6 days of yeast…

Report 2

This report expands on the notions, ideas and positions of the first report ‘garlic yeast and my vagina’ includes more thoughts and activities while remaining descriptive, clear and detailed in nature.

After 6 days of Yeast…

At this point i’m feeling so good, burning completely forgotten, smell forgotten, itch forgotten that i’m very impatient…i want to know if i am cured, i want to fuck, i want to know when i can stop shoving garlic up my vagina…  

Day 7

I begin to explore masturbation, i notice that on touching my labis, rubbing clit, i am still very sensitive, leading to discomfort…still 1 clove at a time. All the time using strictly water for wash

DAY 7-12: Uneventful, very minimal secretion, fluctuates distinctly with levels of sugar intake. For example, i can feel an increase in secretion less than an hour after consuming a glass of wine/juice or worse a cinnabon!

Day 12

I’m realizing that my period is here…so i don’t know. Observations interrupted by menstrual cycle.

Garlic ,Yeast and my vagina

 

(This is a report back on the status of my vagina and feelings of myself towards my vagina based on certain factors namely level of discomfort due to secretions/condition of the vagina and actual observable state of vagina regardless of discomfort or pleasure caused and smell general aura of vagina, including possible projections on all above mentioned factors, will influence how i feel about the vagina and can admittedly impact actual vagina feelings in the future..It will be descriptive and clear and detailed in nature)

Day 1

Initial discovery of Yeast infection

Status of vagina: lots of white, sort of yeasty smelly secretion, observable if finger is inserted inside vagina at also slight coverage of labia, burns when rubbed or over touched in compulsive cleaning..very moist, feels like i’m secreting cream.

Caused extreme discomfort and unease mainly because i was unsure about what to do, I’d been so careful about the pH balance of my poon since i already found out that my vagina is VERY sensitive to anything that will disrupt this balance and reacts accordingly, upset with myself for ‘forgeting’ about her, about me for a minute till she screamed at me with foam at her lips..

Future worries: no sex, that sucks, that it will hurt/burn when i pee, fear that my pussy wont be very much ‘fun’ in the next week excited at the possibility of getting to know her better, wondering and processing why i felt compelled to use fragrant soap/wipes ESP when i am/was single and not very sexually active.

Day 2

High discomfort, nothing done till evening

Inserted chemical capsule and used wipes that created INSTANT relief though not from feeling wet/moist like i was secreting cream cheese….

Not much thought otherwise

Day 3

Woke up not liking the oily residue of said inserted capsule

VERY emotionally upset about this whole thing for a number of reasons: I was not taking care of myself primarily, it just felt uncomfortable, don’t like wincing when urine passing through rubbed labia flesh, don’t like feeling compulsively dirty in my vagina and like i need to be CLEAN, trauma shit coincides wayyyy to conveniently. My vagina is not dirty, it does not need to clean, don’t like….

Decided to go without anything but water

Day 4

Enjoyed most of the day, watched felt, observed, smelt tasted said secretions…

Noticed it was less thick somehow or maybe it was just the capsule leaving finally, VERY ITCHY tough, burn burn cos i ignored the itch

Day 5

Decided to look into ‘home remedies’

Inserted a clove of garlic all day, felt like i cooked the garlic but it provided INSTANT relief without the burn/took away impulse to itch and sratch, therefore reducing burn, however heightened interest in the secretions like why they turn brown once out of the vagina, or in contact with garlic…not very moist either except deep in my vagina which seemed unimpacted by garlic…love the smell J

Had a garlicy meal, spent the night with a clove DEEP in my vagina..decided to change cloves regularly (3/day).

Evening out of curiousity crushed garlic lightly with a coffee mug and attempted to insert in vagina..GOOD LORD, horrible burn and pain…but it cleared all the skin of the white secretion almost instantly…stimulated instant painful pee…horrible yet i was glad i found out..DONT PUT CRUSHED GARLIC IN YOUR POON lol,

Feelin good about ppon, like i took charge..still loving the smell, though less noticeable to me now, regrettably so..Noticed that garlic appeared like it was slightly steamed…is that good/bad?

DAY 6

Sat at work ALL day with garlic up my poon

No worries at all, seems to be very effective, no issues with moisture/secretion except deep in my pussy.

Infact wondering about sex, Oh and garlic stays put while i pee etc.

Tonight will try 2 cloves.

more yeast

Interesting yeasty stuff..thoughts notes

BIRTHCONTROL: Apparently birth control weakens your immune system and something about the hormones and upsetting the balance of your poonani/pussy/vagina (from hereonin to be used interchangeably for the purposes of this blog) pH can produce thrush, also known as a proliferation of naturally occurring bacteria in the poon leading to a yeast invasion of said genital areas..question u fit get yeast for gnash?

Another thing, men can transmit yeast infections, since it really doesn’t affect them that much like HPV- Human papilloma virus, trust me you want to get that regular pap test (except for the telling moles/growths on the phallus..ignore to a perilous adventure with HPV ladies)… so any play including dry/wet humping which i especially enjoy means chances are increased..DAMN that is too bad.

For me, i think multiple partners/rapid changes in sexual rhythm is a big issue. I don’t think physically my pussy like dick, like the juices, latex, lube all that shit is too much for my pampered pussy..i use strictly pH neutral lotions and body washes to ensure that she always most comfortable. She spoiled.

So today i shove a clove of garlic up my poon, i;ve drank about 1.42L of cranberry cocktail couldn’t get my hands on the no sugar added stuff but i’ll make myself a smoothie when i get home. I’m sitting all day in my chair at my desk, in my little corner of the office and the garlic works, as in there’s a little itch, slight burning but there isn’t the additional moisture of pharmaceutical capsule (none of those getting a shout out on this hurr blog). In any case, no extra gunk, i like the herby/garlicy smell of my poon..its fragrant and i like pungent and intense in a light nice way…

I will try and track down the apple cider vinegar when i get home and do a douche of that apparently it works wonders and i like feeling my poon, alive and reacting, and reminding me its there..its nice. Now that i don’t bleed as much we don’t get intimate just chilling time anymore unless its sexual or hygiene related..but now almost every couple of hours my fingers are up in my poon. I think i’ll change the clove at the end of the day. I never realized how much i missed being connected to my poon.

DRY MOUTH, don’t let no body go down on you if they have dry mouth for REAL..apparently it causes an abundance of bacteria/thrush in their mouth easily transferrable to wherever they apply themselves orally. You feel me?  

Alright so from my quick google search here are the home remedy recommendations that i intend to explore to rid myself of this yeast:

Plain Yougurt: full of naturally occurring bacteria, without the artiifical sweeteners, sugar- to breed more bacteria for my poon

Apple cider vinegar: awesome for temporary soothing, MAKE SURE TO DILUTE..that shit will burn your pussy lips off

Garlic – just pretend Dracula has promised to visit your ass..shove it up your poon, you wont pussy ingest it (copyright detox), eat it if you can etc

Oil of Oregano – just cos that shit will kill everything and get you some naturally occurring fatty acids: SALMON here i come.

I’m gonna spend some time centreing me and my poon, we might do some fun activities, i’m gonna have to report back on that.

thats it for now…

Oh and i love my new job..no fucking joke

Oh another note: For the record: even though i used ‘fucked up’ language to talk about a yeast ‘invasion/infection/transmission’…i am fully present and aware of the fuckery rooted in ableism + repression of womens sexuality, fear of death/scientific western constructions of death/survival and of course ‘progress’…i don’t even want to start all this to stay the mutherfuckers/bitches who attempt to insinuate/remind me/perpetuate ANY kind of above mentioned narratives in my life..ma fire o…plus i really gotta remember that for myself. Not to mention the stigma associated with disease..

It might be fun to fuck but that might hurt a lil too much for my masochistic self..RIGHT…lol

Dont really expect anyone to get my self jokes

dili and chi (recount..contd )

I am not sure when this happened so i’m not sure about the age but i think i’m about 5-6-7 years old.

My time markers are: this was the year that my grandmother moved to agboju market and we started spending a lot of time there. I especially spent a lo of time there refusing to go home and even going to school from there. There were some perks…my parents were constantly fighting or should i say my father was busy beating my mom so she too was sometimes at grandma’s “resting” and its not like i spent a lot of down time with her, and her shop was close ny on ojo road so under the prext of wanting to learn how to sew sometimes the driver would drop me there….that came in my early teens as more frequent behaviour before they closed/sold the shop.

Anyways in my bid to avoid okafor i started to spend a lot of time there, at my grandma’s i was allowed to HELP out in the kitchen, go to the market, fetch water..all these things distracted me they were a welcome escape. i would spend days in her t – shirts which she called blouses and she would bathe me at night and cover me with talc powder and dusting power. I was so happy there, i started to tell my mom that i wanted to move to agboju….

Then mama started going to the market and running errands and left me more and more with okwi. Okwi and i were co conspirators, he wasn’t much older than me and he’d encourage me to ask mama for milk, sugar, money for suya anything most things that she wouldn’t on if it was just him and her. He was her brothers son and his sister would be coming soon from the village. We played with makeup, he dressed me up and would wear makeup, my aunts heels and we would both me “madams” one day he got caught and they beat the living daylights out of him. I was not sympathetic by then i started to feel sike at the memory of him.

Anyways one day he invites me to his room, i never go into his room he shared the same room with my aunties, that room was huge with two queen beds in it and they were away at the university so he had thier wardrobe at his full disposal. Untill then i stayed in mama’s room and did not venture near that room cos my aunts had warned me to stay away.

So i went with him, he said he had storybooks for me to read and i stayed there and read them and then he showed me papa ajasco and hints magazine and read them to me, he kissed me and touched me on my nipples, sucked them and asked me to play with his penis..well he put my hand on it. it was soft, softer than okafors and browner and smaller. I started to cry, he begged me to stop crying.

This memory is so fucking fuzzy that i hate to remember. Anyway one day he was in my uncles room right by the parlour, i think i was sleeping or something. I noticed how quiet it was..that weekend my brother and sisters were there with us…cos one of our uncles came back from abroad. I heard voiced from his room i thought there were hiding eating all the candy, biscuit that my uncle brought back and did not want to give me any so i started banging and knocking on the door.

Okwi came out of the room with nothing on he was covered in powder and my sister/brother were in the room with chioma they were all naked, lying under the sheets and giggling? I was mortified. I knew what was happening so i asked them to get out of the room immediately, my brother, my sister. They said that they were only playing but i beat them, slapped them hard and told them that if i EVER found them playing that kind of play they would be sorry.

***more significantly, i have a displaced memory of feeling, sucking and tasting along with the overwhelming scent of talc powder okwi’s small penis**** i can’t seem to place it.

Okwudili was easy to forgive, i think one day he asked me for forgiveness….after that day i never talked to him, hung out or anything. I avoided him like the plague…i was cleaning my fathers bathroom when he came upstairs to say hello he was in secondary school by this time. So was i but he was a senior and very tall and handsome. His voice got shaky and tears welled in his eyes and he said he was sorry. I didn’t ask for what, i didn’t ask why. I was happy that he’d apologized, i had respect for him, though the disgust didn’t really go anywhere and that was it.

We lived around each other but were never close again.

****it is important to note that my brother went on to continue to “play” i suspect with my sister, myself with my sister, my cousins and brothers at diffrent points in my life. If not for anyone else’s sake i MUST remain anonymous. This stuff, thee stuff that i cannot blame on anyone, the things that i remember doing like a zombie indeed, the things that i felt compelled to do when okwi, okafor and everyone else is what haunts me because up untill i became a teenager…i perpetuated the cycle. Even as i wished that they would stopped what they did to me i did not think/it did not occur to me that what i was doing was WRONG, would create hurt, would do the same to them

Psychology has explained away this phenomenom with relativity, the attempt to normalize ones psyche, life and what one has lived through by passing on the pain. The theory of domination/power/ is simply a way of achieving balance by stealing power from another person and therefore becoming the dominator. I dont know how to forgive my teenage self or my young self for the things that i continued to do to other people, to other children even as i had managed to stop the abuse in my life.

Worse i have found little or no resources for talking about this, people have threatened me, lost all respect for me, attempted to call me a monster, attempted to blackmail me for things that they themselves had done, once they have found this out about me but the reality is that this is me. If i am to fry for it one day then i shall fry. I am doing all this now, saying all this now because i have to find a way to free myself. I am in “bondage.”  I remain bound by the pacts of secrecy that existed/exists among all of us. I want to live my life, i need to give myself permission to live and mean it.

AND it must stop. IT MUST STOP. IT MUST STOP. this bullshit that has been going on in my family, that has touched us, someone must talk about it, i will not live in fear that one day i will touch my kids or that i will be blind while someone else does or that someone else will because i am too busy hiding anything to do with sex from my children, it must stop. Starting with me.

I think that is why the whole way, current and very popular method of conceptualizinf “healing” and survivors must be reconceptualized…because the present explanation of coping/learnt behaviors does not address the fear that i am trying desperately to debunk: that since i was touched, licked, kissed and tasted and consumed by the tainting damaging hand of EVIL, torture and abuse then i must have changed become deformed, ugly and equally monstrous..that i learnt this is no consolation AT ALL because i am now and will forever remain condemned as monstrous…+disability and theoretically the vision/story is not much of a leap..doesnt take people long to make the connection, this i can see in my life. It has manifested itself before me…like a monstrous shadow that i cannot hide/run away bury my head in the sand as much as i wish…it is thier preconcieved notions of me, they give it breath, it is created before my very eyes and it takes on a life of its own….

What to do with the monster/ghost: either we vanquish it for all eternity or we simply live with it…normalizing it, acknowledging as she is transformed and we are transformed recognizing shared connections/similarities till we cant help but start to see ourselves as ugly, familiar, monstrous as the monster/ghost….not sure that made any sense..not that anyone is reading REALLY!

Oka…(recount)

Okafor came to our house in lagos at the time from the village..i remember hearing everyone describing him as a village boy who was ugly. He shared a room with one of my uncles, all the uncles shared one room, it smelt like them, the room was lit with a yellow bulb and was full of boxes of paper. Looking back it smelt mostly like aftershave and old paper.

He used to bathe us, well me and my brothers and sisters.  When he was bathing me his hands always lingered around me nipples and too long in my vagina, i complained once and he told me that i was dirty i needed to be clean down there and thats what my mother told him to do.  That is how it all started. Till today i wonder if he touched or did anything to any other of my siblings. We had come to agreement much later on when i was eight that he would use only me and that he would in turn get full cooperative access to me.

When i was three (i calculated how old i was from the year we were still in our first family house before we moved to our present family house in lagos) I was three.

I used to dance to ABBA really loud while he cleaned for some reason that day i was home alone with him. He had finished cleaning for the afternoon and watched me danced to dancing queen. I flounced around the room imitating my mother, my aunties and then i noticed that he was watching me closely. I moved to him and started to dance for him, I remember twisting and rubbing myself on the wall and looking at  him to make sure i had his attention and he was staring.

later that afternoon Okafor took me into his room, it was dark, he was sweating profusely, there was no light and he was naked. he asked me to come to the bed he kissed me for a long time..i didn’t feel anything…cannot recall the image i just know that i kissed him, i remember his lips..i remember thinking that they were so big and so black compared to mine. he smelt of saliva and sweat…i sat on top of him  lay naked beneath me and he was rocking, moving, my head was stuck in his armpit and my whole lower body was covered in white stuff…i fell asleep.

I never went to his room again. I avoided him, no more dancing to abba, no more dancing, no more skirts/dresses if i could afford it. When we moved into the new house it was harder to avoid him, by them he was the master houseboy and we had other househelps that deffered to him, so he would insist on bathing me, insist on making my lunch, insist on lifting me up when i came back from school so that in front of everyone he would stick his fingers into my vagina and then put me down but by then i was often in tears. Okafor was beloved by my parents, they said he was honest, no girls around him, worked in the shop, didn’t steal and he was learning the trade very well.

Whenever he was bathing me he would stick his soapy fingers into my vagina. I told my aunt and my mother once that he had put his finger into my vagina with soap and that is why it was paining me. My aunt called me aside and begged me to be sure of what i was saying because they were going to beat okafor and send him away. (now i look back with a clear conviction that she knew but instead sympathized with him or was the power drug denial and her hope that it was not true that led her to encourage me to sympathize first and foremost with him and everyone else but myself ) So i never mentioned it again. At other times he would force me to play hide and seek by following me around and i would run and hide, trying to escape and he would corner me behid the curtains, under the dining table, behind the couch and play with my vagina. Sometimes i got wet, i felt aroused…i didnt understand. He would smile and tell me to stop pretending that i liked what he was doing. Over the yearsi simply gave in, would let me do as he pleased and when he took me to his room in the boysquarters, whipped out his penis, I did. all i remember was his hair, the coarse hair, the smell of his sweat and com. He always smelt like onions.

When i was 9yrs old i travelled to london england for christmas and there as another girl touched me and her brother confronted me and asked me if she had touched me and told me that she had touched/touches others i realized that it was all wrong. He gaved me words to think about it all. I started to hate myself, hate the fact that sometimes his mouth on my nipples felt good, that he gave me extra eggs in the morning or whatever i wanted, I hated him. When i got back from england he chased me down the house and i fought back, i threw a can of baked beans at him and he stuck his fingers into me by force, i bit him hard..he enjoyed it. I withdrew i wondered why nobody noticed. I still do.

Then one day i took the kitchen knife that used to cut green sometimes and i told him that i would tell my mom and dad and that i would cut him the next time he tries it, i cut him, not hard enough..that day he was even rougher.

So i stayed away, slept in my aunt house and i started to steal so they’d blame it on him, i stole perfume money and it worked. Then one day i closed the glass divider, i was playing. Okafor heard a car at the gate and ran to open it, he ran straight through the glass. I was happy, he bled everywhere, they took him to the hospital, his face bore numerous scars from the stitches. He never touched me again. After that incident he came back for a little while but they settled him.

The next time i saw him i was 12, i came back from church and there he was in my living room with my mother in a white caftan and his new wife from the village. He said how beautiful and all grown up i looked, my mother said i could make abacha now and wouldn’t i make some for him.

I oversmoked the oil, the abacha was hard, dry and burnt. i served  it to him and his wife. My mother said that it was strange, that my abacha is usually good. He said it was perfect he and his wife ate it. When i came to collect to plates, he stared i picked them up and took them to the kitchen. lost in thought, i was so angry that he had the audacity to come back and pretend that everything was ok…the tray dropped from my hand the glass, the plates they’ used to eat were broken.

I was glad i didn’t want to wash the utensils and dishes that he’d used to eat.

** i try hard to black the images from my head, i wont let myself relive them to the fullest cos they were painful, they hurt, i felt taken advantage off, i felt left alone. I have been told later on in my life (boundaries, promiscuity, lying, cheating, stealing become coping behaviors, this view HELPS ALONg the survivors are monsters theory that i thoroughly despise and disagree with, to state from obvious i could have learnt picked up these behaviours from anywhere as a young girl growing up in lagos or anywhere else in the world for that matter) that i learnt very many disturbing behaviours from everything that he did to me the emotional manipulation, the abuse, my present eroticization of fingers.., i have not oVERCOMe anything, i Have not become more than anything because my lived experiences are a part me, the same way i cannot/will not overcome any day soon the pain the small of my back, okafor stays**i used to feel consumed in a way by his fingers like they blotted out every thought in my head, squeezed out everything that was me – displaced in my own mind/head.. this is really what i’m battling. From Okfor to everyone else that has attempted to utilize my body/ embodied self for thier own purposes.

my everyday monsters – disability, love and capitalism

I got really depressed when i lost something worth about $600 dollars. I lost my phone. It may seem like “its just a phone” But it simply is not. First of all i can hardly afford a phone of that much and have not been able to for many months/years now that when my other phone died – waterdamaged and i was just too tired of not having/ not having enough.

Based on my meritocratic, ableist, patriachial upbringing i have been faced with and struggling with my choices in spite of what people might say about me attempting to acquire access/power and resources and pRIVILEGE to what ends besides my immediate apparent/seeming power that does not nothing to deconstruct the world/system of domination we live in . I dont fucking know all i know is maybe i would be more inclined to listen to, maybe even consider what these people were saying if they themselves even in the fight/revolution were not already enjoying life aka middle class/upper/ class.

Meanwhile like good scrambling immigrants me and the one poor friend i have, who both have MUST survive below the so called fucking poverty lines. I choose i shiny new, black and blue slider phone with the qwerty keyboard for my one handed self. I was thinking about what it means to have a MAN around, about how easy, how practical it seemed to have someone there to half the bills, to buy groceries, to HELP OUT, to put up pictures in my apartment, to help me when i grocery shopping, to carry all the bags into the apartment, to rub my back to offer me care,to deal with the euro immigrant priviledged bastard super who really wants to fuck me, to shield me from the victimizing, over sexualizing gaze of the the “super”, TO HELP and to support. For these things, for these reasons i have chosen to stay in relationships that were toxic to me, that i was unhappy, that i allowed myself to believe that the care that i recieved in thier hands when i was ill, which i often am indebted me to be loyal, ssubservient afterall they had bore the bore the burden that is me with smiles, with creativity and had even welcomed it. Who the fuck would not welcome such fucking care so that one that infantilize and make monstrous the disabled, victimized body.

Out of this reality of my life, out of the knowledge of how hard i work unceasingly, persistently, how many times i drag my ass out of bed to exist in a world that was not made for me, my kitchen hostile, bathroom, i slip and fall, i hide the bruises, fucking everything hurts ALLL the time, whether i talk about it or not, whether i look it/perform it (as in wear dirty ragged i dont know exactly what the fuck the ableist construction of looking in pain/damaged it…ask them) or not. iT is always there. My tears flow freely as i write this and my cat has come to sit beside me, Ihave been thinking about what it means for me as young disabled woman to live alone, to choose to live alone, to choose to not engage at my expense with people that are indeed damaging to my spirit while telling myself that i was getting “CARE”

This has always been my soft spot getting “CARE”, anything to fucking do with CARE. True i can be persuaded to do almost anything for you, lick your ass figuratively speaking and otherwise (OK i am a FREaK and generally love to lick the ass hole of the right man or woman as a sexual practice thats meant to get me going..BIG TIME) But as i was saying most of the horrifying painful relationships i have been in have been about that CARE. I was either looking for someone not to love (too romantic and often unpractical plus really is a construction that i may/may not manipulate all to say that i never really allowed myself to love, be love, didn’t know it was possible, didn’t comprehend it as possible untill my last two relationships the marriage and the poly one that i started to really exercise my heart willingly if you will. i have always adopted my mothers attitude to love: it is not neccessary, it is a distraction (maybe thats why she let him beat her her for so long she mortgaged her health and youth for her life now….)

For me i may fall in love with you but it means nothing..i can/ am supposedly strong enough to deal with heartbreak. What matters, has always mattered but is starting to be crystal clear is what you do for me and this is tied to do you care for me. Because if you care then you will keep it like a factual piece of information, like my eyes are brown that this my pain is almost always in constant, i dont get how people can forget????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????I dont get how people can forget how it is that i supposedly have one hand and a stump. I usd to think it was my internalized ableism, used to blame myself thought that al i could do, if only i’d just make the stump unapologetically visible then they couldn’t forget, then they couldn’t blame me for forgeting. But that is such BULLSHIT. To be more  elaborate it is  a power  sustaining/reinforcing /maintaining, blame the “victim, downlaod  responsibility, hide  frpom your own actions  while  pretending to help the lesser than poor  oppressed ..it is  in my own  understanding colonizing , oppressive, dominating horseshit.  It  should be obvious why …but in anycase  i was too busy trying to be visible,  reproducing my own internalized ableism that i was distracted  and contradicted and questioned my own understandings of what was going on so often that i dared not, and often chose not to speak them, they often came out in explosive burst or till i could really no longer deny then untill i chose to let them out in fuLL force well as full as i could muster.  Whats worse even in face of my presence, visibility, they still forget, people will willingly ignore what is in front or claim top forget anyway but not when they have decided that you cant do the dishes without getting water everywhere cos you have a disability or watch you and wonder at your cooking in the kitchen or how it is that you are so brave? so powerful? so ALIVE? so angry? how is it that you inspire so much fear in them? makke them so very unconfortable at diffrent times? The very act of forgeting is indeed not forgetting, it is no innocent, something they just did, cant be blamed for meant to disarm the rge you position towards then. FUCK NO, that so called forgetting is “active, persistent..dare i say tenacious”   ERASURE, it is a very consistent, insistent will to always remember to forget, erase, construct as deemed fit. It is a shamelesss act of power, fear and control.

In the times that yes i have wickedly refused to play the game burning myself in the process no doubt it has become clear that that is really all there EVER was to it. In all my relatiionships, couched in all the so called CARE, affection is POWER. MOstly  i play along until i stop thinking its worth it, until, basically they buy thier own hype and bullshit and they they are actually in control of a system that i merely colluded with. I’m not a bad ass, i merely have choice. I am not afraid of being seem as amoral, unetthical what does all of that mean to something who has had to lived with the construction of a monster anyways? All of that aside it hurts, it hurts and hurts like HELL. The shock never fails to mark me because somewhere along the line i believe/d unquestioningly. i felt thier warm two hands ease the pain in the small of my back, i felt felt held as i slept and rested my tired body, i ate food that they cooked, clothed myself in clothes they had washed…they had kept my lonsely self company many a night and day becase they wanted to. And they desired me and i desired them.  At some point regardless of all this theory stuff, regardless of my convictions about power, hierachy and the ways in plays out on my body, the ways that i choose to interface..i allowed myself to be there, to be present, to find and appreciate and yes to grow to be committed to them untill it starts to hurt too much that i would rather very much rather be alone again. Its like slow poison, like smoking cigarrettes, you get your high and wake up one morning with cancer knowing all along that you choose to pay, seek after every cigarette you ever smoked. Its kinda like that.

The care thing, the courage to heal, stigmative and construct survivors as “survivors aka permanently damaged monsters” would dictate that i blame this apparent vulnerable as a direct result of the lack of care, attention, that i did not recieve from parents, families, loved ones in my childhood. iT is true that in my teenage years that kin of nurturing was not really part of my reality. mY my parents being the ableist igbo christians that they were loved me very much. Infact, i have only started to admit to myself and my family that i am indeed something of a favorie daughter, recieved too much attention compared to my siblings, but it was too often poisoning with thier abliest view of what is neccessary to raise a disabled daughter, that they were so easily able to let me go that they have indeed been able to let me go but i was “CARED” for. I was hugge, kissed, finiancially NEVER allowed to want, sheltered constantly that i remember rebelling against my mother and learning to wash my own clothes. I remember being 11 and sending my bed sheets home from boarding school to be laundered and returned all this with fuel scarcity. I was also forgotten many times, sent far way from home none the less i was thought about so much more and prioritized in my house. I know that from hearing my sister speak, from my other siblings.

As i write this i think about how people have tried to twist, manipulate to use the information that i have offred and shared with them about who i was, what i had lived through and how i thought about myself. How sad that instead it had all turned into a hatefull, hurtful exercise but not a waste for me though, it has forced me to dig deeper, search for myself, understand, reason and see for myself and then to decide, confidently and with convicted for myself. i dont know if it has made me stronger wiser etc perse not that cliche bullshit no but it has shifted,  moved and offered me more of me which i have grudgingly accepted.  Somethngs hopefully will never change and i dont want them to ever change for me, that i am number for me, straight up. Cos really and trully who else is meant to be number one

Yeah so you see why i thought i was going to lose to lose my mind when i lost the phone? whyi was totally depressed cos i thought that surely the gods were indeed punishing me, that surely i was meant to suffer, that surely i was not to know my place to not aspire to thing such as an slider phone ? Ah..but the power of capitalism… is real very real for me, i do not see an alternative to change, dont know where it will come from, dont trust that something better will evolve. I’m not sure i want to save the world, i’m not sure i believe in saving the world or thinking that i am sort sort of knowing better than everyone else elitist also fucking delusional view that i am part of a revolution/leading…not sure. Everything i continue to do has not addressed what iactually want it to address, has not focused in any meaningful way on what i actually want it do which really is my country, my community, my family. Nationalist, tribalistic, bio family focused and specific is really at the bottom of it all what i am about. It is not about asking for acceptance but seeing myself there, challenging, speaking to the active erasure and remembering to forget in my family life is what i really think of everyday…but the tools i need, the words that i have i fear are borrowed from communities, cultures, westernized schooling and domination reinforcing knowledge production, i know this much is true….now what? I continue to try to wrap my head around it all