Breaking Point.

Dear One,

Hello, I hope this finds you well. I know you wouldn't wish to spend much time reading my crap, so I'll try to keep it short and to the point if I can, or I’ll just keep on writing until I feel the load off my heart, maybe  then I'll drink two or more shots, just to hit the send button easily.

So where should I begin? I’ve been well or I’m better, if not getting better at messing up myself. It's hard to keep track of pain sometimes, you never know when and how it's going to erupt. Just when you thought you had control over it you find yourself possessed by I don't know what. 

So just a minute ago I was on Spotify and stumbled on our playlist. Yes, Under the influence, then an ache followed. I felt it punch every face of me left intact, grind all muscles holding myself together, squeeze itself  out through every open hole and crack in my soul, but I've grown fond of it, so I chose a pen and paper today. Now I'm on   Omaly's  SOSO track on repeat as I write. I hope this takes the pain away.

This letter is about many things but the general highlight is that I know of scars and the sagas that scars tell our stories, our experiences. A handful even go ahead saying that our scars, the so-called experiences, translate to our personality and I firmly disagree with that. Dear One, you see, If my experiences were to define me, then I would end this letter probably with a till we meet again or see you in heaven, for I'm not sure if I can live with the self I've been those couple years.

You're probably wondering how I will end this letter. Well, I'll spoil it for you. That's how I've been living lately, anticipating the end, seeking clarity and certainty. Predictability brings me peace. I still read books, but I often start with the last chapter to know how it ends. I don't want any more surprises, especially when it came to people, books, and places where I invested my heart. I loved you, and I still do. That's a book I've read the first chapters, didn't let myself read through, just jumped to the last ones, and frankly, no happy ending.

I should point out my current read, I've downed the last chapters already so I know how it goes down, I'm reading Eloghosa Osunde's Vagabonds- The only way out is through, and she says somewhere  that; You shouldn't fold, love comes in your size too and I don't know whether to believe that, hope for that or just keep on reading, this borrowed hopes sometimes are worse than being hopeless.

But how many times do we have to lose and pain to come to terms with it all, perhaps feel at home in it?  That here's a place up somewhere with meanings and answers to all this suffering and pain so maybe we should seek comfort there, heaven. Honestly, I don't know what to make of god anymore. I know there is nothing good or bad about people, His people. There are only differences. What you do,How you do it,so let me tell you how and what I've been, then you can tell how different, not good or bad. Just how different I've been  living.

I've been to places Dear one, I’ve been with people. I mean the right places and people. Places with enough pain and joy, enough noise and dead silence, with alcohol and holy spirits , women, men, you name it all and they coexist harmoniously.  Places and peoole you walk out of feeling sorry and happy. Places with the right whiff of paradise and hell. I’ve been to places you wouldn't dare go on a sane heart and one piece of mind. I'll break it down, but let me tell you. I've been to places where I lost myself, woke up elsewhere to pick the pieces of me back. I've been to different places, not bad or good, just different.

I've been with people, Dear one, both male and female, with the right doses of crazy and sane, holy and evil people you wouldn't dare think of on a sane mind and functioning heart, people you won't love beyond the mere obligation to. Crazy women, the ones who shave off their eyebrows to only draw them over with pencils.

 Men who make people discard their morals and senses, forget their principles, and abandon their selves both mentally, physically, and emotionally, I've been with men who call you,hold you, Voices erect with authority, you forget to what you are losing yourself to, the alcohol or them.Neat men and those who only understand tops are won up, trousers lower, some even crazy enough careless about that, some who even feel clothes add to much weight, so they just walk. 

 I've been with men who fuck the hell out of you, make you think there's something you've been missing all your life, craving for. Should I say bring the heaven in you and fuck the hell off. Well, I've been with women with studded tongues, women who first make you doubt yourself, women who give you a new face, new self. Women who know how to make you feel like a woman, women with whom you feel stronger, taller, empowered. Women who know how to kiss the right places, touching the heaven and blind spots of pleasure you never knew existed. I've been with women you woke up next to the following morning feeling even greater than the sex you had the previous night. I've been with people, I'll tell you about it. I've been with different people, Dear One, not good or bad, just different people.

I've tried things, Dear One, Things I wouldn't even name on a clear mind. Some you smoke, chew, drink, and shove up your ass and vagina. Drugs to carry me to places where nothing exists and hang around people with enough cracks, pain, and the right desire to escape. So on going far, you pick the right mates. I've been there, we've gone places for a long, but I'm here, and I want to go faster; I want to get hold of the self I think I did let go.I want to find myself again, but how. living tiresome Dear One.

On some nights, I close my eyes to sleep to avoid too much thinking, but my mind wouldn't let me. Memories, the greatest heart disease, memories that are more alive than us, won't let me be. Flashes of our moments together, best moments of my life I guess. I did mess up Dear One. So to avoid endless twisting and turning, I pick a scene and live through it.

 I smile,those are the moments I genuinely smile. I’m usually on plastic smiles, fear, and borrowed hopes, so perhaps I'll pick one and smile through this peace. I’ve shed enough tears already. I tried dabbing tears from the previous page and ended up scrapping off a whole paragraph or two, and now I can't even make of what I was saying, but I feel lighter I opened it. It’s something to do with abortion and divorce about ten months ago, well yeah I've been married, divorced and had an abortion too. 

I'll go with my favorite, the day I woke you up like a tsunami was on its way to sweep us off. You jumped out of bed, not even sure where you were, with a bonner. Honestly, for a moment, I thought of dropping the prank and getting you to walk in me with all that rage and heavy breaths, angry face, the way you held me against the wall and fuck me when I was being stupid and dramatic for no reason there's just something about your energy in me when you little pissed off. I've been with all people, men, and women, but they aren't you. 

I crave our intimate moments, your  thrust and pounding. The way you pinned me down with my legs on your shoulder, the drips of sweat from your face, your gaze as I gasped for air, as you walked in me, with my legs shuddering. I wonder how it is I never got used to it, how you made me forget my name. Watching your brown eyes glow, now look at me lost again; all I'm saying is. They were not you.

You turned to check the time and dropped your face like a small baby about to cry, realizing it was only 4 am, and walked back to bed slowly, asking why you did that, Angie. You know you only called me by my name when I said or did something stupid. But I felt bad, so I let you go back to sleep, your eyes are worse when you are disappointed or upset, and your whole face is even worse. 

It kills me whenever, the memories of us breaking when you found out about my affair with your Father, you reading his messages as your face dropped line by line. Your breath growing faint as I saw your pain and tears for the first time as you handed my phone back, pointing at the door. I guess you wondered why I never begged for your forgiveness then, not out of rudeness or to mess you up, but how do you say something to that face, it kills you even more than your crime.

I'm trying not to cry anymore, so allow me if I don't walk you down that path anymore; I’m sorry Dear One, I messed up. 

 It was on a holiday, and you didn't know about it, or it's right to say your tight schedule made you even forget what day it was, so you kept on going and going. I guess you know where the issues started, but well, you were off work that day. I had planned a day out with you, from the prank at 4 am, which came with mixed, confused reactions and desires, to you waking up at 9 am, which would mean three hours late to your normal routine as you jumped out of bed fuck fuck fuck again Angie why didn't you wake me up, I'm late for work.

I was laughing hard, and it pissed you off. You couldn't  understand as you rushed up and down. You had even started dressing up in your previous day's clothes right in the kitchen, where we had left them as you lifted me turning off the cooker, heavy kisses on my neck, I felt my self-dripping with cravings of your power in me, we never had supper  that night so you know, and you were aware of your day off that's why the excitement to spend a day with me. You hurriedly picked up your pants and started dressing without showering. I laughed hard as I broke into you. It was a holiday.

I know you now have a clear picture of how the day went, how you made me walk commando to the movies in a short dress for failing a test. I’ve never felt so insecure my whole life, not even in the hell I've been. As the movie played, and  boldly ran your finger on and almost in me. I never got much of the movie. I was just lost on your stimulations and teasings. I even went to the washroom to shag off, and when it wasn't enough that  I came back pretending I wasn't feeling well for us, to end up fucking at the backseat of your car.

 Sometimes I think about it and wonder, giggling to myself, had anybody been there recording as your car swung to and fro from your thrusts. That powerful Spartan thrust,  how I even forgot where I was and started moaning loudly that you had to cut it short and drive home to again finish me up at the parking lot, oh lord I miss you. 

I broke up with your father, too. I know you don't get along if you didn't kill him or kill each other, god forbid. Just  same devil, different wings. He was messed up, I wonder what struck him awake. He knew the waters he was swimming in, the currents he was trying to push back all along. I didn't want to keep on,I guess I wanted him through you, and losing you made me see him differently. I know it reads stupid, but I'm just letting off a load. I want to breathe well too. I hope you can find your way and patch things up.

I called my mother the other day and told her my truth. She was disappointed, hanged-up for some hours. I guess I went to cry, then called back later, past midnight, to ask how I was.I was a mess, of course, I didn't mention that, but I was getting better, she said I should apologize, so here I am selfish, loading and unloading.

I've been in pain, Dear One.I have scars, not metaphorical. I have scars all over my face, some in places I can't even explain how they got there, but what I'm sure of is, I had super talents when drunk, and after shoving up some tablets up my ass, injected, and smoked some. I know I used to be beautiful, you made me feel beautiful if to say, but  I guess that was a long time ago. Now I’m just okay with some hard-to-explain aesthetics, four teeth less.

Joy can bring you tears, Dear One, but hardly to tears bring you joy, I decided to bet on that as I cried myself through this writing, but today is the third day of my writing. No breaks. I've just been seated in my library with little trips to the washroom and back to refill my glass of wine. Nothing is coming out, you know, some crazy infections down there, and if they do is with unexplainable pains, so I sit here trying to shift my focus and hope the medications will help. The last five months have been tough, trying re-collect myself back. Of course , I relapsed and ended up with that down there and a couple of bruises on my face and arms.

I don't know what else to write, but I'm sorry I messed you up. Your family, something good came to me, got overwhelmed. I wanted more, and picked the wrong one, your father, something that didn't  break us alone your whole family, mine as well, since I still can't face my people.

So maybe I'll end it here and say till we meet again, I won't specify where for inside me, I still want to go on and be something in the other side something is calling. 

 I'll go take piss ,pass by the bar drink two glasses, and wait for it to settle. Hope it will be ill enough to come back and press the send button, so if you are ever going to see this, I hope you find a place in your heart to forgive me, forgive yourself, and move on; you are an amazing Soul, Dear One, love you.

Yours sincerely 

Angela.