On suicide watch…

He walked to the door and hoped she’d let him go, he knew he could easily throw her out of his way and walk past the door. He knew better than to use force against a lady and held it in with restraint. He only gave a slight shove when it was clear she wasn’t going to let him through. He looked at the others look on, probably with fear, probably not knowing what was happening, or probably not bothered at all. He was on suicide watch!

He had not had it easy for the past few weeks. He had no one to tell what he has been going through. He had no shoulder to lean on, he had no chest he could cry on. He thought maybe the knife was a shoulder enough; maybe an overdose was a better chest to weep on. He felt like he had a stone resting on his heart, or probably an anchor pulling it down and holding it there. He was on suicide watch! 

He managed to get past her, at least after using a little force. He had managed to get the door open but she had held to his jacket collar. He struggled to get off the “hook” and just as he unhooked himself from the grip he saw the younger one walking along the corridor. He wouldn’t know how to restore the respect she has had for him all this while. He wouldn’t know how to deal with the high esteem she regarded him with that would now chase the center of gravity. He was on suicide watch!

“He is going to commit suicide”, she shouted, as he walked out of the door and knocked down the beer bottle that stood on the door mat. He walked faster with brisk steps as she tried to catch up with him, but she couldn’t. He galloped down the stairs wondering what a scene this had been. He hated drama; no it wasn’t one of the things he lived for. He was on suicide watch.

He thought to himself “This is the greatest disrespect she has shown me ever since’. He had her secret safely kept and thought that maybe it would be the perfect comeback, but love held him back. He wasn’t just for the promise made but for the love he felt for her. He walked past the gate but couldn’t go far. He couldn’t leave at least not walk out on his brother even if love died. He was on suicide watch!

He turned back, not sure why he was headed there. He just had to go back and say how much he felt abused. He had to let it known that he wouldn’t let out, not even with the embarrassment he had faced. He called and wanted to speak with her, her alone and no one else, just like it has always been. He couldn’t understand why others had to be brought in on this particular morning. He was on suicide watch!

He had felt bad all night, he had had little sleep. He woke up to texting, he felt that the way out and end was the only way. He had tried all there is to be understood but all efforts seemed futile. He was still poor, still stressed, he was still overwhelmed. He knew, what they couldn’t tell was that he had actually embraced the knife, the only shoulder he knew. He was on suicide watch!

He had to come back, at least for love and to affirm that the secret was safe. He knew love was greater than the selfish thought of hugging a knife. He was on suicide watch! 


The Selfish “S” in suicide

I couldn’t let you go, I wouldn’t at all. I didn’t want to. No I could not let it happen. Despite the baggage I had, despite the hidden person in me. How could I, everybody would know the baggage I have in me. What I have held inside for long would finally come to light. Then I would be what I fear most “The Villain”, despite the numerous attempts I had made to make it all right.

But I had to let go, how I could hold back when everyone else wanted you gone, was a puzzle. I wasn’t sure of what I wanted to do. I didn’t know whether it was good, neither for me nor for anyone else that I had encountered in my life. I knew it would hurt, at least for me, I don’t know whether it would anyone else but I guess I cared less either. Did it matter anyway at this point? I guess it didn’t at all. All forces seemed to be against my efforts, I don’t know who or what to blame anymore. I really wanted to understand but how could I when no one understood me at all.

It was beyond me, all I could do was blame, I know I had fault but I had to find all ways to pull you in, to make you see you were also part of all this. I tried to get into every activity that could distract me from it but seemingly none sufficed. After all that I had to pull off my clothes when the night came and with that I was forced to see the scarred skin that characterized me. Scars, which only a close to impossible plastic surgery would clear, Scars which you couldn’t live with, scars that you claimed unless worked on you would erase me like a pencil mark on a white paper.

So there you were, gone. Miles away and I couldn’t wait for what you would come back with. I knew you were coming back, that I had no doubt about. Where else would you go to? This is where you belong, this is where all you had was but what you’d come back with for me was worrying. I didn’t want the whole society to know of that which lay inside. Them I hoped would be of help seemed not to care at all. How could they not even be there when I went for joyous occasions, they couldn’t even show face when my skin burnt to this ugly hide-like covering.

So I cared less, it didn’t matter to me then. It isn’t a coincidence that in selfish and suicide lies an “S” and yeah I knew it would be selfish but nothing mattered to me at this point. But at least I told you, I wanted you to go to bed well knowing that tomorrow was like the 23rd of December 2012 on the Mayan calendar. And so I picked the knife and plunged it in my tummy and no….it wasn’t enough, I pulled it down but I still was strong enough to pull it out and give it a fresh strike………..!

A little bit of heaven, God spoke to me

I wouldn’t pass for spiritual, religious maybe, and even that is slowly fading considering the number of light years in terms of Sundays that have gone past without me walking into God’s house. If anything I look at the past week, focus on the week ahead, calculate the number of sleep hours lost and yet to be missed and decide to cover for all that with a Sunday spent in bed. Even with that my Christian background, as many of us would like to call the families in which as children we were always forced to attend church, could not let a message from God pass me by.

Life isn’t easy and whoever tells you that is just but lying to you, that’s my opinion though. I would to some extent agree with “Life is what you make it” but what of when you try making the best and it stills drags you. Point in case I will talk of them who would like to walk from the office in Westlands to the house in South C then life slaps you with a three legged walking style. It goes with all the enthusiasm you had, messes with your exercise program and hence makes you unhealthy and not to mention the much it affects your budget by forcing you to use public transport for distances you would have used number 11.

The guy above   is me, but definitely I wouldn’t want to walk all that way, I know I have an expensive, strong enough, good scented deodorant but still, original leather shoes weren’t meant to be subjected to that. This week saw me drag my poor body from one consultation room in the hospital to the other in pursuit of pain relieving treatment to no avail. I sit here typing yet I can’t feel my feet down there, I thank God through that the numbness on my fingers would let me type this. I left the last room in the hospital quite disappointed yesterday. Having spent more than enough money on tests that seemed to turn my body inside out and still got that lab report that reads “Everything looks normal” I thought there is more to the limp than could be seen and so I cared not for any medication and walked back home.

I sat and reflected upon life the whole afternoon, wallowing in miasma of despair, trying to figure out what these close to two years of strange limps would be indicating. At some point I thought a movie I watched not a long while ago “A Little Bit of Heaven” had been in preparation of all this. But seriously, who limps when all is normal? It is either in Kenya what we call doctors are car mechanics or I am the best actor in feigning sickness.

Later in the night my radio that never leaves the Capital FM dial happened to hop to Hope FM (you saw what I did there, no?) and amazingly the preacher at that moment must have been speaking to me. The word from Luke 22:31-32 and the subsequent sermon were just for me. Her explanation on how the much we go through isn’t meant to destroy us but to make us stronger and better so that others may learn from our trials uplifted me (I hear the spiritual ones use that word) and for a moment I figured out this was my turn around point. I knew it was God speaking to me when she talked about the much one’s health may torture them but all for the glory of God. And this saw me wake up a bit enthusiastic about everything today and braved all pains in me to crutch to the office.

It matters not neither the number of Tusker bottles you’ve gobbled since birth, nor the number of Gin shots you have swallowed trying to be one of them; I think God had a word for me on Hope FM on that night. Despite the bit of heaven I had been to already and the journey I had started to the crematorium, I want to believe that all this is sifting taking place and with a smile I walk knowing that Jesus prays for me that my faith may not fail.

When life offers a bonus

When my friend started his blog, he thought his first post would be about “Ye of little faith”. Today, I sit and wonder, “I’m I one of them with little faith?”

When the year started, I told my old lady this would be a year of faith, a year that would see me not use walking sticks ever again. It isn’t easy when after covering three quarters of the year, running around in hustles and bustles that come with life’s changing phases, you suddenly develop the dreaded limp.

When the morning comes and everyone wakes up to the beautiful bird songs, yet the first thing that jostles you up is the numbness that engulfs the lower limbs, it isn’t easy. waking up in the morning and the much you can feel of your body is only up to the knee. The sight of everyone else running around town trying to keep office hours, as you snail through town changing “matatus”. Limping across streets, every once so often escaping the driver who doesn’t care about your limp.

When in the office, you are the guy known for being active, shuffling from one desk to another, trying to sort out any tech issue. When one knee confines you to your desk, yet with no guarantee that the eight hours will be painless but rather with an assurance that the folded knee will be cause more than mega pain, then you are sure you have a bonus. The only time you get off your desk is home time because the simple thought of the excruciating pain as you walk to the washrooms, kills all inside you, including that which presses.

When the evening drizzle is bound to get you drenched, as you limp through traffic, with no support because you left the walking sticks miles away in belief that they would be of no use at all, when hopping into a “matatu” home isn’t as easy a task as it always is, with people shoving around, at times subjecting you to two hours of wait at the bus stop. Then life must be offering more than the usual. When the signature “shukisha” is accompanied by a big sigh, because the “ride” in the “matatu” causes more pain than a hammer would while hitting the knee cap.

When each call in the evening, that would always give smiles only sets you battling tears, when their voices tell you how much they wish they could do something but the distances dictate otherwise. When each question asked only reminds you of the agony the joint down there causes.  There would be no explanation other than life is giving an extra special treatment.

When the bed you have always loved, sets you imagining pain felt just before people walk down the streets yonder. When each night you swallow a pill, not because it will kill your pain or make you feel better but because it will shut down your systems and turn you into a log. Then life, has given you what no other person has experienced before.

When this my friends, is what yesterday was like,  is what today is bound to be and maybe what tomorrow will be. You gather the strength to sit and write, to limp and brave the rain. Battle the tears and patiently sit through traffic even as pain tortures. Live in the house alone and get the company of solitude, yet still jump into bed despite not being sure how long pain and sleep will battle, and not knowing who will get to win. Despite all, I know I emerge strong because life has offered me a bonus, bonus strength, bonus faith and a bonus spirit that sees me hope that come tomorrow, no one will have to rid me of my foot just to save me of this pain.