Dear Diary,
There hasn't been a day that I haven't tried doing this. The draft section harbours my truth and I am no longer allowed to dwell on the why sharing is being so difficult. Or writing. The strength to fight the dark whilst living in it has left my bones. I am here because I seek nothing but light.
You see... I have mastered the art of curving a smile on my heart every morning with the intention of overlooking its leaking walls. I have manned its gates with a horrid smile turning away whomsoever (read me) came looking to do some reflecting on the constant negative waves. The resurfaced demons. The emotional warfare. But my actions haven't changed that turning a blind eye on pain is like pushing hell forward hoping to deal with it some other time in the future. The mind strays for a minute but if anything was to poke on the soul, everything starts falling apart.
I know this. Because I have lived it. For weeks and weeks.
My everything turned into ashes a week or so ago. Valentine's eve was hell raining fire. My chest burned. My mind was buzzing like a tired engine and I welcomed a relapse and indulged in some distressful thoughts for hours. I built and demolished dreams over and over again. I rattled ghosts from seven years back and as I sat there being engulfed by emotional chaos, I knew that I needed to call T.
We check in on each other occasionally. Or rather T checks on me. She has always been a good ear.
Half an hour into a video call and sessions were laid out. I got some praise for going back to journaling. Had agreed to find my way back here and anywhere else my soul feels free. As we came to a close, her concerned eyes pierced through my screen and locked mine.
I know you are where you are but it is no longer safe for you there anymore. You got to leave now.
See you soon.
wambuku w.
