Here I am crouched down ,on the floor of my kitchen picking up the pieces of the ceramic plates I was given by my mother on my wedding day. I look down at the smashed pieces and know they can never fit into place or be as beautiful as they were ,even if I try to piece them back with the strongest adhesives.

 The china plates are forever smashed and broken like my soul. I wander away in my thoughts only to feel warm liquid spill down my fingertips…I then realized I cut myself,I become mesmerized by the color and shade of my blood and how accustomed I have become to seeing it flow. I bring out my dairy from the kitchen drawers  I keep them in and record this cut but instead of putting my entry under its  usual header ,I record it as self inflicted cause this one hasn’t been caused by Tunji . Tunji ,the  only love of my life,who paints a picture of our beautiful illusion of what we call a marriage on social media.

Last week I was his woman crush Wednesday (WCW). I saw it on Instagram with my fist covered black eye. My husband even put in efforts into the post and captioned it …”to my Olamide…God created you for me..#wcw…”

I couldn’t help but smile through the pain ,of course I was created for you Tunji,I perfectly know when he needs  to  punch my face, I know when I have to run to safety but most importantly I know about the beautiful strength of makeup and how it can help conceal the biggest scars ,you cannot be the wife of Mr CEO and be spotting a black eye at a red carpet event…No totally unacceptable!!

Tunji came at a time he was really needed , my mother hooked us up,her daughter needed a big man husband and Mr CEO needed a beautiful trophy wife. I never really learnt to take a stand in life ,if mother said yes, I echoed it. Two months ,two dirty slaps and some nasty bruises after meeting Tunji, he just walks into my home to inform me that we are getting married and my mother and him already picked a date for the wedding .Tunji always being the social media savvy guru ,planned a social media worthy proposal with the lights ,roses ,picked out my dress for it and made me take pictures of my ring to post online. The Abiola’s  deserved a  “Bellanaija ” wedding with all the pomp and pageantry and we got it. We drank and danced to our union . I never knew I drank to my slavery.

Two years with him ,I know what days I get a fist ,a kick or plates tossed at me. However,i have a diary where I have learnt to actually use my voice to express my scars and pains . I need a haven to record my miscarriages and fractures. This diary is my record of the “Joys of marriage“. In the  words of my mother “a woman is nothing without her husband “and my experience is what makes my marriage what it is.

So yes ,like my Ceramic plates I am broken,smashed and beyond repair . Just waiting for the day a punch would lead to my final moments of pain and grant me eternal rest. On that  day I hope my diary gives me a lemonade worthy voice .

Written By Dolapo Omotoso

Published By Great Opara

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