The doctor. The brainiest girl I have ever dated.

We have been exes for almost 10 years and still talk, occasionally.

Well, I blocked her all over and she reached out, asking to talk, for days, until I caved and I said ok. She came to make amends, to apologize for being shitty back then. She was my first love, the first girl I dated with intention, and our relationship was so dramatic in the 7 months we were together I was hurting for almost a year when it ended.

“Hey Doc…I am okay”

“That’s good love…”

I leave her on read. I don’t know what more to say. My head feels full, but I’m so proud of her. So proud of her.

“That’s my girl… kick ass”

The newbie.

The one I’m not sure about but I like so much. Still, there is a certain pride holding me back because deep down I’m sure she will play me.

I’m equally messy. I mean, I’m human, but with her, it’s as if I’m impressed by the thrill of being chased.

She fits into my box.

Tall. Fit. Gym rat. Dark skin.

And she has really soft hands, girly, which is a complete opposite of how she presents. Every time I crash out and cut her off, she takes me back, all the time. Even when I am mad or irrational, sometimes I’m right, she still finds me, and not once does she treat me different.

“I’m okay… I have so much work. And my day feels long OMG…”

“You got this baby… you are HER”

*Sigh*

I don’t respond. I hold back. Idk why.

“Heyy…”

My recent.

The longest relationship I’ve been in.

We broke up, and it was painful as fuck.

Once our feelings become intense and I had a much needed ego death, I was able to allow the beautiful friendship forming to blossom. We are more of best friends, closer to family even, and it feels refreshing minus the pressure of a relationship.

While dating, I used to feel like we had different wants and it clashed, a lot.

I am ambitious, with big dreams. They are practical, grounded in now and while it feels safe when I’m in so much chaos, at times it felt stifling, which eventually choked us both.

After all, I left because we weren’t happy, and had not been for a long, long time so why am I still here?

“Hey baba.. let’s hang today?”

“Sure… I can’t wait to see you. Talk soon”

“Okay, bye”

“Hey, can I talk to you?…”

I press send after days of thinking.

The ghost.

The one who should have been left dead and buried.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Let me send a voice note…”

“Okay…”

We have always been held together by passion, a type of chemistry over years. We reconnected again, but this time it felt different, off. Like we were outgrowing each other. Still, our bodies spoke the same language any time we were together, blending seamlessly into one another but wasn’t enough. I didn’t know her beyond the sex. Who tf was this girl?

She replies.

A whole load of nonsense.

My cue to exit and leave the dynamic we’ve had once and for all. I’m irritated but also gotten the closure I need, my worst fears having been confirmed. We have out grown each other.

“Fuck you…”

I send.

*Typing*

I don’t want to engage, my head is full.

I hit block.

Chapter closed, with a surety of it not being open again.

I don’t remember the last time I had good sex.

Even when I thought I would, it ended up being mid, devoid of passion, with the previous fire that had me coming back for more and more, having gone out.

As I lay there naked, while she gently purred purred beside me, completely sure she had done a good job (she did, well, way above average, not her usual self though), I kept on wondering if I had outgrown this woman. Or any of my sexual partners for that matter.

Damn! Sucks to be me right now.

And in the middle of a heat wave?

I just know I didn’t melt in her arms anymore, her kisses didn’t leave little trails of heat on my body as they used to, and her tongue on my nipple felt irritating. For the first time in a long time, I found myself wandering.

Still, I am craving good sex.

Not from her, or any woman for that matter.

Ok, maybe from a woman who knows wtf she wants. Fine, I don’t know. I mean, who thinks with this heat? Lord!

Woman, think about woman, ok?

Well, she isn’t scared of taking up space but also, she is not a bully, and definitely not a meanie. I can’t stand fucking a meanie. I want a soft girl, who’s hard outside but…

Jesus! Why is it so hot?

Source: Pinterest - Alissa Levy

The club next to me playing loud music.

A neighbor coughing a little bit too hard. A motor bike passing by, it’s engines rusty and loud, annoyingly loud. My comfort movies going on and on and on while I refuse to accept that I cannot sleep in the dark. Two alley cats fighting in the background, all proof that life around me is going on, and is bigger than my issues.

Does it get better?

Going to bed alone and waking up alone?

I find it much bearable during the day. I am around people. Breathing. Laughing. Being.

It’s the quiet of my apartment at night that gets to me.

Today I almost sobbed out of frustration but weirdly enough, I cannot cry. Physically I have not been able to since the beginning of June. I don’t know why. I just know my body refuses to cry at all. So I sat in silence and wallowed in misery, torn between wishing I was in a relationship but also reminding myself how I’ve come to love my independence, an endless loop in my brain.

Do I really crave a relationship though or am I confusing the feeling of being cared for, the boredom of staying with someone, the mundane of daily routine with wanting to date? I know that getting into another relationship right now would irritate me to the core, yet I crave companionship that even I cannot explain.

Argh!!!!!

Maybe tonight is just a lot for me.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up feeling better.

Maybe this week I’ll end my court attachment well.

Maybe next month I’ll ace my end of semester of exams.

Maybe by September I will have gone on a solo vacation.

For now?

I am tired.

I’m going to shower and then go to bed, with hopes that I cry so I purge once and for all.

As I pen this down, I’m from an hour long therapy call where I have over shared but then again, what’s the essence of therapy if it isn’t to yap and bare yourself open to a person who might never judge you, openly at least?

In one of my many rants, giving my therapist an “it’s related, I promise” kind of look, I went on and on about how I was tired of meeting women who weren’t matching up to my level and refuse to do the work, forcing me to stoop to theirs.

I know this comes off as self centered, as if I’m better than these woman but stick with me.

I cut someone off recently.

Tbh, I should have done this sooner but they gave me a final reason to do so and I did it. My last thought as I was sending the message that would bury what we had, typing away in anger, tears stinging my eyes and a lump that threatened to choke me sitting uncomfortably in my throat was,

“I’m way too bigger than this, fuck you”

Before this cut off happened, I had expressed to her some of my needs which I felt had to met if I was to be engaged in any manner and instead was met with a complete disregard of my feelings, everything I said having been twisted to mean something else.

Once I hit sent and blocked her on all platforms, it hit me that I was stooping low again. I was letting another person force me to tone down, to meet them where they are while they refused to rise up, let alone comprise. I didn’t want that.

In the same month, I again blocked another person.

With her, I had told her time and again that ego and intimacy don’t mix for me because even in my friendships, I love hard.

She kept on assuring me; talking about we are adults, you are safe here, we don’t do mind games, all while doing the same things she’s said she was above. Days of ignoring red flags finally caught up with me and I said I had no time for this. With her, I knew this wasn’t what I wanted so leaving was easier, as opposed to the first cut off where I had postponed the inevitable a little bit too much.

Both of these situations, with 2 different women, were a reminder of how big I was and the many ways in I was selling myself short; relegating myself to the side chick position in my life so as to accommodate losers who neatly dressed up their incompetence and unwillingness to adapt as “that’s just who I am”

I expected to experienced the heaviness of having lost two people in the same month, and instead felt relieved, joyful that I had stood my ground in a long, long time.

My friend once joked to me about my dating habits where she told me the only way I’d be in a happy fulfilling relationship was if I met my equal; intellectually, financially and socially.

Looking back at that conversion and the pattern of women I’ve let into my life before, I am starting to believe it that maybe she wasn’t wrong, and I was selling myself short. I mean, as I reflect on this, it’s hitting me that I am way above some situations I tend to get myself into like huh?

I’m way fucking bigger than this, ew.

Artwork - Pinterest

First of all, I’m trying to take celibacy seriously because I want to have good sexual hygiene this year. I know how I get when I am with someone and the sex is good. I become a fool with all boundaries thrown out for short moments of pleasure but uh… isn’t hedonism truly bliss? Hahaha.

*Nervous Laughter*

Well, to stand on business, I got a rose toy.

The one with a dildo which was too big for me. I asked around (read doing some research) and Miss Rosa was highly recommended for girlies who are discovering themselves so I got one.

When my package got to me days later, I wasted no time.

I started with the dildo which my vagina rejected so I dismissed this as maybe I wasn’t lubricated enough since I don’t get as wet as much and I let it be, opting for the rose part instead.

Mistake number 1.

At the lowest setting, that thing was strong!

I’ve always felt like vibrators are too strong for me and don’t get the job done. They are like an inexperienced lover who’s too eager to make you cum, but doesn’t want to take time to explore your body at the same time.

As the steady “bzzzz” of the rose toy went on and on and I was trying to find a position that would let me enjoying this silly, stupid thing, I let out a small chuckle as I lay there spread eagle, legs wide-open and listening to the moans of a woman in the background because I was sure I looked silly.

I don’t know what happened because I accidentally clicked on a setting that took it from 1 to 4 and that’s the moment I knew pleasure can almost kill you.

I literally went to heaven and then hell because I cummed so hard I thought I had electrocuted my clit.

As I laid there dazed, praying that my bean  was still intact after I almost dislocated my hip, I noticed I was wet.

I had just squirted for the first time in my adult life. Holy fuck!

One minute I was trying to figure out where exactly should I put this nefarious toy so as to enjoy it and the next I felt like I was thrown across the bed, with liquid gushing out of my vagina, leaving my bed damp.

When this dawned on me, I lay there and laughed like a mad woman. Deeply and from my belly, with tears running down my face. I was happy because I had unlocked a part of me I didn’t know existed. I used to be among those women who believed they couldn’t squirt and I made peace with that so this happening gave me the boost I needed, a reminder that my sexual self was back.

See, I’ve dealt with multiple crises this year which got me struggling to see myself as sexual being, again. There is something that happens to you when you get out of a long-term relationship, where you not only lose the connection you had with your lovers before your relationship but you are also trying to put yourself out there with hopes that sex won’t be that much of a gamble.

This mundane experience felt like coming back to my body and it was freeing, affirming in ways I didn’t know.

I quietly cleaned it, packed it up and kept it away for “next time” which I wasn’t too sure would happen again. I mean, am I going to use Miss Rosa anytime soon?

Tbh I don’t know.

I’m scared of how intense this first experience was so I think I’m going to take it slow. Imagine me, scared of a little silicon thing which almost took me out?

Hahahaha.

Image source - Pinterest

I’ve recently had 2 people refer to me as a lover girl but not as a way of acknowledging how much love I do give, but as an insult, a way of saying that I’m too “delulu” in relationships.

When that realization hit, my first reaction was to defend myself. To say “no, look at me, I’m also rational when I love, trust me” but then I stopped in my tracks and asked myself why?

Why was I trying to be seen as cold and uncaring as if it wasn’t cool enough that I loved as passionately as I existed? Why was I trying to say I wasn’t a lover, a trait I’ve embodied since time immemorial? Why was I defending myself against these allegations? Since when did it become wrong to be referred to as a lover girl? Lord, the goal posts shift way too fast.

I’m from reading an article about love and the mind games that pass for it of late and it resonated with me deeply because I am the same. Open, honest and vulnerable when I love, both in relationships and friendships.

In a state of love, I don’t see myself as capable of playing games and instead as an open book, always do the hard work of showing up fully so I’m a better partner, lover, or friend.

Even when met with mind games and I at times, find myself adopting the same behaviors I so greatly abhor, I still have a certain warmth in me that refuses to thaw. One that texts when mad, listens when hurt and apologizes with no ego in sight .

Lover girl, but as an insult, rubbed me the wrong way but also gave me the chance to critically look at to what people call “relationships” and decide on what I will and will not embody as a newly single woman entering the dating scene again.

I don’t care if I’m seen as delusional if it means wearing my heart on my sleeve and allowing myself to feel as deeply as I do.

After all, the ultimate freedom is when you can be yourself in your most truest form, uncaring about other peoples opinions, focused on you because that’s all that matters. Lover girl, but not as an insult, is my motto moving forward. The world needs more women like us, there is too much going on.

Signed,

A hopeless and less embarrassed lover girl.

People tend to assume that initiating a breakup is a walk in the park. That you wake up one day and decide this isn’t it, not knowing you have endured months of what ifs, especially when there is short, on and off periods where things start to go right again and your mind gaslights you into thinking maybe you are overreacting.

I have always had this weakness, of offering comfort even in situations I ought to take care of myself first. This saw me dedicate said months to ensuring my ex felt supported enough to find their way back to themselves, a habit that isn’t happening for the first time as I’ve done this with almost all my ex girlfriends, pausing my pain and cater to theirs, only to crash later on.

Boy I am crashing!

I wasn’t lying when I said there are zero resources on how to navigate heartbreaks as a lesbian in Kenya, especially one watched by the public who is ever judging and runs on assumptions, ready to pick a narrative to side with.

There are days when I want to write with hopes of making sense of everything but I am held back by my fear of visibility or something being misinterpreted, we are in a media literacy crisis. Other days, I want to completely erase parts of myself that are not doing okay because I feel like I do not want to perform my pain for an audience who didn’t sign up for it.

Still, I am a lover girl, and I’ve always been.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, I cry when need be, I am passionate, open and supportive, all the things that make me. When I got my spark back and started writing again, people were suddenly relating to what I had to say, which felt freeing and comforted me with the knowledge that I wasn’t alone in all of this.

So why am I filtering myself so as to be palatable? To be who I am not? Why do I not want to be seen?

I wish I had answers to these pressing questions but in the meantime, I am going to let this small corner of mine on the internet be as vulnerable as it can, mess and all.

To be seen is to be loved, and this can only happen when I let my people see that I too am human, with feelings, emotions, sometimes pain and the unknown in between.

After all, who am I performing for and why?

I’m hurting, fuck.

Photo credits: me on a 6 am drunken stupor

I have had my fair share of relationships, some good, some bad, and some being a complete waste of my time.

Like that time I suspected a girl I was with was about to break up with me so I sent her a quick sms asking if we were solid and she assured me, only to break up as soon as I landed in Ghana, over 5000 kilometers away and through a fucking poem.

Despite it all, one thing that has been a constant factor in all my relationships is my tendency to always accept less, hoping that more will come later.

It never does.

As I’m writing this article, right in the middle of a heartbreak so maybe this is my way of coping or… coming back to myself, I am of the opinion that if my next woman doesn’t worship me, I don’t want her. And by worshipping me, I mean giving me the whole world, showing me that it’s possible and pushing me to be better.

Why am I saying so?

I am a giver who will give non stop. It’s a bad habit I am trying to break albeit unsuccessfully. One that has got me asking on several occasions if I do so so as to be indispensable, to quieten my fear of being discarded?

Due to my poor giving habits, I have gotten myself in situations where I have dated women who are takers because I had weak boundaries and didn’t not know how to say no, women whose giving didn’t match mine, who gave only when they saw fit, which was rare most of the time.

Giving in this context doesn’t mean monetary only. It was my body, my time, my energy, my understanding, my affection, my softness, you know all these things that come freely when you love someone?

Even when I knew I had to have boundaries, I still didn’t speak up because I was too cowardly to say “fuck you!”

Deep breath…

I am turning 30 in June and growing older is starting to look like I need stability. I need love that feels safe, on and off social media. I need to know that my lover has my back whether people are watching or not. I need to know that I can sleep beside her and wake up 10 years later, stand in front of an altar and say I do. I need the kind of love that’s not rare but you also don’t come across easily since people love playing games.

Back to my woman.

She is present. She is dedicated. She is ambitious, almost as ambitious as I am. She loves me and I love too, a little bit too much. She rubs my feet at the end of the day and massages my back when I have cramps. She holds me when I feel unsure and opens up to me when she needs me to be strong for her. She’s solid but also melts in my arms. She takes care of me because I take care of people all the time. She’s my anchor in a world that expects me to swim with zero skills.

Do I sound idealistic? Yes.

Am I also positive that the kind of love I want is out there? Well… I…

Ping

“Hey, how are you?”

A text from my ex.

If you know me, you know I’m a sucker for new houses, that’s why I love renting. With rentals you can just up and go when it doesn’t work out, and this explains why I have found myself staying in new houses.

When I saw it at first, I was hesitant because it wasn’t my vibe. The walls were painted a subtle shade of egg yellow, some of the tiles would pop if you stepped on them to mean they were starting to become loose, and the toilet bowls and sinks were stained, with the management promising to have them scrubbed throughly if I took the unit.

Since I was desperate for a new start and I wanted to leave my old house as soon as possible, I paid for the house, promising to stay temporarily while I nursed my heartbreak after which I’d go to another place that suited my tastes. Little did I know that I would fall in love with this place once I let go of my reservations.

My second visit to the house, after it had been repainted and fixed, suprised me. It looked alive and way better! The walls were whiter, the sinks were spotless, the toilets had been a scrubbed down to a T and the sun was seeping in from all corners, lighting the house up so beautifully. I had gone to fix lights on this day so I stood by the window and watched as cars passed by, lost in thought, thinking of how hard it was to navigate a breakup as a soon to be 30 year old who was starting over after a 6 year relationship.

As soon as I moved in and settled into this house, I began loving small things about it like how we never struggled with water or how we had constant electricity or the fact that I enjoyed staying on the 4th floor because there was an elevator. The house itself, being a two bedroom, was way bigger than most 2 bedrooms and could easily pass for a 3 bedroom.

I am sharing this anecdote because I am reflecting on how I almost lost this house since I wasn’t willing to bend my wants a bit, a habit I detest about myself. Choosing this house meant trusting the process and I hate trusting the process. I have anxiety and I always want to influence outcomes but in this moment, I was focused to slow down, to breathe and take everything in so I said fuck it, let’s do it.

Result?

3 months of trusting the process and I can comfortably say that this space grown on me. I look forward to coming home, I have learned to sit in silence, I have small routines that work for me, I feel proud of how I have decorated it and most importantly, I appreciate how it has shown me that sometimes letting go is as good as holding on.

After all, if you truly love something, don’t you let it go?

And no, I’m not talking about my house anymore.

photo credits - Pinterest

One thing adulting didn’t prepare me for is my friends’ deaths.

I now understand why a lot of our parents seemed apathetic when it came to death, not because they didn’t care but because they had buried one too many people for them to actually process their emotions, unlike us who are sheltered by the idea of being young and invisible.

A better number of my friends who have died connected with me on social media. These were people I was actively planning to meet and get to know and suddenly woke up one day and was met with “rest in peace x” as a caption under their picture.

When this happens, I tend to feel as if I have lost something so profound while also not knowing of this person, not knowing if I had a connection strong enough for me to publicly mourn them.

I remember I had this friend who was very caring about me. I had met her before and we spoke briefly but not long enough to know each other. When she came into my life, I was in this period where I had bad depressive episodes and I was struggling to make it through the day, while she held my hand, not caring that I was shutting her out.

She offered her place for me to rest, that all I needed to do was say yes and she’d pick me up and I still said no, I’ll think about it. While I was in the middle of “thinking about it” as I had said, she died.

One day I got on social media and was met with rest in peace person X.

My heart damn stopped because it felt surreal, losing a person who one minute you  were talking to and the next they are no more.

I desperately tried to inquire what exactly led to their death, and it was something so insignificant they didn’t even see it coming. I saved their number for so many months, and would occasionally click on it just to look at their name, other times reading our last chats to feel comforted by close stranger who’s no more.

Thinking of them as I write this is a sober reminder of how fickle the whole experience of life is and why I need to more open and daring.

I am sitting with so much loss, that I’m slowly feeling myself adopt the same behaviors our parents had, stoic when I needed to wail, silent when I needed to scream, cold when I needed to burn. I lost my relationship and my cat, and in addition to that, stress has slowly been killing me for the past few months, with all these making the concept of death seem nearer than it usually is.

Not because of my losses, because my body is asking how much more crises can we take. She’s tired.

I understand so perfectly when someone said adulting is just multiple mournings at the same time. It’s mourning the person you were, the one you are right now, and the one you wished you were brave enough to be. It’s seeing your friends reduced to a distant memory, your only comfort coming from that social media account they forgot to delete. It’s seeing your parent slowly wither away, becoming weak and childlike. It’s breaking down at 3 am, when the world around you is finally silent enough to let you feel.

It’s… it’s… it’s…

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Image from Pinterest.