everyone that has wronged me in some shape or form. But the one person I forgot to forgive is myself. I am learning how to forgive and love myself. Not an easy task given the shit I went through and the actions I took.
I am currently in a healthier relationship. Broke up with my ex last year and cut off whatever ties I had with him. Needed that fresh start, to be honest.
Only time will tell where life takes me from here. But for now, I will take baby steps and keep trying my best and smile through the good and bad.
[image error]My Deepest Regret was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
