Perfect Blemish

 

Step 1: Grief

Remember how you made me loathe myself for what happened to me? Remember how everyone blamed me, and my parents stopped talking to me? And how incredibly thankful I was, no, miraculous it was that they didn’t sack me from their home. Remember how my friends stopped hanging out with me because I was a “morbid sort?”

Remember how we always promised to be there or each other, through everything? Well, you lied about that. You left me when I needed you the most – in my most dire need.

Do you recall? Of course, you don’t, but I do! The 3 AM pity party of one, the midnight tossing and turning, and the late night shower cries. Not forgetting all the lingering thoughts of the things that could have gone right if only I had made different decisions. Slowly, I began to accept that it was my fault. You made me believe, quite frankly, that I brought all this upon myself. I was a wreck; a loner who drank and did drugs, with no one to care for her. Even my attempts at suicide failed because you ratted me out. What about all the threats of being institutionalized if I don’t get my “shit together.” It was a dejected moment in my life, I daresay, the gloomiest and murkiest part of my being.

Step 2: Rejection

I tried to make sense of everything, but I was made to believe that I was fucking cursed! No one loved me, so I hated myself. I tried to change my ways. I tried to modify my panache. I wore long dresses and skirts – no more tight jeans or leggings, or crop tops, or short skirts/shorts. After all, this happened to me because I wore a short dress, right? I starved myself for 14 days and nights, asking for forgiveness for my life of debauchery. For wearing provocative dresses that led to my mishap. I abstained from makeup, removed my artificial hair, wrapped a scarf around my head, and desisted from cosmetics of all varieties. I was cursed, and I needed redemption. I ate and drank alone. Abstained from going out and partying altogether, especially in the evenings. I sat on my bed and waited for my resurgence, to be ransomed. I went to church 7 days in a week, asking for clemency and compassion. I read the Holy Bible back to back, in an attempt at reclamation, yet, my soul cried out in pain for someone to talk to. I was in agony, and I was rejected. I was dying to know, was this really my fault? Did I bring this upon myself? Am I the sinner who tempted men to rape, assault and virtually kill me because I wore incendiary clothes?? Was this really my fault?

Step 3: The encounter

So what are you going to say at my memorial? I guess some bullshit about how I was the perfect daughter. Are you gonna talk about all the lovely memories we shared together, knowing very well that I was scared of you? Or, will you talk about how happy I was with my life when I was lonely the entire time?

Here lies the body of the perfect daughter any parent could ask for. Most passionate girl to walk the face of the earth, so much joy as never seen before. The dutiful daughter who always sought to please Papa. I will miss you, my love.

Here lies my friend, and sister. We shared all our thoughts and dreams and I am saddened to have to go through the rest of my life without you in it.

Well, here’s another thought. How about being honest for once? How about talking about how miserable and lonely I was. How none of you wanted to be associated with me. How about admitting that I was so isolated and lonely that I took my own life, which you all had a part to play? But, it’s just a thought…

Step 4: The reaction / Anger

Is this what you really desire? I can transform. I can become modest and simple. I can wear her reticent over my bluntness, and even alter my skin for you (you like them light-skinned now, don’t you?). Don’t you love me anymore? Do my screams make you ruttish? How do you like it when you strangle me for your pleasure? How about when you beat me to a pulp because the gaze of other men wandered over me? My king, he wants me to be appealing, but for him alone. He beats me to set me straight. That’s how men profess their love, I was told. So I changed. I changed it all for him. I stopped hanging out with my friends because he didn’t like how opinionated they were. I lost touch with my family because they were too critical of him. My perfect king. Did it make you cringe when you poured hot water on me? Sure, you bought me expensive gifts after but did you care for my sanity, or peace or self-worth? When did your love become this obscure? What I know is we don’t have it, or if we did, we’ve lost it. I think our love was a street-roaming from one another, flowing in elusive places. It doesn’t get better. Why can’t you recognize me for who I am? Why not? Everyone one can.

As you know, this has or had nothing to do with money, because I’ve got my own. I just wanted you or someone who could put a smile on my face, respect me, and respect me as a woman. I guess that was too much for you.

For all the times you hurt to me

For all the times you lied to me

For all the times you disappointed me

I hope it was worth it because I’m not going to be around when you wake up.

Step 5: Apathy     

You killed me, and what eulogy are you going to perfectly craft out for me? You broke my spirit, beat my soul black, and stamped on my body.

I know I have a fickle heart, and a bitterness and a heaviness in my head, or so you made me think. I often think about where I went wrong…

But don’t you remember, how happy I used to be? The reason you loved me before your darkness stained my soul, maybe? Even now, I’m still unsure of my strength.

I’ll probably never know, but I’m willing to take the high road risk.

Please don’t run on my parade. I’ve been through the trials and tribulations, and this numbness is a better approach.

I don’t need you. In every way, I don’t need you

If you don’t like the way I am, then you should be with yourself.

I am done pleasing you and doing your bidding. It’s time for some me time.

Sorry, the time for opinions is over, another time, maybe?

 

Step 6: Acceptance

I look into the mirror and see a reflection of my mother. I remember when I always wanted to be like mother – walk like her, speak like her, and even love like she did. I am nothing like my mother yet, I am everything like her. Curves, stature, attitude, beauty…Oh, mother, mother, give me a pinch of your resilience that I may be like you; in every way, and in no way. Did he impregnated you and then leave home? Did he make you believe he was a deity worthy of worship? Did he crawl back between your legs after days and weeks and months of neglect of you and your precious babies? Did he make you forget that you’re woman? Make you loathe yourself for complaining and asking for more? Are you a slave to the decree of his belt? Do you wear the makeup so heavy that it may mar the handprints of his palms? This is the constant reminder he made you forget, that you, mother, are a woman, and women like you are to be feared.

Step 7: Redemption

Dawn of a new day…

Wash me…

Baptize me…

…because now, reconciliation is possible.

Daughters all over the world raise their voices in wait of their redemption – to break free. Do you remember being born? The soothing joy of having a life? The overwhelming feeling of giving life to another? The magic you create inside you? There is a “curse” that will be broken.

Every promise does not always work or get fulfilled. I know I promised I would take it all – the disappointment, the hurt and insults, and heartbreaks. I know you’re heartbroken but this is my time. My chance at redemption and I won’t let it pass me by. I’m gonna grab on hard to it.

This is me taking the reins of this love…

…because when my back is against the wall and the wall is against my back, I will call on me.

Asiedua Yeboah © 2017