Aimer ce que tu ne fais pas!

You want to hear a secret?

I’ve been thinking about you since we first met on that fateful blue rag.

Sometimes you make me cry and that’s okay.

I don’t blame you.

I make me cry too.

Sometimes you make me smile.

And I love you for it.

Sometimes you make me worry.

Because I know what we have is short lived.

Sometimes I wonder if it had to be.

But I would die if I exposed you to my current world.

The way I imagined it, we would have met at perfection.

In a world where I was capable of staying with you.

In a world where I was capable of drawing a love of two for you.

It makes my heart bleed when I think about the day you’ll leave.

I try to make believe a world where me and you overcame.

Some days I try to convince myself that maybe for you, I would be able to make this world perfection.

But I’m scared as hell.

A coward?

Probably.

A bad love?

Definitely.

I don’t know what to do but say I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the memories we would have cherished.

I’m sorry for the sorrow we would have overcome.

I’m sorry for the life we would have had.

I’m sorry that I’m unable to stand up for you.

Love you the way you deserve.

I’m sorry that I have to leave you.

I’m sorry that you have to bleed for me.

For my selfish needs.

You wanna hear a secret?

I’ll gladly let you haunt me into my abyss.

I’ll carry your pain in my heart forever.

And when you see me, on that fateful day

I’ll understand if you crucify my soul.

All that’s left to say now is:

Goodbye to my purity in sin.

Love,

Just Ess

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THE ROCKS

Be a loner. That gives you more time to wonder. To search for the truth. Have holy curiosity “Make your life worth living.”

Life is short. Live it well.

I don’t like change that much. Change contains a lot of unknown and not being certain of what will happen freaks me out.

However, I do enjoy change. I don’t like it but I enjoy new beginnings, deeper meanings and the difference that comes about with change.

I’m no stranger to change. I have reinvented who I am about a hundred thousand times just trying to get in touch with a me that’s actually me. Make sense?

Today though, today change changed.

I got robbed last night and to clear my head I decided to go to the rocks.

Keep in mind, the last time I was at the rocks, my then boyfriend and I were having a fight over why the fuck he thought a trip to the rocks at 7pm after he’d blown me off all day was a great idea.

Also, keep in mind it was Valentine’s Day that day. But I had liked the peace that came along with the rocks. In my mind, it was an introvert’s safe haven.

On that day, apart from the disappointment of expectation and young love, I had received a gift. The universe handed me a place that felt somewhat safe in all it’s unfamiliarity.

The rocks.

I didn’t want to deal with the fact that this was another blow life had thrown at me despite the fact that I couldn’t be downer.

I thought about posting up a blog about how I was feeling at that time because emotion equals masterpiece but to be honest, I wasn’t feeling shit.

I’ve lived with these demons long enough to realize when it’s time to stop fighting and start dancing to the tune.

So after about an hour of trying to find a padlock, my friend and I headed to the high place. With my mind altered just high enough to shut out the world, I took in the view before me.

There was a whole world going on and I was watching it. From a distance. A safe rocky distance. Then I started to think.

For a brief moment, I thought about my life. I thought about my mom. I thought about my best friend. I thought about the boy I love. I thought about the rocks. I thought about Misfitly Wild. Then I started thinking about the thoughts I was thinking about.

Then the thoughts hushed down and I heard myself tell myself: Life is Short. Live it well.

I have this friend. She’s smart and really pretty but she’s mean as a dog. So she met a boy and she became infatuated with him. I mean this guy is everything. He is a bit of a nerd, tall, handsome, sweet and a hopeless romantic.

During the onset, she was super excited about the idea of being with him and we sent back and forth screenshots of conversations that made my heart swell for her and endless texts of what could happen, what should happen, what will happen?

Then they got together and now she’s a little freaked out. It won’t work. She can feel it in her gut, it just won’t. What to do?

I told my friend in more words than necessary: Life is short. Live it well. You will love when you love, things will work out when they work out and if they end, then they end.

Why spend so much time thinking about the end while you could be enjoying the right now? The boy is heavenly, make sure you enjoy every last bit of him. Laugh when he cracks a joke, be mad and call him out when he gets into some bullshit, listen when he speaks and let him adore you for as long as you can.

And if you wake up at midnight and your heart tells you, ‘It’s just not what we want.’ Then leave. Because life is too short to live it worrying about: What if?

Just. Fucking. Live. It.

And trust me, it’s easier said than done. I have began my journey of living life. I’m making steps towards fulfilment. Baby steps but steps nonetheless.

I have cried a record one time because of my stolen items and my life being turned upside down because this theft, it opened up doors I would have preferred to keep shut.

But what’s the point of crying over spilt milk? Shit happens. Move on.

So, I’m living life the best I can given the circumstances. I read more, write more (even though I end up not publishing those works) and every time I feel some type of negative vibe creeping in, I tell myself: Life is short. Live it well.

And I’m slowly beginning to believe it.

Don’t catch me when you see me fall into the abyss of my mind. Raise your glass and let us toast to my slow insanity.

It’s really fucking hard to understand me as a person. I mean, most days I barely understand myself. I wake up in the morning and I want to reinvent who I am.

I want to change. Then the afternoon rolls up and I’m knee deep in some type of depression because: I’m I not happy with myself?

I have so many people that carry with them different versions of who I am. I used to think that maybe it’s because I’m misunderstood but then I learnt that it’s because with each encounter, we allow different people to get in touch with different versions of ourselves.

It’s basically the same person, different forms.

Like Mawi in Moana. I love Mawi.

But the questions that still lingers in my mind is: Who truly I’m I? Do I even like that person? Did I give birth to Misfitly Wild to escape the fact that I don’t quite enjoy being Esther?

My biggest problem has been navigating through relationships with the burden of not truly knowing. It’s hard when you expect other people to understand you before you understand you.

And that was a big part of me dating: Will you please care enough to not get tired of trying to navigate me? Will you find me? Will you love me so hard that I am no longer scared that I am not loved enough?

It’s insane because it’s too much pressure for one person and I often come out as looking needy and complicated.

Scratch that: I am needy and complicated. Little men, ran along now, nothing to see here.

In reality though: I’m just looking for a love that’s out of this world. Something unquestionable. Something undeniable. Something that I don’t need to beg for. Simple. Right?

A rebellious complication of wild introversion.

Unlike most introverts, I’m not private for shit. I like telling people about my life, my struggles. I’m an open book.

I’m shy around new company but I’m not shy in expressing emotion. I’m one if those PDA types.

I believe in flaunting emotion. I’m an emotional being. I intensely feel and I freakin’ love it.

It doesn’t take much effort to make me smile but it doesn’t take much effort to piss me off for a week either.

I believe that the world needs to see more love, more happiness out in the open. It’s a step to healing. And trust me, the world, it needs healing.

For me, flaunting emotion is a way of sending ‘positive vibes’ to the universe.

My best friend learnt from way back that any time me and him walked together, I had to be holding some part of him. Even without knowing, I’d find myself reaching out for his hand.

Each time my sisters and I are going to the supermarket, I always find a way to make them join me in singing aloud along the road and dancing without giving two shits if our neighbour is looking.

I always ask my sisters: So what? Will they sue me because I’m happy? If want to sing and dance on this dusty road then I will. They don’t like it? Tell them to look away then.

Same thing with most of my friends. I’m drawn to people who aren’t scared of being emotional versions of themselves because people are watching.

Life is short. Live it well.

Today, change changed.

And on that fateful Thursday morning, change changed. I realized that everything can change while remaining exactly the same. And for me, that’s the best kind of change.

It’s the unknown with the known. It’s fear and excitement all at once.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t ride this one to my beautiful sunset.

Love,

Misfitly Wild.

My Twenty Two Demons

I was born yesterday.

When I went to bed last night, I thought yeeahh happy day, happy life, happy birthday.

Then it happened.

I was stuck. I had a dream and I was stuck.

It felt like a limbo of sorts.

Almost like I was sitting front row centre at the circus of this thing we call my life.

I was born yesterday.

When I woke up this morning, I hated every bit of it.

So I got up and looked around me, where I physically was, who was beside me, where I emotionally was and who was beside me, where I financially was and which debts were haunting me.

I looked at it all and it all made my heart swell.

Not the happy kind of swell though, the slow this is your heart blowing and you’ll die kind of swell.

I so badly wanted, no, wait, I so badly needed to talk to someone. I needed someone to tell me to get out of my head because I get stuck there a lot.

I needed someone to literally yank me out of the Cocoon I was so badly sinking into.

Get Out!

I needed to hear that.

So I looked around me some more for that someone. My best friends came to mind but phonecalls make me uncomfortable.

I dislike them. ALOT!

So I cried in the shower for a while and then decided to talk to you.

Shall we begin again?

Now look, I’m not a sad, lonely cat person.

In the words of Taylor Swift, I’m happy, free, confused and lonely in the best way cat person.

We’re the best.

It would be best to remember this while we have this conversation, because I’m also a little complicated and it gets confusing sometimes.

I was born yesterday.

When I went to bed last night, I had a bad dream. And it scared me.

The monsters that stay hidden under my bed decided to come out and play.

1.Why am I here?

Not my purpose in life or anything, just here. Why?

In my dream, I was having a conversation with my monsters. It was part of the game I guess. One of them asked me, why? Why are you here?

I looked at him and I said, I don’t know. Why am I here?

Then he said, You are here because you chose to be. Every decision you’ve made has lead you to this moment right here. It’s all You. You are here because of You.

2. Are You Happy?

Then another one jumped in, Are you Happy?

I looked at him and said: I might be.

Then he said, Happiness is not a might kind of thing. It’s two things, you either are or you aren’t.

I might have thought about it for a while before I said: I feel like the part of me that’s happy, genuinely happy is the part of me that gets to be Misfitly Wild. Because in creating her, I became me. Without her, I’m just Esther. Esther isn’t enough.

The he said: What’s wrong with Esther?

This question got to me you know?

Because basically, what I meant was that I wasn’t enough for myself.

That has to be the most honest statement, I ever made.

So I said: I feel like she’s everything I work so hard not to be. She’s not Misfitly. She doesn’t celebrate her broken parts, she is scared of them. She doesn’t see art in the beauty of pain. She’s just not Misfitly. She’s fragile. Damaged. A misfit. And Misfitly loves that but she doesn’t. She doesn’t see how that is the best thing. For our art. For our words. All we genuinely have are our words. We were born to be of Ink Fingers.

I was born yesterday.

And when I woke up this morning, I was lost.

3. Do You Feel Her?

This may have totally been because of this scene in Family Guy where Peter and his family meet the Simpsons in some store that has so many dark corners and people keep emerging from them but yeah, the third one came from a dark corner.

He was beautiful. Almost poetic I must say. He walked around with this air of mystery and when you looked at him, you felt like ecstasy.

Stay away from drugs.

He slowly made his way to our little group and asked me: What about love?

So I asked him: What about love?

He responded: Do you feel her?

I thought about it. And I smiled a little.

Then I said: Yes. I feel love. Every time I think about my close family, I feel an insane amount of love and security. Every time I am with my friends, I feel love. Every time my stats improve, I feel love. Every time I pen down a few words, my heart almost explodes because I have never loved anything quite as much. So yes, I feel love. I feel so much love.

So he asked me: Isn’t that enough?

Almost immediately I responded: No. No it’s not.

To quote Patty Smyth: Love just isn’t enough.

It never was.

So he told me: What about the kind of love that makes you feel music, write poetry? Do you feel that love?

Almost immediately I said: Does it really matter? Because the love I have felt has left me more broken than whole. More alone than loved. More tears than smiles. My poetry is pain and my music is heartbreak. So does it really matter? Can’t I give the world the same mediocre love I have received all these years? I choose to write my poetry about the stars and I choose to listen to my music through the bottle, I choose to feel heaven through the trees because every thing else: It. Stopped. Mattering.

Then as soon as I was done, there was pain. It’s weird because I didn’t feel it. It was more like I could see it, see me. Then he looked at me and said: You have broken your own heart.

And I said: I know. I feel it everyday. Almost as if I’m holding on to the last bit. Waiting for it to shatter.

Then I smiled. The truth hurts.

4. Happy Birthday!

So one of them told me: You are here because you chose to be. You are unhappy because you chose to be. It doesn’t matter because you chose that option. Everything in your eyes is wrong with Esther because you chose to let it be that way. You chose this. You. Happy Birthday.

Curtains drawn.

I was born yesterday.

And when I woke up this morning, I was devastated.

Because I sat front row centre at the circus that is my life and realized: I chose this shit!

My Twenty Two Demons.

Love,

Misfitly Wild 👣

ABOUT THE STARS AND THE DEMONS

When I was maybe 14, I watched this movie about a girl who wanted to be famous so she left home and set out for Hollywood. I don’t remember much but one thing that stuck with me was this one scene: The girl let’s call her Bee and her aunt Dee were having a little argument. I think it was because of Bee’s rising fame. So, aunt Dee told Bee a little story I will never forget: (Story may contain a little bit of improv because 8 years is a long time to remember everything an angry 60+ white woman said.) Okay, here we go:

Wait, does the full stop come before or after the bracket? I need an editor for real. Does it?

Once upon a time, I bought this really pretty pair of shoes. Each time I would wear my new shoes, everywhere I went people would always give me the best compliments. They loved my shoes and I was happy. What nobody knew though was that those shoes were a size smaller. Each time I wore them they would kill me. I didn’t let anyone see that though because that would mean that they would stop giving me the compliments I felt I deserved. But each time I removed those shoes, I was forced to deal with painful and sore feet.

I never really understood how deep that little story was until I was the one wearing the shoes. For the first time in my life I felt like I was walking around in a beautiful pair of shoes and getting all these compliments and I was loving it. What I didn’t tell anyone though was that the shoes were killing me. Literally, my feet were already very swollen and for the longest time I worked on how best to maintain face. Might I add, I got really great at it but I noticed that each time I looked at my little shoes all I could think about was: for how much longer?

The more I thought about it the more I realized that I had been wearing these shoes for the longest time. I just didn’t realize it. It was almost like I had sold my soul to these devil shoes and the compliments I always got made the pain seem like it was worth it. My mom once told me that the world is no place for my soft heart.

There is nothing wrong with having a kind heart but in this world of ours, you have to develop some level of elasticity. They will see your kindness and immediately use it as a weakness. They won’t show you though, they will bite the hand that feeds them while simultaneously offering a helping hand to soothe the pain. Be careful.

At the time my mom and I were having this conversation, I couldn’t see it but she could. She looked at my backyard and saw me walking around in my beautiful shoes, elated because of how much they loved them and even though once in a while I would twitch because of the pain, I never let them see it. But she did and she saw every last one of them slowly come to realize that my feet hurt and with the same vigour they showered my happy little painful feet with compliments, one by one they all started to use that pain against me. My mom saw it, my mom warned me, my mom tried to get the shoes off but I wasn’t having any of it.

Now look at me, just look at me. I feel lost, I feel empty, I feel sad but I have finally managed to get off the last shoe. My feet are still sore and the pain is unbearable but look at me, I got the shoes off and that must count for something right? What makes me prouder is that I got them off by myself. It was my choice. It was my call.

Bittersweet.

The demons gave me the stars.

The stars became my only light.

How does my story end?

When do my feet get better?

When do I get better?

Love,

Misfitly Wild

JUST A SINGLE LINE

I’ve been sitting at the waiting bay of Neema Hospital for close to three hours now. They have upgraded to a new vending machine and I spent about 10 minutes looking at fascinated faces walking through the machine, reading its instructions then in typical Kenyan fashion coming back to complain about overpricing. Anyway, before coming for my check up, I had quite the morning.

I haven’t been to Nairobi in close to three months so I was pretty excited to get into town today. So, my mom picks me up at home and drives me to the bus stop close to her office where I get into one of those Wendani mats that head to town. I used to love them because I rarely paid bus fare but all my tout admirers moved on. Anyway, it takes about five minutes after I board for us to be on the move.

So, as soon as I got onto the bus there was this mzee sitting by himself in the mid section of the back row. I found it a little weird that he chose that seat given the fact that the about three back rows were empty. Anyway, I take a seat next to the window of the second last row and I swear as soon as my ass hit the seat, the mzee was already occupying the seat next to me.

I found it a little weird because he had left all the backseats empty and now here he was. Now the problem wasn’t that he switched seats, the problem was his sitting position. He’d placed his hand on the extension of the seat in front of us but his hand was on my side… No Kiswahili will work better. Alikuwa ameweka mkono kwa ile kiti ilikuwa mbele yetu but on my side. His other side was supporting hii mkono ilikuwa kwa extension.

The first thing that bugged me with this sitting position was that the son of a gun was all up in my personal space. I tried severally to tell him and get him to remove his hand and place it on his side because what the hell? After trying and failing to get him to remove his hand I resolved to try and lean forward and I swear by all that’s right and pure this son of a bitch did the same exact thing!!!

At first, I couldn’t understand what was going on. I thought he was just a confused old man then I noticed that his hand was somewhat on my boob. So I told him again that I was uncomfortable at which point he proceeded to start rubbing my hand apologizing. Never have I felt like a rotten cabbage that at that moment. I mean it was even worse than that one time I pooped myself when I was around 5. Shit was heavy! Anyway at this point I’m so mad because he is literally smothering me. I lean forward again and he does the same thing so I lean back and he does the same thing. Not today Satan!!!

I manage to finally lean forward without him following me and start scrolling my through my phone. I feel so dirty and violated because I realized he was trying to maintain his hand on my boob especially when we hit those bumps. Town never seemed so far away!! Anyway, I’m forced to ride the rest of the drive leaning forward until we get to Ngara and the traffic is insane! He alights and I release the hugest sigh! Before he leaves though he turns and says, ‘ Have a good day!’

What??!!!!

It’s almost 8pm and I’m still at the waiting bay because I can’t for the life of me pass a stool sample. My feet hurt because of all the walking I did in town, my chest hurts because I’ve been rained on 5 times today, my head hurts because in all honesty I don’t like being around sick people: I start to imagine all sorts of things and finally my stomach hurts and that’s what brought me to hospital.

My parents keep calling and asking if I’ve seen the doctor yet and I keep telling them the same thing, ‘Mommy, Daddy bado sijapupu.’ I’m pretty much still a baby at home so that wasn’t weird at all. Haha! Anyway the fifth phone call into my inability to produce a stool sample, my dad tells me that’s he’s coming to pick me up and I swear I sit down and cry because that’s all I wanted to hear. My mom calls the hospital that had initially refused to give me a refund for the lab and she somehow talks them into giving me a full refund.

Anyway, my dad and I got home a few minutes ago and even though I had a day from hell, he managed to cheer me up with his usual stories. He had to wash his mom’s car so that she would give him allowances, that surprised me more than it should have. We talk cars, even though I’m clueless and I just keep saying yeeahh it’s so pretty, my graduation and life in general. He lives for moments like these.

In summary, I was sexually harassed in a public service vehicle this morning by a mzee in a blue suit, bald head and weird ass glasses, our mat dumped us at Ngara huko ndani kwa estate and I had to walk all the way to Railways then back to uptown then back to downtown and I spent 5 hours at the hospital and came out with only the fact that I didn’t poop today! Satan, you did good today.

Anyway, I know, I know I went MIA on all of you again but I’m back and I have stories for days you guys! From getting stalked by Young Ma fans to almost getting pregnant, dating a younger guy than me, getting mysteriously robbed and turning 22 in a few, we’re going to have a great time!

And oh, I now have Spanish relatives!!!

Love,

Misfitly Wild

THE FLAMBOYANT BOYCHILD

I used to love Cyprian Nyakundi, adore him almost. He is a successful blogger, over half a million Twitter followers and he is the kind of rebel I like. Firm in what he stands for and always speaks his mind. He recently posted something that a friend of mine shared with me on Facebook. I read through it and at the beginning of the post, I sort of agreed with him but the more he kept talking, the more my reactions moved toward the WTF lane.

His post was what I presumed to be a cry for the boy child. At first he was passing across a valid point, society has become almost obsessed with empowering the girl that they have forgotten about the boy. Every where you turn, all people seem to do is want to empower the woman. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m simply saying we all need to learn balance. You cannot empower one side by weakening the other.

Anyway, this man Nyakundi has now formed a Boy Child movement and crowned himself King. What he wants is simple really, he wants women to go back to their ‘place’ in society. Nyakundi has made it seem like feminism is the worst pollution to mankind. What’s worse? We have some little boys following his every word. What stood out for me was his comments on FGM, bride price and feminism.

Traditionally, women too had to undergo the cut. Now, back then they used to say that it was what was needed to transit a girl into a woman. We learnt our history, and I’m not trying to be disrespectful to tradition but to hell with that traditional transit. No woman deserves to be mutilated like that! I have always believed that the cut for girls was meant to make them be less. It wasn’t enough that they were brought up in a society dominated by the male figure, back then they had to make the girl feel it. The man is superior. Yours, is to simply oblige.

This self crowned king and his castle of little boys has also gone ahead to resist bride price. You want to be out here thinking that I’m some sort of thing that you can just take? Do you really want to know what bride price is for to me? Bride price has nothing to do with my cooking skills or my ability to clean your clothes- This is the notion most idiotic men carry. I’m paying for the chapatis she’ll cook! You pay my father his due because he is entrusting me to you. You pay my father his due because you are taking me from him with a promise that you will care for me. You pay my father his due because we both know that as much as you make that promise, you will not keep it.

A wife will nurture you, love you even when you do not deserve it, tolerate your shortcomings, shoulder your burdens, carry your shame, nurture your future generation and simply ask that you love her back and treat her right.

I don’t speak for everyone but I believe in my heart that my father MUST be paid his due. For the late nights, the early mornings, the stress pains and the hustles that he had to endure to get me to where I will be so that you can take me as your wife. The excuse for this ignorant king and his little boys for resisting bride price is among other things that today’s woman is a slay queen. I don’t know much about marriage but I believe for you to get to a point where you want to take a girl home, introduce her to the family, you need to have learnt her, respected her, understood her and loved her enough! You do not wake up one morning, scroll through your timeline on Insta and say Voila! I’m marrying this one tomorrow.

You pay my father his dues because in me, you will find a beautiful decent wife but slayqueen33 from Insta will still be your Friday Night Special. These girls milk money from you because you have showed them an open door. Tell me, what’s a woman if not an opportunity grabber? I do not blame a girl that gets her money by playing mind tricks on men who are trying to prove their worth so that they can nut in you 3 minutes later. I do not blame a girl that grabs the opportunity to pay her rent from a man that’s shown her he thinks with the few inches between his legs! Grab it girl and run with it! Y’all want to act butthurt because girls are grabbing the chances you present and running with them. Walking around claiming that we only want you for your money, well I’m sorry but don’t you also only want me for the cookie?

Why does feminism scare you? Why does a woman believing that she can run an empire and still wife up at home scare you? Why is a woman walking away from a toxic relationship scare you? Why does a woman raising kids on her own scare you? Let’s get one thing straight, gone are the days when all women did was give birth, raise kids, have bad sex and die! A new kind of strength has been born. A new kind of strength that sadly for you, is here to stay.

I will stand up for myself if you do not treat me right. I will go out there and make a name for myself. I will marry when I want. I will have children when I want. I control the course of my life. Just because you are a man in my life, doesn’t mean I’ll be out here licking your boots in the name of ‘masculinity’. If we are not a team, then by all means go marry Nyakundi and his castle of little boys.

For a man to stand up and speak ill of women making moves, for a man to stand up and say female genital mutilation is necessary so that we learn our place, for a man to stand up and try to eradicate the beauty of an African tradition, what small balls he must have! You cannot empower one side by dehumanizing the other. There needs to balance. This is not the way to get to that balance.

At the end of the day, I am a woman strong, independent, beautiful and you will NOT define me.

Misfitly Wild.

BACK TO THE ISLAND OF MISFIT TOYS

When my parents finally cornered me into coming home for the holidays, I thought that I would literally just chill until I was tired of doing nothing. I was a little mad because I didn’t want to come home so soon but then also a little relived because I know home is the one place I don’t worry. I’m really glad I came though. Here is why;

This past year has been difficult which is ironic because it started out amazing. Along the way, I think a switch flipped or something. Everything went to hell. Life begins at 21 and if the kind of year I have had is anything to go by, I don’t think I’ll like my life a whole lot.

The thing that I will definitely regret most this year was the fact that somewhere along the way, I lost touch with this part of me. The one that writes. I had totally lost it. It’s like I woke up one day and I couldn’t do it anymore. I dumped Misfitly Wild. I got rid of my posts and then I just stopped. I think I shut down everything Misfitly. I stopped using Misfitly’s Instagram page, Facebook page and this WordPress account.

Occasionally, I would try to pen down the rumblings of my mind but I’d stop midway my opening line. Not good enough is the thought that always came to mind. Then I started to believe it. That maybe I just wasn’t good enough for this. So eventually, I totally stopped and blocked it. That sucked because now I didn’t have an outlet for everything I held inside. Not writing was like me running every red light I came across oblivious of the danger I posed to myself and others.

I think the one person that had to sort of pay the most for me loosing that part of myself was the boy that I fell in love with this year. (My year wasn’t that bad after all) The loss of me I guess meant that I had bottled up too much and sometimes it drove me crazy. He had to sit through 500 different mood swings everyday. I would literally just wake up in the morning mad as hell for no particular reason or I would get mad because I felt like he didn’t correctly make the bed or just something dumb.

Normally, when I would feel strained, I would just write down something and then keep it or toss it. Then I’d be fine. I’m not much of a talker, I don’t often just sit and tell people what’s bothering me and a lot of things bother me. So keeping it all in was not healthy. I mean as bad as this year was, I had some interesting moments that would have made bomb ass articles.

It killed me that I was unable to tell those stories. Like that one time we almost had a baby and we couldn’t figure out how to do the test correctly. We finally did it and argued about the result so we sent it to some of our friends for confirmation before we decided to just leave it up to my uterus. That was a tough day. Especially considering the fact that money had decided to give us a break. No babies coming through here it said after weeks of torture.

Or another time when my friends and I went out and what was supposed to be just catching up turned into running from the police, police arrests, inflamed cab prices and a really huge fight outside a place called Jimmy’s. Or another time a crazy lady knocked on my door at 10pm looking for a friend of mine because she was mad about a mattress. This was epic because she was making so much noise, one of my neighbours slapped her so hard, we had to give her a moment of silence. Real men don’t violently lay hands on women though.

The simple fact that I couldn’t write things like these to make me feel better when I was having a bad day made me one of those grouchy and angry cat ladies. What does grouchy mean? I feel like it’s one of those words that you just write down because you think you know the meaning but if asked the meaning, you realize that you don’t really know the meaning!

Being home for the past maybe week has made me get back together with my girl. Primarily because our house help had to leave and so that means that my mom made me her default help. This is one of those rare times, I will not complain — that much. I don’t like it but I feel like it makes me one of those suburban moms that stay at home, drink wine at 2pm and have a blog to pass time.

I feel like that’s a weirdish reason to go back to something you love but it works for me so I’ll take it. So today, after doing my chores like a good girl, I started my make up session with myself. I loved it!

I had really missed this.

Own your Misfit

Love,

Misfitly Wild