When a woman is in love, a lot of times she doesn’t see the red flags
When a woman is in love, a lot of times she doesn’t see the red flags. She will see the disrespect yes, but it will be coated in flowers, chocolates, and shuttering honey covered orgasms. The man will suck the life out of this woman while curling her toes with mind boggling orgasms with his tongue that’s too good yet laced with dangerous lies and plain deceit, betrayal and disrespect.
This woman, no matter how high you climb to shout the truth in her face will not see it. To be free, she has to be free from herself, for herself and by herself. Otherwise you will be stringing to a goat. trauma bonding is a thing. Stockholm syndrome is also a thing.
Dick and everything in between is so good you can’t understand why the hell people are telling you to leave. Go where when pain is your home and you don’t know how to survive outside of it? Chesa.
Omondi was everything that was wrong with me, yet I’d go to the end of the world for him. He was my poison and I loved consuming it. Anyone who knew us and told me he was no good for me, I looked at with bad eyes, and wished them an itchy backside. What are red flags when the man you love tells you his life starts and ends where yours starts, then goes on to show you that you ain’t shit while telling you, that he loves you more than anyone and anything in the world, in the same breath? Ey! Love is love, no? Toxic love is addictive.
I used to have painful periods, the myth that the pain stops when you give birth? It is not a myth, mine stopped. The pain disappeared with child birth. For three days every month, I’d vomit, and diarrhoea, and look like I was about to die from a bad infection. One time, it happened that on the week that I had my period, I also had Hpylori. I was in pain I can’t even start to explain, every pore of my body was screaming with pain. I was at work, I crawled from my desk and went to the dining area and slept on a bench, I was floating between painful consciousness, painful darkness and distance voices.
My boss then, bless his cow, he was Indian, so yeah, bless his cow. He said that I be taken to Nairobi West, I was there for a few days. In those few days, my small bro was by my side, he was in campus then. Omondi was always there as well. On the day that I left the hospital, Omondi told my bro not to worry, he said that he got me , and got me he did. He said he was going to take care of me. We left the hospital, on Mombasa Road just before airtel, his phone rung, and because it was connected to his car, it sorta picked and was on speaker.
“Omondi, bado unalinda hako kagonjwa kako ama unakuja nipike fish?” (Omondi, are you still taking care of your small patient or should I cook fish?)
I was too sick to fight, I was weak and pale and everything in between. He got me to the house, cooked a big jug of porridge for me and went to eat fish. He came back the following day at night. Did I leave his black aess, no! In fact, the following week we went to Kisumu and I was singing ooooiuuunyinyo in his bed, in funny styles that almost broke my spinal code. Forgive me father for being unkind to myself.
The list of women who knew I existed in his life yet took him was long. They helped him to disrespect me, me who was loved so much as a child by both my parents. Sometimes when I remember tne things I did or not did with that gender that killed his friend for his wife, I dey tire. I dey cry. May I never be that girl who was love with Omondi in my life ever again. May God slap me everytime I glance at a man like Omondi. May my ancestors slap the daylights out of me, and strangle me if I ever entertain such a person. Aiiii. Send me consolation wine because suddenly I have chest pain.
