In South Africa, a life unfolds, A teenage girl's story, brave and bold. Born humbly, a family's delight, But COVID arrived, casting shadows of fright. Her parents, hardworking, life's toil they knew, Till pandemic's cruel grasp, their jobs it slew. Her father stood strong, the sole breadwinner, As her mother's dreams, it sought to hinder. In grade 7, a new school she found, But the pandemic struck, turning life around. Financial woes and food scarce to see, Yet kindness prevailed, easing the plea. Online classes took a heavy toll, A top student once, she lost her control. Anxiety and depression took flight, In the darkest hours, she fought with her might. In-person school, a balm to the soul, Her classmates' embrace helped make her whole. Though grades slipped, she passed the year, Yet the weight of her struggles, still severe. The years that followed, a whirlwind of emotions, With COVID's grip on fragile devotions. Curriculum cuts and academic despair, Challenged her strength, seemed too much to bear. Friendships, a refuge, yet tested they'd be, As she grappled with pain internally. In robotics and coding, she sought release, Yet pressures mounted, never at peace. Good marks achieved, but joy far from sight, Inadequacy's burden, a constant fight. Her journey continued, as she turned sixteen, Financial struggles and friendships unforeseen. Through it all, her dogs, a source of light, Family and true friends, with all their might. Each day she faced with determination anew, Confronting life's challenges, strong and true. The COVID-19 storm, a test of her will, Taught her lessons profound, resilience instilled. Acknowledging struggles, embracing her truth, With coding and passion, she'll reach for her youth. Though scars may remain, she looks to the day, When the world heals, and darkness gives way. A 16-year-old girl, brave and sincere, With hope for a future both bright and clear.

“Does this make you feel any sort of way?” I was asked, an inquisitive look flashing across the doctor's face. “Sometimes being diagnosed with something can be,” she paused, debating her next word choices. “Affirming?” I asked her. I looked around the well decorated room trying to formulate my thoughts. The velvet couch that I was sitting on irritated me and almost made me feel like I needed to itch every part of my body. The psychiatrist's many degrees were displayed across the cream walls, held up by matte black picture frames. The room felt stuffy. No book was out of place and no painting was not curated so that it matched perfectly to the room. The perfection strangled me and soothed me at the same time. While sitting there listening to her talk, I had managed to peel off all of my nail polish that I had recently gotten painted, green flakes of paint piling in my hands. I thought being diagnosed with a mental disorder that I had known that I had for many years would be affirming. Instead, it filled me with a sense of dread. Sleepless nights now had a reason. Hands washed over and over again now had an explanation. You would think that would have given me some peace, but instead only one word flashed across my mind, over and over. Crazy. Two long months later, Covid-19 entered the United States. Every night, I sat on the couch with my family, listening to various politicians discuss scientific topics they knew nothing about. Every so often, a case notification would flash across my phone, informing me that someone in my country, state, or city had been recently infected by Covid-19. Buildings were shut down and restaurants started to change their ways to accommodate the new ways of life. Irrational fears once only held by me were now prevalent in the public. People started washing their hands an abnormal amount of times and wore gloves while walking their dogs. In a way, it made me feel less alone. It became hard to come up with new things to do everyday. Like many other people, I tried new workout videos and watched TV that I had never seen before. I deep cleaned every area of my house and read mystery novels in my bed while listening to the rain. I had online classes but they were a joke; none of my teachers had any experience teaching online and it was impossible to focus in the confines of my room. We tried to distract ourselves with board game nights and themed dinners, but it was hard to ignore how the seasons flashed before our eyes and we were still stuck in our houses. Like everyone around me, I slowly started to lose it. It became tiring to do things that were once considered relaxing and all the time left alone with my thoughts allowed anxiety to sneak past my senses. Like many other people around me, I was scared to leave the house for various reasons; I didn't want to infect my father who was a doctor and was needed on the front lines or my mother who was still trying to navigate ways to teach her students from her desk. It became hard to decipher what thoughts were rational and which thoughts were not. Eventually, I became tired of trying to control the ever-present anxiety that had once made me feel so alone. A few months later, my family was in the car driving to Pennsylvania. We had packed the car with all the things we thought we would need; blankets were piled in the back, toys rolled around in the trunk, and excitement filled the car with happiness that we hadn't felt since pre-pandemic. We reached our destination, my brother and I practically falling out of the car running to the door. As I stepped in, outfitted with an N95 mask, I was greeted with wonderful little bundles of fur nipping on my shoelaces. I knelt down as eight little puppies ran around with no control over their own limbs, tripping and falling over each other. Many seconds later, they started to tire and settled down, snuggling with each other while falling asleep. However, one puppy could not handle her excitement and was still climbing all over me, nuzzling her head into my hair while trying to chew on my earring. At that moment I knew that I hadn't come here, to this little house in Pennsylvania, to choose a puppy. The puppy had already chosen me. Flash forward two years later, and my pandemic puppy was one of the best things that ever happened to me. She forced our family to go on walks in the neighborhood and interact with people from afar. She brought happiness to our lives that we didn't know we needed. At the time I didn't know that it was possible for a dog to bring me so much joy. Now I know that by adopting her, we didn't just save her life, we saved mine.

'life is a movie ' but what if you suddenly notice that you are the villain , sounds crazy , right ? but this is the truth if you look at it . From the starting what ever wrong happened was our fault , isn't it? some of you might not agree with this ,but try to think all the incidents of your life . sometimes you let people destroy your life , you know right , you let him destroy you , don't you agree? deep inside in our thought we all know from where it all went wrong . Not many will understand , you know it . You have suffered a lot .Its okay you see because if you know where you did wrong , our soul is here just to get all the experiences . It was a nightmare but wasn't that also a memory? . We don't understand what we haven't experienced . Many are stuck in their lives . There was just a decision wrong but it let you go all down hills , but who don't make wrong decisions . Did they really think what they said ? but you did a lot of overthinking . You want to be exposed , let the storm inside you turn into a flood and destroy everything, you feel like that ? But despite of all this do you really want to leave ? are you sure ? stay for a moment , see the stars , they are ours , if you stay or leave they will shine like this only , rude but true , so why don't just stay for a little longer, if the world was ending today isn't there anything you want to do , isn't there anyone you want to confess to ? don't you want to hug you parents , isn't there is anyone you are thankful to . Yes we have made many mistakes in this life and we will continue to make our life mess , we are a human , but why aren't we accept that, that anger inside you and me is killing us , yes it was our fault , somewhere we also did wrong ! go one your terrace and shout that loud . Cry your eyes out or pass out but accept what happened , don't forget but accept . even if it was a nightmare but it was ours ! you know it hurts and people will never understand but its alright don't wake up , because it yours just go and say sorry , hug or confess to someone you like or do whatever you want to do because from tomorrow on you are going to start a new life with the new personality , just go or may be you will regret it later just think about it , it cause no harm in thinking thank you for reading this! I m grateful , hope you have a wonderful life ! Don't forget to LIKE and COMMENT .. if you like this

I attempted suicide, twice. Don't be perplexed, please. Can I lend you my voice? Pressured or overwhelmed with the ills of life? Or have you made a terrible mistake worthy of public shame and humiliation? Suicide is still not an option. Truthfully, if I had successfully committed suicide then, I probably would have been a forgotten history with no form of relevance. I attempted suicide first after I failed my O'level exams (WAEC) for the fourth (4th) time. Then, to me, it was finished and pointless trying to live. After my 4th failure, I was tired, and instead of me taking a rest, I decided to shut down. Suicide became the only available and valid option for me. The shame and humiliation of writing the exam with teenagers and students I taught and that I was far older than and I was certainly brilliant than they were, but, I still failed in blinding colors, with those teenagers excelling and moving forward. I was tired of remaining stuck for the fourth time now. Was I brilliant? Yes. Did I burn mid-night oils? Yes. Did I get my textbooks and past questions booklets? Yes. Did I attend tutorials? Yes. What went wrong? I had no idea up until now. I had no encouragement from my family then. I rather got rebuked and scolded for not putting in so many efforts as they expected. I was trying, I knew. At age 21, I was still writing my O'level exams and was still failing in blinding colors. It wasn't easy for me, but, only I understood that. I was in a world of my own. Drowning in a deeply disturbing ocean with none to rescue me. For a girl who graduated secondary school at age 15, and was still struggling to pass her O'level exams till age 21, you should imagine how humiliating this could be. I felt God had left me to my fate and that destiny was been unfair to me. That night, after returning from the cybercafe, I gulped down a bottle of Gentian Violet, GV, (a liquid purple ink used on open wounds to prevent germs intrusion and to cure skin ulcers). How I survived to die from that attempt still remains a mystery. On my fifth attempt, however, I finally passed my O'level exams. I never would have had a chance to anchor that success and victory if my suicidal attempts turned out successful then. But, I sure enjoyed the feel of victory and success after so many failed attempts. My second suicidal attempt when I was raped and jilted by my first boyfriend. We dated for two months. Young and naive, I was pressured into giving him a chance by my peers since they had changed boyfriends for more than the third time. He was fourteen years older than I was, even though he lied at the initial stage that he was just ten years older than I then. As a teen who wanted to be in the know-how, and to feel among, I allowed him to kiss me behind vehicles at night (that happened only once though). We met at his place (he lived in the same street with me), and on my first visit, nothing happened. My second and third visits were the same, and to me, I had met an angel, a perfect gentleman. I felt safe and secure around him. My fourth visit was what gave me a huge scar which I still bear till today. He dared and threatened me to lay with him, despite all of my pleas. And against my will and pleasure, he penetrated into me with my hands tied to my back, and legs left hanging up, like an animal about to be castrated. I regretted accepting his proposals that evening. I should have just maintained my stance of 'no relationship' until I was physically, emotionally, and psychologically prepared for it. Peer pressure gave me a huge blow. He had sex with me and also deprived me of the opportunity to feel the assumed 'pleasure' associated with 'sex'. My acclaimed boyfriend and first love raped me that evening without protection and absconded from the area the next day. Since that evening till this moment, I am still yet to lay my eyes on him. I still have nightmares though. I tried careless walking on main roads several times to be knocked down by an oncoming car and die, but, it never happened. I bought rat poison, and I took it, hoping that I'll die, but, I didn't. I have lived with that hurt up until now, and I love the relief I am getting in the inside of me as I write this to you. In all, God wins. No matter what life throws at you, please, suicide should and never be an option. Even if the worst happens, don't stop believing in God and believing in yourself. You should live. You deserve to stay alive, mentally, and psychologically fit. Overcome your past, overcome your hurts, overcome your failure, overcome the heartbreaks, it is a very good step to healing. Your mental and psychological well-being is my concern. Thanks for your time once again.

The thought was racing through my head! Get it out get it to the paper before you say the wrong thing to the wrong person. I rushed to my room half expecting to scream but it was a long sigh of freedom. During CoVid 19 I've experienced isolation, fear and uncertainty. I am one of many people in this world who take prescription medication to ease anxiety and depression.  I take these so I can feel and function like normal daily. However, when you add a pandemic and an insurmountable size of fear it's hard to get out of bed in the morning let alone even take your medication partly in fear you will run out before you can get some more. Since this pandemic has started, it has changed my views to accessibility and what also may be the new normal one day. Throughout these months I have developed things that helped me to cope and slowly overcome the feelings I was facing daily. Number one was writing my feelings! Anytime I felt overwhelmed or anxiety thinking about the absolute worst I would write them out and eventually It became therapeutic! It was helpful during those dark days. I accompanied writing with exercise and a change of scenery every so often, even if it was a walk around my backyard.  Even though times are fickle and I feel so much doubt for my future, I know my story is not finished.

Long ago, my health became detrimental to normal life. First intermittent, now it's more often having escalated at a city shelter. I could no longer continue to work or finish my university studies pending health changes. Shelter food made me choke, vomit or sent me to the loo. It affects me daily. Every meal is sheer torture: I never know if I'll keep it down. A fluoroscopy confirmed that frequent up-chucking has narrowed and scarred my esophagus irreversibly. These dark times must pass. Like a boa constrictor who regurgitates barely-digested animals complete with that sticky gelatinous saliva, my choking is a lengthy painful process. Unfortunately, my constant throwing up isn't seen as an ingenious way of avoiding danger. The turkey vulture purposefully pukes up an entire stomach's wing-heavy contents, so that a rare predator will turn away from the maggot-infested stinky shit and rotting carcasses. My purging is just plain embarrassing and uncontrollable. Like boas who feed on rodents, songbirds, lizards and other small mammals, my normal diet is varied. My favorite meal is fish/seafood, rice/risotto and grilled vegetables. I like chicken, beef, lamb, and pork but can't consume these proteins without painful hard swallows. I can relate to captive boas prone to Inclusion Body Disease characterized by chronic regurgitation and abnormal painful postural positions: their challenges are like mine with Eosinophilic Esophagitis and other serious ills. Like a non-venomous boa, I wrap my coils around my faith. With God around me, I trust that things will improve henceforth. Also coiling myself around my friends, church family and sister, they act as the editors of my life and writings. Like the monogamous vulture, I'm fiercely loyal to those I love. Now others need to stick by me through thick and thin. Dark days must soon pass. Like boas whose habitat is threatened, so is mine, as Toronto's housing crisis means rising costs and limited affordable accessibility. As boas have adapted their perambulation to a straight line, I adjust to the times. Extinction threatens vultures too: they are poisoned by eating dead livestock given medication toxic to them. Shelters have fed me food months-to-a-year-beyond-expiration dates, poisonous to my now-delicate system. By picking dead carcasses clean, unsuspecting environmentalist turkey vultures are on clean-up and recycling duty to prevent the spread of disease. Their acute sense of smell has helped gas companies detect gas leaks as vultures circled attracted to the smell of gas also found in dead animals. Concerned with the environment, I enter contests funding tree plantings, clean-ups, and literacy programs. When migrating or searching for food, vultures congregate in ‘kettles' flocks of several hundred. I feed off the Salvation Army Bible study groups, kettle-crazed too. Like a baby boa, I was immediately independent, somehow discerning appropriate food without instruction. According to my father, I was ‘contrary' from birth refusing to drink my ‘milkies' and spewing up formula. My parents fed me pediatrician-recommended melted ice-cream. Somehow, I survived my first year, lactose intolerance then unknown. Again, I puke up constantly: it's hard to get nutrients into me. I'm not like others. I never thought as others do. Research is in my blood. An independent thinker, I can figure out most things with little or no instruction. Nowadays, Google becomes my first line of defense when faced with an unknown. Similar to boas and turkey vultures I hiss if threatened or encountering social injustice or iniquities upon the vulnerable. My sometimes-biting words are intended to propel others to act. Now I observe people's movements and utterances. Like an eagle-eyed vulture, I wait for the next juicy story. I write stories for contests. I may win one or not. But either way I'm the better for honing my observational, research and writing skills. Contests keep me alive. Everyday I write to achieve self-imposed entry deadlines. Too busy to worry about all the exigent conditions around me, including my own life's horrors, I focus elsewhere. Dark periods will lift someday. Till then, I keep my mind active even when my body fails me. Sometimes I write in floods like the expulsion of a boa's or vulture's stomach contents. Virginia Woolf's stream-of-consciousness. Other times I hover, searching for words. Like a vulture circling its prey from high to low altitudes, I scavenge for details to fuel my stories by people-watching. My prey is not physically dead. Yet like the city's forgotten vulnerable many are dead in prospects, motivations, hopes and dreams. Like the turkey vulture circling overhead, I hope for that tasty tidbit. Rather than with menacing size, I want my writings to stand out shining a light on social injustice. I want to change minds - ‘What ifs” to ‘right now.' I'm different. Boa-Turkey-Vulture Me.

I preach self- love and loving what makes you different! I'd like to think that I practice it well too. But I have one question… Do I have to love the part of me that gets sick? Because when I'm sick I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel. Do I have to love that part of me? Because when I'm sick it feels like I'm drowning in sorrow, pain, and self pity Do I have to love that part of me? Because when I'm in pain I can't even do for myself. Having to be bed-ridden for hours on end. Do I have to love that part of me? Because when I'm sick I'm an emotional wreck, who can't stop crying. But has too much pride to lean on someone. Do I have to love that part of me? Because even as I write this at this very moment in time, I'm crying. Do I have to love that part of me? Because it feels like a worthless battle, that I honestly should become numb to. Do I have to love that part of me? Because I feel like there is no such thing as healing. What is a cure? What is a diagnosis? I love the other part of me. But I just have one question Do I have to love that part of me?