The Nothing I Know About Suicide

In that single moment, every single breath killed me slowly. With shut eyelids, my eye craved the darkness within but it was too much a load to bear. It had already taken more parts of my being and what was left of me was a rump of me that breathed to live. In the beginning, it was not so.

It was my second year and I was determined to find a spot on the high table amidst those I envied. I marched to school every single day with the wind behind me charging me to win the day. We were told in secondary school that if we made it out of there, we would be victorious as life got better but it wasn’t so. Something was eating me up from the inside but I kept the outside shiny enough to get lost in the crowd of other shinny pretends too. Whenever someone said things were hard with dropping shoulders, slouched backs, and moving lips, I mocked their confession not because things were easier for me but because I was pouring my blood and sweat on this hard path. I didn’t want to find out it wouldn’t be worth it so early. Just like every well-raised Christian Nigerian, I confessed, not with much belief rather out of habit, “It is well! God will help us!” Determined to make my sacrifice worth it, I plugged on to the faith of the brethren. Not a Thomas Edison, I was sure another failure would kill me instantly so no threshold insight to accommodate countless failures. This time I needed certainty that all was well. In my desperation, a thousand birdies told me “if you sowed more seeds in church, you’d come out in flying colors” “if only you read till daybreak, you’d wake up with so much comprehension” “If only you cut your hair just like every proper science student you’d see you’d make it there.” Patience has always been my virtue so I adjusted to all the suggestions and waited patiently for the end to justify the means. As days went by and moments flipped from day to day, the end arrived and I was looking forward to my reward badge.

That day I walked to the board, every step brought to mind a painful sacrifice made in hope for a proudful present. I walked past one of the slouched back girls with tears in her eyes and a snort in her nose. I stopped to sympathize but kept moving when I remembered she had confessed “negatively” from the very beginning. I reached the result board and while others incessantly searched for the result of other people. I incessantly looked for mine. I avoided using my finger to look for mine on the board as I know I was surrounded by so many a cloud of witnesses. I saw my number and as I followed the row every box stung me. Out of 13 courses, I did that semester, I could only claim 1A and 1C and the rest were my waste.

I heard someone ask me “How was it?” I walked away convinced that everybody around me could see through me and every conversation within and without would be a mockery. I mocked myself the most. I mocked my effort not knowing why it was convenient to look at myself heavily through the lens of failure thinking If only I did something extra even though I knew I had done my absolute best.

I couldn’t even imagine resigning to the spiteful words of my parents who may be due to the legacy of their upbringing, or love for me or both never failed to play the tough love game. I wanted to become a pharmacist so I could prove I could win at something. I needed to win in a game that was measured worthy. Then I came up with the only way out of this mess. I knew nothing about suicide but I knew something had changed within me and that was the only door that seemed left open. That was the beginning of the end of me.