You might like to call my disappearance a hiatus, I’d much rather call it trying to sort out my head and the buzz of activity that was swirling within it, leaving me feeling deliriously hopeless. Am I fixed? No, I wouldn’t say that, but I know that I’m no longer completely broken, and feel as though I’m on the mend.It’s strange that at my lowest point I was unable to pick up my pen and scrawl all that was swelling within and around me. For 3 months my pen faltered with each uncertain beat of my heart, as though it would give up trying to keep me here at any unannounced moment. And it was that fistful of flesh that taught me the most important lesson of all: not everything is in my hands.
I don’t command it to beat; I don’t set the rhythm of its contraction and expansion; I don’t decide how much blood it pumps through my body. In matters of the heart I am completely hopeless, and some things I have no control over – a fact that I’m learning to accept.
Don’t see me as a changed woman, because I’m not. I still bear the scars of loss across my chest; I still long for the warmth of Salma’s chest against mine; I still wish to be dad’s little girl once again; I still want Mum to love me.
Habiba is I, and I have embraced the lot that has been dealt to me, and I will find a way to carry it, bear it, and cope with it, no matter how heavy my burden weighs against my soul. I’ve been given life, and live I shall.
© LaYinka Sanni, March 2012
Part IV can be found here.