Tolani Ophelia Adesina.
17-year-old Nigerian girl struggling with the loss of her parents years ago, old scars that have been repeatedly picked at and have never had the chance to heal. Finally escaping her controlling and abusive 'uncle', after yea...
"I remember what you told me Said I wasn't made right Said I wasn't cut right That's why I'm so lonely, mm"
"But I guess that makes me undesirable Guess that makes you so attractive, oh Guess that makes me undesirable, oh Guess that makes you so attractive, oh yeah
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Endless white walls. Blinding buzzing lights. Continuous computer beeps. Squeaky gurneys rolling back and forth. Click-Clack of heels. Ambient noise.
My leg bouncing up and down non-stop. My eyes racing across each side of the room at any little movement. My throat becoming increasingly arid by the second. I feel as if I'm being swallowed whole by the ground beneath me.
I'm nervous.
Why am I nervous? I've done this countless times, hospital visits have become habitual for me.
I'm ok. I'm fine. Everything will be fine. Everything will be o-
My breaths become strained. I need air. I need oxygen. I need to breathe. I need to breathe.
"Ms Tolani Adesina to room 150".
I need to breathe.
" Is Ms Tolani Adesina here, Dr Gates is waiting for you in room 150"
A hand on my shoulder abruptly snaps me out of my panic, I look up to see my uncle looking down at me with a worrisome expression. I give him an Oscar-worthy smile.
I hate having to act like I'm okay in front of my family when I'm anything but okay. I want to shout and scream, I want to cry and confess. I want to share my emotions, and how I've felt for these past 7 years. How these years have messed me up, how he has messed me up.
But I can't. I physically cannot bring myself to do it, when I try to force the words out of my throat I feel as if I'm about to hurl out the contents of my stomach. Sick is too simple a word for how I feel.
I'm a stranger, infiltrating this perfect family. Ruining and staining them with my issues and insecurities.
So my only way is to act. To pretend. To fake. Fake it till you make it they say. Fake it till you can no longer take it. Fake it till it breaks you.
Until it breaks you. Until you are irreparable. Until all people can do is stare and grieve. Grieve your broken pieces. Stare at you in dismay and pity.
So that's what I'll continue doing until it breaks me. I'll act, and maybe one day I'll be able to remove my mask. To drop the facade I've been upholding for years.
"Are you ok Nini?" My uncle's deep voice vibrates out of his chest, as concern laces his face.
I simply nod because I know that if I speak my voice will betray me. Trying to wrap my head around the fact that I've just had a panic attack.
