I was a daddy’s girl; still am, even in death. My dad got me and understood me in ways nobody else did. He loved and adored us as kids and wouldn’t let anyone or anything come between us.
However, the relationship between my dad and I wasn’t always rosy. He wasn’t always the dotting dad. My dad had two sides to him; the good side, which was amazing and the ugly side, which wasn’t amazing at all.
His ugly side saw him as a violent man especially when drunk. This ugly side of him turned our home into a war zone. Most of such times, we were terrified of our own home and our own dad. I hated this ugly side of him with a passion. But it was also confusing to me as a kid. I couldn’t understand how dad could be so amazing, cool and loving on one hand but on the other hand be this violent and arrogant.
It’s this ugly side of him that gave me scars and created demons in my closet that I had to deal with for years.
Ours wasn’t your “normal” violence. Ours was the “crazy” and “serious” kind of violence. The kind where, some nights, we had to spend the night at a neighbor’s. Other nights, we had to call the police and they had to take him away for the night. Other times it was things being broken and waking up to a house full of broken glass everywhere. And other nights, most nights actually, it was us screaming, pleading and begging him to put his panga down, which he was threatening to slash my mum with.
From my father’s ugly side, men, relationships and marriage meant war. And I had already made up two scenarios in my head as a child. One, I told myself that marriage will not be my cup of coffee because I wasn’t ready for another war. Two, if somehow along the way I changed my first scenario and get married, I was ready for either war or a divorce. And for a long time, this was my mentality and attitude.
It’s for that reason that I made a conscious decision early on in my life, to prioritize other things. Things I figured were more important to me than relationships and marriage. Childhood trauma is real and some of these scars can haunt you even in adulthood. You can be a normal functioning adult but behind the scenes, you’re “dysfunctional” and “toxic” because you’re dealing and fighting demons that have been with you since childhood. And often, nobody knows about the silent battles within you.
For me, back then, it meant that all men weren’t worthy, they were all the same; “dogs”. Ironically, I did have male friends. And they were and we still are the best of friends. God bless them for putting up with a shitty me then. For the male friends that I had, there was this “silent” code between us that they never develop feelings for me or show any hints of having such feelings because the friendship would be over. I was okay with just friends and nothing more. I never even dreamed of or imagined of anything more.
And for the few, countable romantic relationships I was in, before I was healed, I was like that soldier who is always on the lookout for the “enemy”, in this case called red flags. I was ready for war and looked for anything to either turn it to war or run, never to return.
You can already tell that with this toxic attitude, my relationships never lasted. And not because the men that I met were bad but because I was the toxic one. But back then, I didn’t know that.
Because of this attitude towards men, I build walls around me. Huge walls. Fortified walls. And mine weren’t just your typical walls. They were armoured and barricaded and high like the Jericho walls. I only gave chances to those who managed to climb the walls and survived the bullets. I gave them a chance because to me, they were heroes for climbing and surviving those walls because loving me took lots of courage.
But sadly, the efforts they spend climbing those walls didn’t bear much fruits because over and over again, they still had to endure moments of proving themselves and that is physically and emotionally draining. Plus, I had gotten used to the poison I was taking, which was very normal to me then, that I wasn’t ready to take anything else, even if it was better.
Fortunately, I got to work through my toxicity with the help of an amazing group of people and organization, Stronger Than Espresso (STE). All the demons in my closet were slashed to death one by one through that program. And I was healed; I became whole and was restored. But the best part, I began to see men as human beings, as amazing and worthy people, not like the “dogs” I had made them in my head.
For years, I wondered why my mum stayed. But I realized that sometimes, red flags aren’t always red. Sometimes, they are pink, other times, they just feel like home.
Around 2011, my dad relocated to the village. And a year or so later, he started being sick. And we had to bring him back. Those were really tough, crazy and confusing times, especially for my mum. Seeing him sick broke me to pieces. The sickness and the pain had reduced him to just a shadow of himself. Unfortunately, he battled the illness until he died.
I never knew anything about mental illness and suicide until after my dad died. I started researching and paying serious attention. And its only after having battled depression and suicidal thoughts myself, did I truly understand just a little bit about what my dad felt and was going through.
Depression is a monster. It’s hard explaining to your family and friends feelings of unexplainable sadness, unworthiness and anxiety. With depression, even the basic of tasks like taking a shower is an uphill task.
Right now, I know when depression is looming around. I know its voice, I can smell it from a far and I can feel it when it’s trying to make its seductive advances on me. Sometimes, I fight it. Other times, I am too tired to fight so I let it in and it lies in my bed for a while.
Be kind to people, you have no idea what demons they are battling with.
Depression makes you appreciate life and the little things we take for granted, like freedom, peace, getting out of bed and smelling the coffee. It makes you protect your peace like crazy. And it also makes you pay close attention to the signs to your family and friends so that you don’t lose another loved one to suicide or other mental illnesses.
When my dad died, I was angry. I was angry at God, myself and my dad too. At God because He didn’t stop Him. At myself because I couldn’t see the signs and do something. At him, for not telling me anything yet we were close. And this anger didn’t allow me to mourn him properly. With suicide, you always have that lingering question of why they do it and sometimes, you blame yourself.
For a long time and for years, I carried with me an ugly chapter in my story about my dad. But after fighting and defeating the demons in my closet, I look at him with new eyes. Eyes of admiration, eyes of love.
You see, my dad was an amazing father despite his flaws and ugly side. He raised us with love even though sometimes that love bit was blurred. He raised us with everything he never got. He gave us the best life and we never lacked for anything. He was there and present for us when his parents weren’t. He protected us with everything he got. He gave us an education, even when he didn’t get the opportunities that we got. He gave us the space to be his kids, and nothing else because we were his pride.
My dad was smart and intelligent. I sometimes joke with my mum about how he was the “smartest drunkard”. And if it wasn’t for his demons in his closet too, my dad would have been that perfect dad in the fairy tales. He was simply, the best!
Compared to the environment he was raised in, he gave us the world!
Today, I look at my dad with lots of pride and love. I appreciate his strength as a man, as a father and as a husband. And even though there are times I wish that he was still here, I am grateful for the times we had and the memories we had.
I love you dad. Always have. Always will.
