“There is a fortitude required to repair oneself” -
I read this line multiple times because I have struggled with naming this season, where I unzip,disrobe, peel and blow the husks away from my new frame. But Mofiyinfoluwa reminds me that I can heal myself.
I have spent a good part of my life trying to understand how things work.
Why do humans break?
How can we be fixed?
Is healing situationally specific?
Can I heal singular, more critical parts of myself?
Do all other parts suffer the healing process?
When i excavate dead tissue, should I throw it all out or dig through for healthy cells to repopulate?
So many questions.
Now that I am beyond the fear that there will be nothing left, I can attest to the necessity of funerals. It is okay to bury things. It is important to confirm that they are dead. I have danced on the graves of previous iterations of myself, on relationships with people I still love, on dreams that I hoped I would realize in this lifetime.
Soon enough, I will dance on the grave of your sanctimony, and spit in the face of your righteousness. I reject this pain you want me to carry. I reject the thought that I should be grateful that you did not hurt me harder. And I beg you, to do your worst. I will take my rotting corpse from your murdering hands and I will bury her again. This is how I am loving you, ensuring your existence. No one will wield your weakness over you, not even me.
Hey besties, a little life update:
I have a masters degree now!!! For the longest time my entire personality was being young and academically savvy. A lot of that is still true, yet, it is unsustainable to limit myself to an identity that drains me so much. I wrote this piece during a dark time but we’re doing so much better over here so I am finally sharing. Interjecting pictures of myself for no reason in particular.
Let me know how you’re doing❤️
Chizobam
