The voice that broke the vocal cord.

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

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Micah 7:7 (MSG)

And that is exactly what she will do- stick around.

Well, welcome to Nigeria where there is no grief management scheme. Where anyone and everyone is entitled to give you a piece of advice given that they have not for once being in your shoes.

You’ll randomly take a pen and paper. You’ll scribble till your fingers begin to hurt. You’ll hate that your thoughts are not only niched but glitched.

You’ll hate that you’ve tried all your best. from constantly putting Aunty Comforts advice on replay to staying absolutely positive and entertaining yourself with loss stories of people who thought you had it easier than them and shoved it down your throat at every slight chance they get. You’ll remember that you are now more distant from church than you have being in your whole twenty-two years of existence but you still sometimes fast hoping that God will take away these bothersome thoughts-all that matters is sticking around, right? so you do just that albeit from a distance.

You’ll continually wonder why all efforts to silence the voice in your head only led to its increasing volume. How can someone you never met be the reason for your gloom? This grief that is a response to love that couldn’t stay, this grief that is suffocated by the opinion of one thousand others as to why it should not be expressed will soon become hatred for the dead.

"The grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break." — William Shakespeare

You'll barge into your apartment drenched in a kind of anger you cannot contain. You’ll give an heart-wrenching scream. You’ll be scared of people around hearing what you’ve become but you’ll remember the waterproof doors are just enough to keep your voice behind bars like yourself.

You’ll continually try to catch your breath but it won’t slow down-perhaps it’s also scared of you.

It’ll come back at you. The moment that your boyfriends mum won’t stop gushing over him….

All these questions will rush at you tearing you apart. Have you so much inbuilt hate that you cannot afford to see a mother love her child?

"It is a natural instinct to grieve the dead, but it is also a complex emotion. The anger, the rage at the unfairness, the betrayal by death — it can lead to feelings that are not always pure or easy to comprehend." — Unknown

You’ll remember the look of disgust on Bayo’s face in the car when you tried to explain how you felt after he continually pestered you to tell him what was wrong.

His response will forever be etched in this part of your memory that does not sleep.

You’ll remember your loud laughter and even now you can swear that you saw him shiver….

You never knew your mother all your life and you pulled through but somehow some twenty-six years old whose mother still literally spoon-feeds them think they are in the best position to lecture you on growing up?

Again, you will not be able to contain your anger. You’ll let out another long scream- hopefully long enough to tell how much your heart twitches in your chest.

Even the story you tell with your mouth cannot give people an adequate understanding of what you go through. What makes you think a scream will do?

It doesn’t change anything right? So you’ll go on and on, screaming your lungs out while all your thoughts spin messily around your unconventional world.

Today, you somehow find your way to the old church at the far end of the streets. For some reason, you’ll conclude sticking around may not do.

You no longer have a lot of friends- they’re either getting married or travelling. You’re absolutely fine except you’re empty on the inside, battling an emotion no one knows anything about. You’ll remember the passages from Sunday school. How Jesus healed the sick and cured the lunatic. Maybe you never for once lost faith-just probably forgot what to do with it.

Now, even if you could never fix a date to meet your younger self for coffee, you’ve decided to meet her with Jesus as the intermediate-perhaps, he could take your hand and lead you gently to her.

You’re sat at the far end of the auditorium and the message never seems to change

You’ll scream in your mind

You’ve not been hearing and hearing….you’ve been estranged for quite a while now but does it matter?

You’ll tell yourself, “I have faith!”….But maybe as love is not sometimes enough, this too is not enough. You will not know what to do with your faith.

You’ll leave the church like every other person except deep down, you know you’re leaving without an answer.

You’ll feel cold metal biting into your skin. Slowly, you’ll open your eyes. It’ll take a while to process but reality will finally hit you. The stench, the noise, the dress – A psychiatric ward.

You’ll look up and see multiple pairs of eyes gazing at you. You won’t recognize some of them but you will be able to to identify your dad, your stepmother, aunty comfort. You’ll wonder what Bayo was also doing here.

“have I finally gone mad?” the laughter that comes after your question will be your answer. Is it really this easy to go mad?

You’ll go on to stare blankly around the room.

A group of people will come in. they’ll introduce themselves as members of the salvation army. They’ll say “lunacy is demonic….it is not God’s plan for anyone”

You’ll believe because you’ve always believed. You’ll feel a calm, you’ll regain hope.

Now, this people will go on and on about the therapeutic Jesus.

As always, your faith will not waver. Maybe now is the perfect time to do something with it.

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