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CHILDHOOD TRAUMA IN AFRICA

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        Some stories are told without words or even whimpers. Some stories are told through silence and signs, tearful eyes, a small bruise, oppression, fear, grief.          Some stories are told with a flinch too, But how exactly do you tell any type of story to a world that has chosen to be deaf, dumb, and blind?          We’ve turned it into normality. Kids into experiments, Africa what are you doing? You are becoming a factory for intentionally modified monsters, kidnappers, and rapists. The circle continues, the father passes it on to the child, mother to her offspring.         You call it discipline.  “ They will not remember it, they are too young,we are doing it for their good”         Don’t spare the rod, but please spare the mind.  Because the mind is too weak, too fragile, too frail.          When you hurt a child between 0-18 years in an abusive way; Physically, mentally, emotionally, and psychologically, You didn’t just hurt that child, no, it’s way beyond that.        
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PERFECTIONISM IS KILLING YOU

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​       As I gradually became an adult I realized that being a melancholic was no excuse to allow my perfectionism trait to rule me. The biggest problems youths and young adults face is that they continuously make plans and before they can even act those plans out — they arrive at outcomes        When those “outcomes” differ from reality they become crushed. Broken and they start to fall apart and lose interest.        We crave for the perfect life so much — even in the little things — the perfect video, the perfect photo, the perfect setting - the perfect plan — Well let's face it.         Everything is as perfect as it is permanent as nothing is permanent. Not even the sun. When it’s night time it goes down.          If you keep expecting everything to fall in place every single time then you will keep on hurting yourself in so many ways. You are enough and that is good enough.           You need to find the balance. Life isn’t about being perfect, it is about learning to accept
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STOP "Minding your Business"

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I never really knew Labake. All I knew— or was told was that she was clumsy, cried a lot, and was easy to pick on. As Daniel liked to call her, she was a wuss, Weak, little child. who wasn't qualified to be in a class with Hormonal high school students talk less of University freshers. She always walked with her head low. her eyes were somehow always filled with tears, it was like she had tanks in there, and whenever I looked at her I felt infuriated. I felt she was overreacting. Come on, maybe they were picking on her but it was all fun and jokes, right? Besides, if she had a problem with it, she would tell someone right? For some reason though, her mannerisms felt familiar to me. Haha. The painful thing about mental health issues that you can never actually relate till it happens to you. I never knew why my parents moved us from Lagos to Ibadan. That day, Strolling back home, I ignored The tears in Labake's and "minded my busin
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Loud Silence.

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I was very young when I understood what sadism looked like. It would scribble on a white and black board dressed in business casual. My ears were always perched for trigger factors. Toes curling and sweat dripping silently from my throbbing head. This was one of those  days.  Days when I would be super conscious of everyone and everything. Questions would continuously pop up in my head and discredit any answer that wasn't going to push me to my limits. “ they are watching you.” The voice had been low and casual. Maybe because I didn't need to look sideways to know who was speaking or probably because is as so stuck in my head I was already used to sound if my fears. Silently breathing down my very own neck. Quickly, I adjusted my dress. the last thing I needed was to draw attention even though someone I always found my way back to it.  “All of them are dressed so well...how are you going to communicate with them now?" I immediately glanced at the students behind me. They w
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SELF-CARE (putting YOU first)

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How many times have you told someone "No", plainly, without strings attached or without trying to sugar coat it? How many times have you confronted someone for telling you lies or stabbing you at the back? How many times have you stood up for yourself and put someone in their places? If never. Then let me Introduce you to Self-care Self care in my own words is knowing when to say "No", when to let go, and when to walk away from anything and anyone that is playing with your peace of mind. Honestly, it's a lot easier than done, but it's way better than carrying that load on your shoulders that screams what if? Or maybe? What if I had spoken up? What if I had confronted them? What if I had said no? I know many believe that silence is the best answer for a fool, but in most cases silence makes you the fool. You need to stop . Stop doing things just because and start doing things because you want to. Stop pleasing people just so they can acce
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BEATING DEPRESSION

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“ She wore the biggest smiles,to hide her deepest scars” Tears rolled down my eyes, as I slid down the wall, thoughts echo through my frail mind. “do I deserve this?” "Why did it have to be me?” “why can't I do things right?” More tears fell, I felt incompetent and useless, Maybe I did deserve this. Maybe...just maybe  I took my blade, which had been safely tucked into my Jean pocket, I rolled on my white sleeve, and made a deep long cut.   Seeing blood had never been so appealing so relaxing, maybe it was the fact, that losing it — Would finally rid me of the pain of this world. A tear slipped my eyes. For people who don't know, or who haven't guessed, I suffer from severe depression. In my world, being depressed is seen as you looking for attention or watching too many movies.   In my world, it's easier for parents to notice your shortcomings and mistakes, than your dire need to leave this world. In my world, you being odd equals you being an outcast, you being
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SEXUAL ABUSE : FACTS YOU NEED TO KNOW

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   Lyric stared fixedly at the broken mirror, her eyes were reddened and distant and blood slowly dripped from her left hand, drop after drop, it was flashback after flashback, as if the blood was a painful doorway to nostalgia, tears continued to fall, and even though her blurred vision, the body that laid in it's own pool of blood on the bed, and the heart that was currently within her grasp was as clear as day. It wasn't the dreadful view that made her cry, it wasn't the fact that she had torn out someone's heart, it was the relief that scared her, the relief and happiness she felt, it was the fact that she knew she was now a psychopath, and a murderer, she knew she shouldn't feel this way, it wasn't normal for any human being to feel relief after murdering their uncle, the happiness she felt as she stared at the dead lump of flesh in her grip. One she had curiously cut out. She placed her hand on her chest, her heartbeat gave her the sign once again, the p
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