GLOOM

When it happens, well like the clippers, everyone will start talking about it, people will come around to comfort you. You’d hear stories of how you’re not alone in that phase of a situation.

There’ll be a show of friends and loved ones and also the sudden appearances of long lost friends, or better say acquaintances to show their supports and respects.

And like smoke and mirrors, you’ll begin to feel it again, but this time, an illusion version of the warmth, the love and the closure, as if it was never stripped off of you. You’ll also feel the presence of something in the guise of peace.

But that,is just the unraveling of a new chapter, a chapter of deep sorrow, the beginning of a melancholic despondency. .

Just as fast as you drew closure and comfort is how fast you’ll begin to feel it. The empty space, the loneliness, the regret of all the time wasted, rue of the words spoken and not spoken. The pain of little affection shared. The beginning of the horror stages of grief.

It will all come rushing down when everyone leaves and you’re left alone. You will be left alone with memories and void. It will be just you facing it all, struggling with the emptiness.

The one thing you should know about grief is that; it has no formula or timeline, it does not follow any rules or schedules. Grief changes you, it breaks you, it puts to birth a darker side of you—You will cry, become angry and even withdraw, but none of that will suffice the pain. It could take months or even years and after sometime, you’d convince yourself that the pain is no more. But one thing they don’t tell you about grief is that, it never leaves, it only transforms into it’s better self or worse.

An introduction of my first book, GLOOM. (An anthology of grief and truth)

The journey begins.

Twenty&Six (Ep.6)

What am I doing here?

I was born in a thunderstorm
I grew up overnight
I played alone, I played on my own.
I wanted everything I never had
Like the love that comes with light.
I wore envy and I hated that.
I found solace in the strangest place
way in the back of my mind
I saw my life in a stranger’s face—and it was Mine. I had a one-way ticket to a place where all the demons go
Where the wind don’t change
and nothing in the ground can ever grow.No hope, just lies and you’re taught to cry into your pillow
But I survived. I’m still breathing, I’m Alive.

An excerpt from the song Alive by Sia

Over the past few days,. I had convinced myself that the Journal Twenty &Six has come to a halt and I had said all that I needed to say. I wanted to write a story, a new story altogether, one that doesn’t involve so much of me. Why? I’ve had feedbacks that my journal was getting boring and I needed to filter, take a pause and be that writer who has so much to say to please her readers. Why haven’t I written a poem in such a long time? Writers block? —that was hard to tell considering all these ranting and raving mad voices in my head fighting to be heard.

I wanted to say something, I need to, but what? What is there to say aside this darkness raging inside me. The battles I keep fighting with myself daily. The demons that has taken root of my soul–of who I am. How disturbing relatively connected I feel to the song “Alive”. (If you come to think of it, I’m barely alive)

I’ve said it before, that Sia wrote that song while thinking of me. It’s like she had a manuscript of my life in hand while putting those lyrics together. But have I survived? Or am I still living it.

And I have questioned myself severally on what I’m living for. And that right there is a red flag of depression and suicide alert.

What am I doing here?

When my eyes go wandering in my head, what do I find?A heart clinged on to yesterday’s stories of lost memories.
Love that isn’t there—Love too hard to take and desires that shouldn’t be there.
A grip of impossibilities held on by fate, my fate.

Living a life that isn’t mine. Doing the very things I said I wouldn’t, effortlessly. Trying to mend the broken pieces of yesterdays wreck. What am I doing here?


The attempt to right my wrongs has rendered me helpless in ignorantly wronging all my rights. Then for a second, I just realized that numbing, writing and wanking aren’t enough therapy.

Come to think of it, this post is pointless, because I’ve not said anything in particular, I only admitted I have battles, which I’m not ready to share, or more so afraid to share, over the fear of being ridiculed of my nakedness.

Then again I found peace in hiding.

Twenty&Six(Ep. 5)

One Lesson

Selflove has always been one of my greatest challenges in life and so has been in the lives of many others. It actually easy to give love and so much of it to others than yourself.

I have lived over two and a half decades and I’ve come to learn this widely—that no one cares about your insecurities.

If you ask me…

Insecurities are feelings we inflict on our own selves, a feeling of lack of our own self-satisfaction imposed onto others.

That’s how you find yourself looking for approval from others over minute details about yourself. The truth of the matter is that no one cares. Trust me, no one.

People may point out your flaws because they have their own and mentioning yours somehow makes them feel a lot more better about themselves. But if we should dive deeper, you’d realized that no one is actually paying attention to how wide the gab in your teeth is or how protruded your belly seem. No one cares about your physical scars and no one should because it doesn’t harm anyone.

Whenever I take a trip down the memory lane, reminiscing about how embarrassed I was about certain parts of my body, how much I disliked my voice and my laughter. The many times I tried to curb the sound of my laughter and hid my body in baggy outfit and restrained from certain activities because I lacked the confidence to—it hurts. It hurts that I only learned this now, that the people I was head over heels to please didn’t really care about it and those I thought were looking weren’t paying attention at all. It’s been a journey of wasted emotions of self-bully. Yeah sadly.

Those who actually take time to ridicule you are pathetic bullies and don't deserve even the small bits of your emotions.

As a matter of fact, most people don’t have the intellectual taste to wear their flaws the way you wear yours. Your confidence is somehow problematic to them and so is theirs to other people. It’s a collective chain of disservice to one’s own self.

perfection is relative. Our idea of perfect differ from one another.

Life is too short to be insecure of anything about yourself. Life is damn too short to care about the opinions of other people in relation to perfection, your perfection as that.

Life is way too short to spend your time patching, and fixing, and poking yourself because someone said so.

Henceforth, I’m going to live this life I have shame-free of flaws. You should too. Live the best version of yourself–whatever that means to you.

After all, who cares?

Nada.

Twenty&Six (Ep.4)

Broken Things

An ex lover once bought me a wrist watch, a black glass-touch watch. It was the first time someone ever gifted me something. I watched him buy it, I didn’t expect him to give it to me because I didn’t think I was worth something that expensive. (The feeling of unworthiness is a sin 🤣🤣🤣)

I never wore the watch because I feared that it might fall off my hand and break so I gave it to my mom for safe keeping. I routinely called my mom from school to ask about the watch ( I was in senior high school by then.)I was paranoid and had trust issues–well I still do. The first person to break my trust was my dad, we were so close and yet he didn’t say his goodbyes before leaving me (Story for another time) I felt betrayed and abandoned.

I remember I got back from school and demanded for my black jewelry, my mom will stush me anytime I ask about it. One day I was innocently going through her things when she wasn’t home and boom, there it was, my beautiful black watch, this time it wasn’t so perfect anymore, it had a fault, it was broken. (Believe me, I threw a tantrum like a toddler) I later learned that the damage was caused by one of my younger siblings.

Well, that wasn’t the only thing to break in my life, I’ve lost a lot of things. I’ve lost faith, I’ve lost people, and I’ve lost a part of me along the way. I’m broken—you can say that.

Recently, I lost a friendship. Even though apologies have been made, the one thing I know for sure is that we’ll never go back from here. Hearts have been broken into many unfixable pieces and a beautiful thing has hit rock button.

I know all about the “what’s meant to be will be” phrase; that is not what I want to hear when I’m mooching over broken things. We Invest so much into something, you lose it and society tells you, it’s okay because you can’t have everything–honestly I don’t want to hear about how some people are just passengers in our train of life. Not cool.

I have come to believe that, things don't just happen coincidentally but rather our decisions and choices author our fate—it's not always about what's destined to be.

The world has come to point where we’re being demanded to apologize for being yourself. Living by the “norms”and doing what’s expected of you. You can’t have freedom is you’re not fighting for it with placards and red bands.

I don't know how this piece turned into a revolution but I hope you caught the point. 

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but if we’re being realistic, what doesn’t kill you maims you, drags you through an agony of pain—a rollercoaster of regrets and remorse. What doesn’t kill you sooner eventually kills you anyway.

I have the conviction that, life has its own messy ways in dealing with us. Not all broken things can be mended, ironically there’s always a missing piece in collecting broken things—you never get to be the same again.

Love takes its toll every time it don’t work,one door closes and another opens but it’s hard to let go when your heart’s broken. I’ll give you my trust, can you give me your word?Come take my heart of glass and give me your love. I hope you’ll still be there to pick the pieces up ‘Cause baby I’m fragile..

An excerpt from Kygo& Labrinth’s – fragile

Twenty&Six (Ep. 3)

Coulda Woulda Shoulda

I used to find comfort in writing when i’m into my feelings, it was facile to find my words at my lowest moments. It has always been the trick, pieces written on bad days always come out the best.

I’ve had a crappy week and i’ve been sleeping a lot. Earlier this year I had a terrible couple of months and it felt like the world was draining the life out of me for its own pleasure. However I found a way to to deal with the crappiness. I stopped writing and began to sleep. I realized it was easier to sleep than to write down anything. It was a cinch to escape having to go through that pain in the process of trying to write it all down and the only time I didn’t feel pain was when I slept.

Sleep has become my coping mechanism and very handy.

I only discovered recently that it actually has a term. Emotional Numbing.

Emotional numbing is the mental and emotional process of shutting out feelings and may be experienced as deficits of emotional responses or reactivity.

Mayra Mendez, Ph.D., LMFT

Initially I was unconscious about it, until I realized it was all I did when I’m not working.

They say poets have a beautiful way of housing pain. It’s like a garment we put on.

I carry a lot around, and this past few weeks have dealt with me in a way I could never imagine—honestly not what I expected. I’ve lost so much (I’ll fill you in my next post)

Past decisions knocked at my door and left a package. The truth is you don’t really move from the past,it follows you, sometimes you don’t realize it until it taps you on the shoulder. This got me thinking of what I could have done better and what I should do better.

I feel like I’m only existing through this life and not living at all. I don’t have a life. At least I have a clear image of what life should be for me and this is not it.

While emotional numbing blocks or shuts down negative feelings and experiences, it also shuts down the ability to experience pleasure, engage in positive interactions and social activities, and interferes with openness for intimacy, social interests, and problem-solving skills,”

Mayra Mendez
You wouldn’t know I’ve had a crappy day if I don’t tell you

Twenty&Six (Ep. 2)

Rewriting “Myself” Truthfully.

Growing up I loved my name. My first name (Jemimah) was so rare you wouldn’t find two people with my name in the same town. My middle name (Nana Dokua) didn’t really seem like a name I wanted to keep but it was a special name, only my father mentioned it right. He had so much pride in my name that he rarely called me by my first name. He prided in me, his first and only daughter.

I’ll tell you what freedom is to me: no fear. I mean really, no fear. If I could have that half of my life — no fear.

Nina Simone

I want to live freely, do things without second guessing or look over my shoulder in search for prying eyes. I believe that people have two sides, the good side and the bad side, embracing both sides only makes living much easier. I want to live a life without fear of judgement. Everybody deserves that. Everybody deserves to go through their phases of learning and unlearning. We should all be allowed to live, name our own mistakes and own them. Everybody deserves that level of freedom and more.

I believe we all have our demons which we must all stand against.  

An ex-lover once told me that he’s not responsible for my emotions (for hurting me) and that he cannot be blamed that I am the way I am–broken. Shredded into many pieces, he said he could only love me and not what I’m made of ( Meaning he would not love me wholly) So I felt sorry for burdening a kind young man who dimmed me fit to love with extra baggage of my complicated scars from past experiences. ( I only recently realized how pathetic I was then)

I am a mixture of many things (A multifaceted somebody) some of which will marvel close relations, even so, I’m still discovering hidden trails in me which I didn’t even know existed. Many women live in me, some of which I haven’t encountered but feel them. I feel them in my gut calling out for me to free them from the dungeon of unworthiness, fear and pain.

I am art. I love my body and my mind.

My body is perfect, not entirely snatched but perfect. I love how every part of my body speaks to me. My boobs calling for me in the middle of a cold night, making me aware of her needs. My belly wants to go out bare wearing beads that match my skin tone. My legs haven’t been shaved since I got that scar on my thigh. We’ll talk about my hips in the future.

My mind is my favorite place. It like a fountain on rocks in room temperature.

I have fallen so many times, however I rise.

Who am I ? 

I’m on a journey of self discovery. I’ll let you know when I arrive.

Twenty&Six (Ep. 1)

Missing

In less than 24 hours I would be at place where I imagined to be old, riped and ready. . My infant mind had a perfect picture of what 26 should look like.I imagined myself with a career and as a new bride.

But here I am, feeling small and young, more like 20 years and 6days..(with just ended numerous complicated relationships)I’ve been  thinking about what my life would look like with my father in it. I am certain I would’ve been a singer or a song writer,  a good student and definitely an over pampered girl. My father taught me how to speak up. Anytime I stuttered or bowed because I couldn’t find my words, he’d say “lift your head and speak up” and after a frail attempt to speak, he’d gently say “that’s right, but louder“.

He was my first love, he led me towards my spirituality, he’s desire for righteousness was enviously appealing. I memorized some of his prayer lines and held on to them like an inheritance. However I couldn’t bring myself to say those lines or pray in that way because It tasted like a foreign language on my lips. I lost some of the faith on my way here.

Talking about faith, I battered mine with worry. I spend most of my days wallowing over bad days, words spoken, silence and petty things of no relevance. I’m a clear description of what people call “Over-thinker”

I have been looking for God in dark places. He is Omnipresent, He is here with me in the dark-that, I allow myself to believe. I have been waiting for a sign in broken vessels. I have died so many times and lived a few times too.

If you should ask me of my aspirations... 

I want to be an object of change, to give hope to the hopeless. I want to be the reason someone found their faith again-a living testimony of triumph over a seemingly hopeless situation. I want to be the cue of light in dark tunnels.

We are all going to die, all of us. What a circus! That alone should make us love each other, but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattered by life’s trivialities; we’re eaten up by nothing. – Bokowsi

From the book; The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck

I’d end by saying, I’m getting closer to my death. It’s my birthday tomorrow, a year older and also a year closer to death. (My mom won’t like this paragraph, but thanks to “I-don’t-know-who”, she can’t read and certainly not on social media 🤣🤣) It is my wish to put a smile on that beautiful face of my mom. One thing I know for a fact, is my mom’s undying love for us(my brothers Bismark and Gilbert).

I have an identity. My name is Jemimah Nana Dokua Okutu (Akosua) and I’m a cockeyed optimist, stuck with an overwhelming love and a dope thing called hope and I can’t seem to get myself off it.

Questions

How did you get here?
How did you arrive here alone? How did you come?

How do you find solitude in darkness when your demons come lurking?
How do you find malaise in light?
How did you survive life a loner?

Do ravens come by often ?
How are you clothed with love and still not recognize it.
What does peace mean to you without the blue sky?

Why do you give so much and take less?
Why do you give more but have very little?
When did you sell your soul to grief?

Why do you burn in so much rage?Why are you burdened with so much hate?
If answers could be found in liquor, would you go looking for them in every bar down the street? Would you take solace in a barren land inside your head? If answers were beneath the sheets of every man’s bed, would you be the famous coquette there’s ever been?

Maybe this is who you are or not.
Your skin has become a language, that draw people closer and the rue that throw people out. Your “beautiful”is such that, if the sun ever goes down in your eyes, people would bow at your feet for light.

But first tell me, how did you get here, with darkness as thick as a rain cloud, accompanied with vague, chaos and so much chaos.
How?

Dying to live

I have faced death in many ways. In accidents that didn’t occur, the times I laid bedridden unable to count my toes, and all the times I intentionally handed my heart to the wrong things.

Anytime death and I stand vis-a-vis, I don’t flinch, or quiver and tremble in anyway. I look him in the face, then you see him withdrawing like the sea goes back home after attempting to touch the land. Call it faith or resilience.

However, there’s one thing I fear. This thing called life. Living is easy but staying alive is a different story to tell. The sun doesn’t need permission from the birds to set. It goes down at it’s time and so does life.

I have fought many battles in this short time I’ve lived. You don’t choose your destiny, you change your destiny and life plays a major role in twatting your attempt to make a good news out of your not so much to write home about situation.

Death is inevitably certain but before that, I want to live. A fulfilled life. A life where dreams come true and even at sunset, birds still fly.

A man who has not passed through the inferno of his passions has never overcomed them.- Carl Jung