Midas’ Touch
Friends have always loved the way I love them. Even lovers. One of them tried to describe it by saying “Your love is like an ever waiting warm blanket: always there. Always sure. You have proved over and over that if I need a place to fall, your shoulders would always be there to support me.” And you know, it's weird. How much I can love a person that I soon cease to exist.
That's the thing that scared me the most about love. That I could get so consumed by the amount of care I invest in the other person because I care about them, that I unconsciously begin to erode parts of myself to fit. I don't do it grudgingly—I want all of my loved ones to be at ease always. And perhaps it strains me a little bit. But I've always been the strong one.
If I could get a dollar for everytime people say I'm strong? I would be half as rich as Elon Musk. Lol. “You're strong.” “You're so resilient.” “You're so nice.” And the infamous, “I love the way you love me.” Such selfishness. It shocked me. That I could give give give give and never get anything in return. It's so funny, so I don't think about it as much.
If I stop working at this moment, the only thing that would trouble me are responsibilities that do not directly cater for me. Black Tax. Miscellaneous. Spending Spree. Investment. They take everything and sometimes you're just left with… nothing. It feels like you're a stranger in your body. Some days I see myself as someone I don't know. So now I stand in front of the mirror and reaffirm who I am.
Through the hormonal body changes. Through mental illnesses. Through the autistic meltdowns and depression episodes and panic attacks. Through the work. The whole ton of it. Everything that would increase my income is what I did. And I did this so I would always have. Not because I NEED. But because I always wanted to have “just in case”—unplanned family issues, household maintenance, anything. I was worried ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN and I had to always be prepared. Imagine living life always trying to be prepared.
It's like running up a hill. You run up, trying to go as fast as you can, but the top gets higher and higher. It's like somehow, you would never reach the top. You would always be REACHING. There will always be something. What's the destination? What's the apex? When does it end? When do I tell myself that I have made it? Would I always be working? Or chasing happiness? Doing something to distract us from the pain we feel inside?
The anxiety and overwhelmingness that sometimes overpower you and you just lay on the cold floor to bring you back. The emptiness. The loneliness. That part of us that we're sure will always echo—my therapist told me it's normal to feel that way. Guess what? It actually isn't! It's not normal to always feel an ache. A pain. Life is supposed to be sweet. To be soft. I don't want to keep REACHING. So I stopped reaching and I'm now BEING.
I'm sitting on the kitchen floor with a blunt, my journal, a pen, and music in my ears. It was one way I have found to reconnect with my artistic side. I do loads of technical work—don't get me wrong, I LOVE it. But. There's an artist inside of me. A yearning to write. To pour. To love. I used to joke that I store so much love inside my heart that it's literally bursting. So with sessions like this, I step away. I reconnect. I pour in the way that pleases my soul.
A lot of people would say, don't smoke. Because I'm on psych meds. Because I'm a girl. Because I'm a Christian. And because I fucking live in NIGERIA. The truth? I don't care. I'm not addicted. I take it for relaxation because music with it is on a different level—if you know, you know. I space in-between. I have achieved a sync in my life. But then I realize that, for me, it will always be pouring.
Pouring into people. Pouring into relationships I should get my ass away from. Pouring into my art. Pouring into my craft. Pouring into every fucking thing I lay my hands because everything I touch turns gold—midas touch! (Oopsie, I just got the title of this piece. Haha). Maybe I might never get poured into the same measure that I pour out. But I know I will not run dry—not because I'm not human—but because the source of my love is overflowing. It never ends.
It’s fine if I don’t find a man or woman worthy of me. It’s fine if people take advantage of the way I love them. But what’s not fine is me letting other people run my life. I will not reduce myself so that people won’t choke. If they want to choke, they go ahead. And because I am a Goddess. A woman led by divine feminine wisdom. I am unstoppable. I will continue to pour until all the world knows is peace and everlasting joy.
