This story is about two people whom I love so much.
My love for them started the day my little eyes opened and I saw them. I probably smiled real big.
My love for them has never dwindled. Or reduced. Despite the fact that I am a disappointment in their eyes.
I know I am a disappointment. To them.
They have told me several times.
Oh no, they don’t go “Noni we are disappointed in you”
It’s more of how they tell me things. And how they act when I tell them things about myself.
I have been writing since I was 14 and this blog for 4 years now. I don’t know how many times I have asked them to read my poems or my blog posts. They don’t.
Yet when I join the Writers Guild of Kenya I’m asked
“Have you started writing? ”
“Send me your work okay? ”
But I asked you to read my work.
I’ve been writing.
I remember I asked her to watch a video on Endometriosis. She said she was busy. I sent it to her a week later and asked her to watch it. She said she was busy. A whole month went by and she didn’t watch it.
And she will complain that I take to many medications and that I need to control my pain. 😢
It’s okay I tell myself.
But it’s not.
Because their rejection and disappointment has hurt me over and over again.
I don’t know how many times I have cried myself to sleep, or asked myself why I am doing things wrong.
Being sat down and told how so and so has finished a degree and is making a lot of money, or how so and so is younger than me and is driving a car and is getting married, or how so and so was on TV.
The constant comparison to other people, being told how I am not good enough because I haven’t achieved what so and so has achieved.
Their constant harping on how I should be and who I should be based on a system and culture that isn’t even ours.
They measure success on how much money one makes and intelligence on the degrees you have.
And I don’t.
It’s their constant rejection and disappointment that keeps me in an ever tight loop of recurring depression.
I don’t know why I keep thinking that one day they’ll just stop rejecting who I am. Maybe it’s my hopeful and optimistic soul. Maybe it’s because I love them and we are just bound to not think that those you love will hurt you.
I was asked if I’d give them a signed copy of any book I’d publish.
I said no. Because it will probably not be read and I don’t want to go and find it covered in dust and my heart breaks again.
I’m tired of my heart breaking.
So I’m breaking the cycle.
I love them. I really do.
I just can’t have my heart breaking any longer.