In truth, I’m embarrassed to talk about it: the terribly abusive,
destructive, controlling relationship that defined my 2014; all the
accumulation of incidents small and large that are impossible to explain to
anyone because they simply don’t exist within real world circumstance; that
time at the hospital when my head was pounding with infection and I was the
sickest I’d ever been; that time pulled over and searching the grass on a dusty
road in Zanzibar; that time flat on my back on a hill overlooking the opening
waters of the Nile; that time on an empty Nairobi road at dusk panting and out
of breath and screaming down the alleys and up to the rooftops for all the
world to hear; that I still have dark circles around my eyes because something
was sucked out of me that will take time to gain back; that I neglected and
even rid myself of perfectly good people for her, and that I didn’t make any
friends for all those months because I didn’t want to deal with the
complications I knew even the simplest of friendships would bring; all those
nights where I sat on the floor of the shower and let hot water run over my
head because it made things quiet and simple; that I was conned into things
that cost money, only to have money again and again used as leverage and held
over my head; when I punched that door and nearly broke my hand because I was
so angry at where my life had gone; when I cried and covered my eyes at an
airport in God knows which African country (they all run together now) because
I remembered for an instant that I was good; that I was the best I’d ever been,
the best version of myself, and all that positive energy was allocated to a
consuming hole in the ground; that I gave a second’s notice to the selfish
flurry of Africa when my grandmother sat dying on her bed; every time I wrote
an untrue word about it, as if I was trying to convince myself how great my
reality was, while equally trying to fool others who could see right through to
the deepest sort of misery; that I stopped reading and writing at all, because
I just couldn’t; that I still struggle to read and write that fluid pattern of
true words; that my mother could see the deep change in me the day she arrived
after so long apart; that I actually felt guilty for not buying a stupid
postcard of a waterfall; the fake accusations, the fake cries for help, the
fake injuries, the fake falls, the fake threats; that I dead bolted my door
some nights, and once locked myself in a bathroom, because it turns out, I was a
bit worried after all that the fake everthings could become something real; the
grotesque and fiery look in the eyes of someone who blatantly wants to see
someone else hurt and suffer; that my relationship was a project, and not a
relationship, and that it sometimes even felt like a rescue mission; that I
believed her truly when she said it wouldn’t happen again, or that she was
really trying, and that I just do not understand how difficult it is; that I
inextricably linked my professional life to something I had no ability to
control, and that it all blew up in my face; all the talk, stupid in
retrospect, about support, when I’m the only one in the world that ever did;
that I did not remember my own worth, and that I didn’t have the strength to
leave, until I finally had the strength to leave; that I made the worst sort of
compromises, believing the value would one day come; that I ever for a second tried
to convince myself that this, any or all of it, was normal, when the truth is –
there is no other way around it but through curses – it was the most fucked up
and inexcusable array of things in the world.
I tell you, I have woken up in the morning and fallen asleep
at night to the lull of true evil in a person, and I don’t much care to see it
again. It’s baby steps now, back into real life. I am angry, just plain angry
at it all, and it would be lying to say otherwise, but I can still say that even
given everything, I do not hate, because this only breeds more hate. I have
come to realize in the depths of my aloneness, that hatred rules you and gives
your power away, and God knows, I’ve given enough of my power and inspiration
away to last the rest of my life. This is the last I’ll really speak of it, but
it is important to say in all its finality and let out one last roar: I acknowledge
the legacy of this time will forever be ugly things. And now we move on to a
new time, with better things.
