I OVERCAME

For seven (7) years, I lived in self-pity, bitterness, pains, and low self-esteem. If gold medals were to be awarded to ladies/beings who truly are fighters and have fought against their pasts, coming out stronger and better, I deserve to be awarded one, unbiased.

For seven years, I had no voice, neither was there an ear that was ready and willing to lend me its attention and listen to my ordeal, nor a willingness from my side to yell it all out either.

My nature and personality as a shy person, introverted and a victim of inferiority complex really hit me hard in life, it sauced my losing my voice.

Firstly, I am thankful for that force that didn't allow my attempted suicidal attempts to prevail. If it had, the tons of young girls whose source of inspiration I had been wouldn't have heard my story and kept their hopes alive. If suicide had prevailed, I wouldn't even have the chance of penning down my story now, regardless of the fact that it is a contest.

A good number of readers and writers are stereotyped as a 'fact' that when a writer begins telling 'a true-life relating' story, that it is fiction. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, this actually isn't fiction.

I feel more at ease telling this story a million times since it inspires lots of persons and I wouldn't be selfish not to extend this inspirational piece; even you might just be a beneficiary.

Telling this story, the story on how I overcame, the story of how well I fought and prevailed, the story of how I gained my voice, the story of how I am able to be an inspiration to millions of girls all over the world today has being and still is the happiest thing I have found as a hobby as I believe that, each time I get to tell the story is a good time to tell it, since, I am free from the bonds of low self-esteem.

Seven (7) years ago, dad and I hadn’t been in very good terms. As a kid, I was very arrogant, stubborn, rebellious, and mischievous. I was a regular slim-fitter of the meats and fish in my mom's cooking pots. I was a regular street fighter and neighborhood trouble maker. I fought with just anybody I want to, not regarding their age, status, gender, or whatever.

That feeling of not wanting to be intimated as a girl enveloped my sense of reasoning, then. And that was all thanks to my being bullied in my public primary school I attended then. The frequent bullies made me join the clique of the 'bad girls' in primary school then.

It was a public school in Lagos, Nigeria, and so, when I tell you we really did 'bad things' then as primary school students, believe me. For in the same public school, you would find a pupil of 15 years in class, basic two (2). I was eight (8) years old and in basic three (3) when I joined the public school because of my family's financial crisis.

Life in a public school is in much more contrast to that in a private school, and this had its huge effect on me. I changed from the once loving girl to a very arrogant, rebellious, and aggressive girl. What didn't change was my smartness and intelligence. I became defensive when I became a public school student.

Actually, I was a public school student until I finished with my secondary school education.

Seven years ago, the night before dad traveled, I had gotten into a huge misunderstanding with him, a very serious one. A day after he left home for East, we got the news of his death in a fatal automobile accident in the car he drove.

Dad's death opened a new chapter in my life. To my greatest shock and surprise then, I was tagged dad's killer. Sixteen years old innocent me was accused of killing my dad through fetish means. My family also were a part of my numerous accusers. Church members, friends, colleagues, and our community all tagged me as his killer.

Their collective reasons ranged from that, I had a fight with him two nights to his departure, my aggressive and rebellious nature or my manifestations during deliverance sessions in church services were evidenced facts that I actually killed my beloved dad.

I acted like I didn't care until it began to choke me. I couldn't walk freely on the streets without seeing pricking eyes and accusing fingers in my direction.

Do I talk about the time we traveled East (our village) for dad's burial?

Persons I never knew of their existence (I and my siblings hadn't traveled to our village before then), rumor had it in our village then that, I killed my beloved father.

Shamed me didn't even come out for dad's final laying in state. And I guess that pulled another trigger, as the question that reeled out son many lips including my mother was that, "which child sleeps comfortably inside while her late dad is being laid to rest?"

That was what I did actually, I slept while dad was being lowered six feet to rest in peace.

The neglect, disgrace, insults, and stigmatization I faced at home and around my environs after dad's burial and life returned to normal, caused me to stay back late in school after school hours as I was still in senior secondary school.

The same year, traumatized me, didn't study hard, and thus, I had to repeat a class (S.S.S 2). It was hard for me.

That same year was the year I got gang-raped by seven different guys, in turn.

It hurts most that the very day I was raped, mom didn’t notice. No one did. The bloodstains on me were ignored, as they probably thought it was a blood stain from my menstruation.

The times I was depressed or lost in thoughts, mom accused I was thinking of whom to kill next as she called me an “evil child”.

I had lost my self-worth, value, and esteem.

I tried lesbianism, masturbation, alcoholism, smoked cigarette, and also attempted suicide about three times all for the peace of my mind, to forget it or to end it.

Gladly, help came my way.

And thankfully, the self-worth, value, and esteem I had lost by being gang-raped by seven different guys, accused of being my dad's murderer and love-starved by my mom, siblings, families, and friends, gradually, were restored.

I now live my life without being affected by the situations around me.

And now, I also inspire young girls and help them gain their self-worth and esteem.

I overcame.

It still hurts, but, life has taught me to live beyond my pains.

Life has taught me to turn my pains to pills for another's healing and recovery.

My past no longer hurt, although, sometimes, it comes haunting. But, I will keep on living and staying stronger, and hopefully, someday, it would be a story, just a story.

P.S: The story, actually, is fiction.