Happy New Year everyone! It’s a chilly evening here in my neck of the woods!
My birthday was three weeks ago and I just got discharged from hospital one week ago so I’m a year wiser and stronger.
I’m nestled against the pillows as I type this, mellow and comfortable in the middle of my bipolar spectrum, with a clear state of mind, a calm soul and a revamped spirit. Last night I slept like a log and woke up to find this knackered dog curled up beside me at noon. Life is good, safe to say.
Looking back, I realise I grew up in this type of fishbowl existence where having my kind of chronic illness was the largest elephant in the room of health discussion. I heard people talk, I heard people stigmatise. So I figured that if people were going to say it about me anyway, I would say it first, because if I said it first, I would say it better. That is why I started this blog. Let it be known that exulansis does not live here at all.
Interestingly, when the world closes in with darkness and sin, I’m grateful for the myriads of blessings. Despite the depression, I’m blessed beyond imagination. Despite the soul rot, I’m blessed beyond imagination. Despite the speed bumps along my journey, I’m blessed beyond imagination.
Therefore today, in retrospect, I’m particularly grateful for:
God. The pillar of my astounding support system. For holding me while teetering between stoical and fervid. For carrying me during all reflection, transition and rebirth.
Myself. The self is divine. I feel like I had been a young girl of steel bright intelligence, but zero common sense. In other words. I had downplayed and underestimated my humanity and my femininity and their secret theatres of power and influence. I now look to act as a redeemed, empowered young woman and a daughter of philosophy and ethic. A legible wisdom of a grown woman, fearlessly navigating the turbulent waters of bipolarity. A grown woman of beautiful maps seldom left unread. A woman who is discontent with being the gold fish in a fishbowl when she has the capacity of a shark in the ocean. A woman who does not crinkle. A woman who knows her way around the minefield of self-actualization. A work in progress.
Music. Soulful music. For rap lyrics with wonderful emotional potency that resonate with me on a personal level. For the tasteful and timeless genre that is Ohangla. For its beautiful beats and for my dancing feet.
The sun and the wind. Even if I keep spending an unholy amount of time trying to make my hair tame only to step out and have the wind leaving me looking like a witch that just flew on her broom.
My doctor. For knowing how to help me stay on my cool. How to get me to stand ten toes down. How to whisper me out of fear and self-pity and put my soul back in my body, and ultimately my soul and my body all in that same recliner where sometimes he recounts a medical history that reeks of something like the voodoo incantations of a stark raving mad Haitian witch doctor.
Pens, paper pads and paperbacks. The readership, the blogosphere, the wordsmiths, the writers and the authors. Geniuses whose piercing words penetrate your heart and get plastered all over your soul. Clearly the revolution will not be televised but thank God for Ijeoma Umebinyuo!
My friend M. The queen of hugs and holding hands. An actual prodigy, a great listener, a top example and a quality friend.
My friend N. For answering every frantic call and text. For not having a single selfish bone in her body. For her superpower of keeping up with my monotonous rants.
My friend C. A real bond in a flawed world!
My friend H. The sunshine in my last memories of O’ Level.
My cousin BT. For his top tier personality.
My nephew Y. His smile also doubles as my medicine box.
My siblings B,B,B,B and B. Annoying, agitating, aggravating, nosey, caring, funny, determinated, intelligent and sweet. Whole bunch of goodness with a twist of wow and plenty of fun.
With gratitude I bow.