24/01/2019.
Dear Mr. Bux,
I don’t know if you still like to be called by that name as that was a name you asked me to call you, in those days when you felt really good about yourself- I still have your phone number saved by that name in my cell phone.
Ebuka, I am unsure about how you feel about that nick right now because the mania we both had then, convinced you positively on a lot of things about yourself just like mine told me that I was the most beautiful girl that happened to earth who was never going to taste death.
Ebuka, I am about to open up some of your sores which you have only managed to wrap up with a scarf: like how you came up with the idea that the earth was a hemisphere contrary to all we have been made to believe, and the number spirituality bullshit that you patiently taught me and I bought. I want to remind you of how you were convinced that Trump has once communicated to you through the tv, and how your boss understood the power of numbers and how I used to call you the Daniel of our time and you’d ‘glo with pride’. I need you to also remember how you thought that you were a force to reckon with that you even had to put your girlfriend now your ex through tests, to prove if she was worthy of the icon you thought you were.
I could go on and on to scour at the wounds that the grandiose of bipolar affective disorder dealt upon your soul. You might be wondering why I am almost counting myself out of this. It is because I am not only healed, the scars are gone too and I don’t want you to get comfortable with your booming sores wrapped neatly with a facade and distracting yourself from the pains of them.
I need you healed and ‘scarless’, Ebuka.
When I thought of writing this letter to you, the first thing that came to my mind was to share with you how my mind got healed and how I have gained a ‘scarless’ soul.
Ebuka, you know that manic depressive disorder is in incurable as the professionals say, and they teach us to manage it by sticking to our medications and doctor’s appointments; yes, that is a fact, an undeniable one.
Medical science have everything to prove that point and I myself, think in that direction, looking at all that has happened to me. If you remember, I once told you that my first bipolar episode was some eight years ago. The doctor told me all the ‘never miss your drugs thing’, I got in contact with the Gospel of Christ’s Grace and I believed that my mind had no alternative than to respond to what the Word had to say about me; I dropped my medications against my mother’s pleadings and by 2017, I saw myself in a psychiatry talking and doing shit.
So, I have every reason to believe that there is indeed no cures to bipolar disorder or some other mental diseases and like the doctors said, medicine is God’s solution to them.
However Ebuka, I am not writing to tell you about cures to bipolar disorder, I am also not writing to tell you that I have found one and that you should fling your medies into the waste bin. No. I am only writing to share with you how I came out of the other end of the spectrum, having been pushed out of mania with the medications by force. I believe that you know what I mean.
You know that feeling that is opposite to the sweet feeling we felt in the hospital. I am speaking of that phase where you remember how you messed with your own mind and you loathe yourself, that time when you sleep and you don’t wish for the morning to come anymore because the sun in your heart has refused to smile. I mean that period when the thoughts of all you did and said haunts you and you shudder in goose pimples. I speak of that time of your life when you continually think of aborting your existence but you decide to hang on a little more, not because you see any lights at the end of the tunnel, those times when you just recharge your phone with your limited cash to talk with me simply because you feel that I understand. That time you are too embarrassed to face some people because you really are not sure what they think of you. That time when you don’t want to talk much with people because you are afraid of talking nonsense- after all, your shitty expressions of the past cost you your very good job and your beautiful girlfriend. I am talking of that time when you say, “ mehn, this isn’t easy o”, I am speaking of that gloomy blanket of Depression that suffocates.
TC Okenwa, am I scouring your wounded soul too much?
I hope I am because I need it to be clean.
I have always told you to accept that God loves you no matter what, and that He would clean up your mess by Himself. That was my first point of mental breaking forth.
However, I want you to think up the worst that happened to you, and accept it as your property. Do not deny it; eat it, swallow it, digest it, assimilate the things you have to and pass out the rest just like you would spicy egusi soup and hot eba. I hope that you know that with your hand you made the balls of eba and dip it into your soup all by yourself, you throw the soup loaded ball into your mouth and swallow it by your own free will but you have no control over digestion and assimilation because they are sure banker. You end up assimilating the nutrients in whatever effing form it chooses to come in. also, when your system is ready to eject the shitty things, it won’t rest until you have done just that.
In the same way TC, accept the things that happened to you as something that had to happen to you and leave the healing for God to do. God is doing something in you through the things that you went through, and the poisons must go away when you are done assimilating leaving you fresh and ‘scarless’.
You must definitely pass it out!
Don’t worry about how it is going to happen, just do your own bit. For me, I had to summon the courage to read all the shits I wrote in those days of mania. I had to allow myself to be in the shoes that I was in when I wrote those things that I don’t want any soul to read now. I had to accept some of the embarrassments I brought upon myself in those days.
Mr. Bux, I am a person of many words- you already know that, don’t you?
I am glad that you found the courage to read through. I am not going to apologize to you for embarrassing you here; it was highly intended.
So, please scour your soul of all its shame, eat them and swallow them because in them, you’ll become that man that God wants you to be.
Your person,
Nneoma.
heandisite 