Tag Archives: fear


Three gunshots were just fired in front of my house. I’m locking the doors and windows and am going to hide in my room


100th post

I feel that there should be something significant here because I have now blogged 100 posts of the minutia of my life. How incredible boring it most be to read. I whine about my life, my depression and hopelessness. None of those have left me. In fact I felt close to taking drastic measures to relieve my situation. Wasn’t thinking of killing myself but I was thinking of hurting myself – traffic accident, drug overdose, crazy acting but I didn’t. I stayed sensible and relatively sane. I thought about cutting my skin open too but there is always the risk of infection and it is so much more likely in Hell than in the civilised parts of the globe.

I suffer from self-awareness. I know and recognise the likely consequences of suicide, cutting, reckless behaviour or drugs. I know that this state cannot last forever. My loneliness will not be eternal. At some point I’ll be able to sleep and to wake up. Weird to have insomnia and hypersomnia at the same time. As the old chestnut goes “this too shall pass”.

I want it fucking past already. I hate feeling like shit. My mind is either sluggish and I mix up my words or it is racing and I’m composing letters, books and retorts – unable to sleep.

Nothing has changed. I am still the actress who is fake happy in the real world. No one wants to hang around with a person with severe clinical depression after the initial “can I get you anything” and “you poor thing”. I spent the weekend alone. I called my family and friends back home and told them everything was fine. I lied because I can’t tell them the truth. Lying is so much easier. Truth is painful, not just to me but to all. I’ve learned to stfu about my pain.

Except in this space. This is my screaming into the void space. Ironic really because I live in a void – no changes, eternal pain of heat and sweat and mocking voices on every breeze. I have nightmares about tsunami. I am a mess.

I dream of drowning

I dream of drowning.
I dream of water.
The waves wash over me, soothing me, tempting me
And then I panic

I struggle against the current, against the tide,
But inexorably the water nudges and cajoles me out
The sea takes me out, out beyond the land, the sand, the earth
Then crashes
Violently back to land
Drowning the shiny happy people basking in the sunlight.

I am complicit. I am guilt
Because I dreamt of drowning

There. Some random crappy poetry for my 100th post. Maybe if I write it down the nightmares will stop. Maybe that is the solution. Who the fuck knows? Who the fuck cares?


Last Friday I was told by BG the man who had repeatedly claimed to love me that he now has a new girlfriend, but he still likes me. He was headfucking me all evening. I was upset and coped with it by diving headfirst into a bottle of vodka. I emerged again later that evening, crying in the corner of a nightclub. K was hooking up with South African guy and I don’t know what possessed her but she introduced me to Nigerian who she didn’t know. Almost all my experiences with Nigerians has been negative.

I told him that I was not interested in meeting someone new and to please leave me alone. He didn’t and I walked away from him. K went looking and she found me in tears (as usual). He followed her and she left him with him. I was crying and this fucker was telling me how much he loved me and that he would kill himself if I didn’t go out with him. After 10 minutes of asking him to leave me alone, I snapped and started screaming at him to get the fuck away from me.

He kept insisting that he loved me so I grabbed Evans and told me that we were leaving right then. We went walkabout to the next bar. The Nigerian followed me proclaiming his love. I was screaming at him to get away from me, that I wasn’t interested and that I would call my tough guys if he didn’t leave me alone. Evans and I had one drink in that bar and then left. We were supposed to meet K and South African guy but they had already left.

The Nigerian was still waiting for me outside the war. It really freaked me out. I started to get very scared. This guy had been following me for over an hour. Nothing I could say would dissuade him that I was NOT interested. When he repeated that he would kill himself, I heard “I’ll kill you” because what’s a pronoun or two in an act of violence. Was also scared that he would demonstrate his “love” by raping me. This was a genuine fear.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t dare go home yet. I know it’s not good to generalise for any nationality but I’ve had some awful experiences, like this one, with Nigerian men. It’s always the men – the women are lovely. It’s not I problem I’ve had with Kenyans, Sierra Leonians, Congolese, Ghanians, Algerians etc. It’s just Nigerians and I’m through giving them the benefit of the doubt.

Part of the problem is their treatment of women and their utter lack of respect for women’s choices. This guy like so many before did not take no for an answer. I was stalked for months by a Nigerian neighbour. I’ve had to physically push men off me on more than one occasion. As shitty as Hell is, and it is, I’ve never felt in danger here before last Friday. That fucker reintroduced fear into my like and I’m so angry at him for that.