Well....
For years, I have hated and loathed this
institution. Unashamedly so I must say. I have seen what it has done to us, to
my family, to us the children. The way, it has scarred us and psychologically
damaged us. Oh and my parents. God knows.
Do they hate each other? I don’t know really.
Maybe? All I know is that there is a very thin line between love and hate, that
you can hate someone equally in measure with the same passion you love/d them.
And I think that’s where they are. That’s where they have been for a while, for
more than 2 decades actually.
I wish I could write my emotions and feelings out.
But I cant. Not that I wont, I just cant. I cant find the words to express
myself. Its one of those things. Its hurt. Its anger. Its despair. Its
hopelessness. Its helplessness. Its sadness. To the core of my soul and mind.
The arguments and insults. The hours and hours of
cursing and screaming and disrespect. The cheating and the lying. The lack of
communication. The allegations. The pushing of each other and us to the very
edge of the cliff. The threats. The religion. The anger and frustration. The
alcohol.
We have lived with it since I was born as much as I
know and even probably longer they have been dealing with this.
It may get worse. I mean, it has only gotten worse
with the years. Why they wont leave each other be, I don’t know, beats me. No
love lost there certainly. I feel horrible for saying that but it seems that
way and has seemed that way for decades.
Its sad that
our pragmatic African beliefs can condemn two people to a life of unhappiness
rather than separate definitely happier lives. Unbelievable that religion
condemns separation and divorce; or so we are taught, that its sin. Sardonic
that society judges divorce as failure instead of viewing it as a weirdly
packaged gift of an option.
I will leave this here, after hours of heartache
from another episode. But before my ulcer kicks in, I pray that I do better
because after all, one can never judge shoes they have never fit in .
Love,
Nyandia.