Letter to my Unborn Child by Anonymous.

baby

How does one pick out a name? I am finding it to be such a task. Funny, I had never thought about it, until well, you came along. How can I personify the most beautiful being in my eyes with a word? This is a topic I will simply have to revisit later.

For now, let me tell you a little bit about mummy; that way I won’t be such a stranger when you are ready to come say hello. Don’t think you will get away with not telling me about you. We have the rest of my life to get to know each other; God willing that will be enough time.

Mummy is currently a Family Physician, I love my work so much. There were times along the way I felt like giving up but thank God I did not, because I could not imagine myself doing anything else. Perhaps my first lesson for you is to always remember that no matter what comes your way, always look to God because with Him all things are possible. My work is very demanding but greatly rewarding, in all senses of the word. However, for you, Mummy would give up anything. You are my world now, so I am quite eager to leave work, to be with you (at least until you’re ready for school). You are so cute, I can tell. I am sure you have Daddy’s cheeks, I think he has strong cheek genes. Hopefully, God had mercy on you and gave you Mummy’s hairline, because Daddy’s hairline, well, you will soon find out for yourself. Yes, Mummy thinks she is hilarious, you will quickly learn that I don’t need anyone to laugh at my jokes because I do a great job all on my own.

I am certain by now you know how much Mummy loves to sing. Ever since the day I found out about you, I have been singing non-stop. I think I know your favorite song now too, because when I sing it, I feel you make such a fuss which I believe is you trying to wiggle and dance. Or it could be you trying to get me to stop singing altogether; let’s go with the former, shall we? Great!

God willing, you are coming to a great loving home filled with joy and much laughter. Mummy loves Daddy very much, and Daddy loves Mummy too. The best part is how much Mummy and Daddy love you. I know lately you have been experiencing several eclipses per day, well that is just Daddy’s not so small head pressed against Mummy’s tummy. He insists he can hear you talking to him when he asks how your day has been going (eerrm should I be worried that my husband may be hearing things?). I can see how excited he is to meet you. He has a new project he is working on right now, your room. Early this week, he banned me from going in, he says he wants it to be a surprise for both you and I (though I am sure I was starting to get on his last nerve always interrupting him by asking for foot massages and back rubs). I know you’ll love your room (but between you and me, I may or may not have a professional interior designer on speed dial). He is the most kind-hearted man I have ever known. I mean lately, I noticed he has been working from home more, especially the closer we get to meeting you. Yes, mummy is always gushing about Daddy all the time. He is so handsome.

Anyways, back to me. I look forward to so many things with you, like our first Christmas (this is Mummy’s favorite time of the year). When you arrive, I will tell you why it is such a special time, but a hint, it all started with a special baby, just like you.

I could go on talking forever, but for now, I will let you get some rest before dinner (it is our favorite, chicken fried rice and chicken wings with carrot cake for dessert). I am going to see if I can corner Daddy (literally because I am having to go through the doorways sideways now….just kidding, sort of) to see if I can squeeze another back rub out of him before he starts working on your room.

To our sweet baby, God bless you and make you all He has destined you to be. We love you.

Her Story, XXXVI

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers who has asked to stay Anonymous

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

My story isn’t a story of strife or anguish
My story isn’t a story of blood shed
My story isn’t a story of loss of a loved one

My story is a story of pain and fear.
Fear of the unknown.
Would I ever be good enough? To anyone?.
I sob as i ask myself.

I try, I swear I do… but nothing is enough, nothing has ever beenn. I write this not this day, with tears burning down my cheeks and streaming like a waterfall while hearing the hurtful words in my head, not by strangers, not by enemies, not by passers by but by those who bore me. ‘You’re a dissapointment to this family’ and ‘I’m dissapointed in you’ are interchangably the stars of the show once the hurling begins.

Each year I always try and delve into something, anything at all that’ll make dem proud but I fail harder each time I try. First of all, I was the best of the best when it came to school work, academically I sas unbeatable, unstoppable, best in all 14 course-works (subjects), 1st position for 8 yrs straight meaning it took me 24 terms to realize that I wasn’t good enough and all  those fancy prices and stuff did them no good, made them no proud so I started doing it for me and it was a downward spiral.

That decision I regret forever.

Then I started doing sports. I have at least a medal in each sport. I do competitions and all and yet again, I was unstoppable, it became unfathomable swimming, running, ballet, gymnastics, even started playing table tennis and then when I hit the track, it was like love at first flight … yet, the hurtful words kept coming ‘I am dissapointed in you’. Sometimes honestly ’cause of those words I look into the mirror and all I see is a constant failure and a laughing stock, a laughing stock because I keep getting up to try again. My musical career was forthcoming and on the rise, at this point I could do no wrong, that’s what I thought, I was coached by the great pastor Kunle Ajayi and I rendered a solo for the General Overseer of the RCCG and all I wanted was a ‘I’m proud of you’.

But then…

It never came, it never ever and it hurts more than anything in the world. it’s not a shocker the next words that came. The series continued nd then an additional phrase was attached to the usual, they started complaining that I’m good academically and domestically useless while in actuality the only thing I was taught to do while growing up was to do the dishes. I fought tooth nd nail to get it right and lo and behold I did, all that was in my head was ‘Nothing could go wrong this time’ and to my disbelief day-after-day, night-after-night, I still hear the words ringing out loud ‘I’m dissapointed in you’ and I’m like I literally became a ‘super-hero’ to keep all this together yet the ‘dissapointing me’ was still forth coming.

I became above all a social outcast whose only mode of fun was visiting people and actually sleeping over which is after I’ve done some work around so they’ll look at me and be proud of where I’m from. I was labelled all sorts for my anti-social ways ‘omo pastor’ and stuff like that. People call me childish till tomorrow because I do every single thing mummy and daddy ask me to do and they find it weird, too weird that they just conclude I’m immature all in this quest to get that ‘I’m proud of you’ . It hurts sometime, but nothing on earth is as hurtful as those words my father would say.
In the quest of being a perfect child…I may not have figured a lot of things such as how to make them proud and how to stop that sentence from coming out, but I’ve learnt a lot and now I figured after so many years that I was on the wrong quest. Stuffing my pillow on my face while the tears penetrate through my pillowcase while I hoped for some miracle to happen that my pains are soaked away, I wonder who I really am I wonder what kept me good this long? I ask myself so many questions, that’s the Quest I am on…
…to make me proud and to make God proud.

Beneath this smile used to be a frown (with wrinkles sef) lol but then things have changed(a bit)…Beneath this smile is an Overtly confident young Overachiever with big dreams she plans on achieving..

Beneath this smile is an emotionally deficit lady with a bigger smile from the heart.

Beneath this smile is someone who took something so harsh and made a positive life out of it.

Beneath this smile is ME.

It took me more than 19 years, 17 medals, 3 honorariums’ for me to realize that nothing on earth is more rewarding than hearing God’s voice with the heavens’ open with his voice in a baritone saying ‘This is my daughter in whom I am well pleased”…:)

What’s beneath your smile?

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  ’Her Story, XXXVII’ by an Anonymous writer

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Her Story, XXXII

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers, who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Hi, people! Though, I have a wordpress blog, I’ve never written anything because i don’t know what to start with. So, I’m not a writer and I apologise in advance if this story seems all over the place (not well-arranged). I came across this blog accidentally, but I’m glad I did because maybe I’ll finally get the inner peace I need by sharing my story.

I am heartbroken and no, it’s not by a boyfriend or just any guy but by my father.

I’m an only child and this is the reason: my father cheated on my mother for 12 years before eventually marrying another woman. He claimed he wanted another child. My mother has tried her possible best to get pregnant again and even had to undergo a surgical operation. My father is the same person who wouldn’t go to the hospital because “he knows he’s alright”… When I was 12, he told me to my face that if I do good or not, it’s my problem because he’ll soon have another child… Not bragging but I’m the kind of child some parents wish for because I performed very well in school. Anyways, i digress.

Years later, his wife is still child-less. Then, early last year, the transfer of aggression began. He hated me and my mum, as if we are the cause of his wife’s barrenness. He eventually packed out of the house but comes once in a while to cause series of problems but the final one was when he came to the house at night and he poured boiling soup on my legs ’cause I said I can’t go with him and I’d rather stay with my mum (who has catered for my needs)… What if it was my face????

It was like a dream and that was the end of it all because my mum couldn’t take it anymore and neither can I. The incident made me hate guys and I can’t let any guy close even if I like him, I always think he’d end up like my father.

I am fatherless without having a dead father.
I wish I didn’t have the recurring nightmares.
I wish I had my father back.

Even with the much love I get around me, it’s still not enough. I’m not happy but I have to stay strong for my mum.
A friend told me recently that I smile a lot but Beneath My Smile is a broken-hearted girl who wishes for a better life.

I hope this gets published because I think it’s going to help me overcome the pain in my heart.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXXIII’ by an Anonymous writer.

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Her Story, XXXI

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers, who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Life they say means different things to people.
To me, until recently it meant pain, hardship, loneliness, sorrow . In short, it was meaningless to me. *wipes tears*.

Last out of four lovely children, divorced parents. I grew up with my mum, while the rest grew up with my dad. How come? – mother was 8-months or so pregnant with me when she and father had the last argument and she moved out. Till today, all I know about their breakup was from my mother’s side of the story as I have never spoken to my dad. I am gonna be 20 this year.

I grew up without a father, I never felt his absence. He was never there. My parents got divorced a year after I was born. Mum left with us 4 children, but after a year or so returned the other 3 because she couldn’t cope with 4 children at the time (having not her own place to stay and all) and kept me ’cause I was still very little. So the rest grew up with father&came to visit on holidays. I never saw my father cause he never asked about me. Mum is a disciplinarian, since he didn’t ask, she never let me get in touch.

I am the definition of broken, faithless yet faithful, alone, but full of potentials. Lol. I have what people call ‘blessed hands’. :). No relationship whatsoever with my mother as we never agree, she grew up pouring her frustration on just me (I was always the one around). LooL several times, she told me to go and die- that she had other children (first time, was when I was 6). When I was 8 she told me my father wouldn’t have loved me ’cause I was too stubborn.

This is like opening old wounds for me, cause now, I am in tears. So I’m gonna stop here for now & tell you a short story.

Until July 2010, I had set eyes on my father just once and even this was in the night (when I was less than 5), I bet he barely saw my Colgate teeth as I was so excited to see my dad for the first time. But, my mum shut me up and placed me to sit well in the car. I was hurt, ’cause he didn’t even say hi back, wave back or complain about my mum telling me to give it a rest. Other times when my other siblings came to visit, I’d go through their phones to see if I could steal my father’s number. Lol i did succeed , gave him a call several times and every time he said ‘hello’ i’d hang up. ^_^

July 2010, I had come to Lagos to stay with my cousins for a week, my brother worked with my dad and I knew one of his work outlets. I went there with my uncle’s driver leaving my uncle with the belief that my brother knew I was gonna be there, knowing fully well he wasn’t even at work that day (I went in faith, hoping my dad would be there)… My heart raced as I approached this particular office and saw a white jeep out front (been told what he drove). I came down, hoping this would be some sort of Nigerian film. Lol. I walked in and one worker called me by my elder sisters name (striking resemblance) , I smiled and said no ‘i am looking for her Jnr sister’…. all of them wondered, whispering. I was directed to another office (my dad’s). But before I stepped in (not knowing it was my dad’s) my second sister came out and dragged me in anger by the hand, yelling ‘what the hell are you doing here?! , I am sure mummy put you up to this’. Tears rolled down my cheek, I got back into the car, shaking. My dad came out ,about to enter his car. I told the driver to reverse, I looked at him in adoration, very handsome at 50, tall, dark ,yuppee looking.

I was satisfied.

I told the driver to move and when we drove into traffic, the driver called me and said ‘madam, this man wey dey for this white car dey look you like im sabi u’ I turned to the left, it was my dad, staring at me like he was trying to solve the hardest math he had lost the formula to. Lol oh my! did I smile and nod at him, but he was confused and looked away. I went back sad, angry and happy. My dad didn’t look bad or however they painted him to be, he was TDH yo! Lol, 😦 but he didn’t recognise me, his last born.

I have never … 😥 been happy for a week continuously in my whole life. I gave up, I said to myself  ‘if no ones gonna help you, then help others‘.

That is how I stay happy.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXXII’ by an Anonymous writer.

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Her Story, XXX

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers, who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

You see…

Life is a beautiful mess. People will shit on you and YOU must pack it. How you put yourself together is what matters the most. There’s a Yoruba proverb that goes….

Eni to yagbe o kin ranti, sugbon, eni to ko, o’kin gbagbe
He who deposits feaces does not remember but he who packs, never forgets.

My story.

My father was a “big man” at the time I was born but he was not legally married to my mother. You would think she benefited at least a little from mothering a child for him but that didn’t happen. My mother worked hard for everything. Practically nothing was given to her on a platter of gold as should have been expected. It is safe to say I knew the hard life.

My mum would go to work early in the morning and leave us with our neighbor’s houseboy. She couldn’t exactly afford a nanny at the time so after school, I and my sister would go and stay over till she came back home. I think our neighbor had twin daughters. I don’t remember clearly.

All I remember is that at age 6, I was raped by this boy.

I knew something terrible had happened to me that would change my life forever, but nobody said anything. Nobody noticed anything strange with me and so I was quiet. Life continued.
Life soon got better for us all. My father started to acknowledge us and was now paying for our secondary school fees. We came over for holidays to see my dad. He lived in a very big house now.

Money sweet o.

He had house keepers and a young man who did the laundry too. Sometimes I wouldn’t feel like going back to Lagos. For what? Stay in a 3 bedroom flat? Although my mum was the owner of the house in Lagos, she had to rent out two of the “self-contain” under our own flat. That wasn’t much of a big house to me.

On one of our trips to Abuja, I realized the laundry man was getting too close to my sister. I warned her. Like he sensed I did, I had to take the blow for her. Only God knows if he hadn’t already ruined my sister…
At 12, I was abused as a child, for the second time.

Yet again, I didn’t speak. Speak to who? I lived like nothing happened. At some point I’d get really depressed. I knew something bad was really happening but I wouldn’t talk. I feared the stigmatization. If I dared to speak, people would address me as: “The girl who was raped.”

The next questions would be
Where was her mother?
Same mother who did everything to make life comfortable for us? I couldn’t live with the pain. I tormented the laundry man till he gave up his job. I was rude in every way… It was the least I could do.

I was rounding up with secondary school when I came across the word “Orgasm.” To the best of my knowledge, the dictionary didn’t do a good job explaining. All I knew was that a doctor would explain better to me. The school’s doctor was a very good friend of mine at the time. A handsome young man, who just got married, wife was pregnant, had a great job, very approachable, always willing to help, very nice man.
I asked him what orgasm meant and he said
Well, there’s the theory and practical” He started.
After the theory, you may not still understand but with the practical, it’s straightforward
Like a lamb led to slaughter, I put myself in harm’s way. I was only 15… going on 16.

Till tomorrow comes, my parents know nothing about this. I do not intend to speak up either, not because I am afraid but because the stigma it brings is just enough trauma. These incidents have psychologically changed my life in ways indescribable but still, I find solace in making others happy. Smiling every time I can like I have no worries but indeed, the pain beneath is beyond this world.

My life may not be perfect but I do believe my accidents have made me to this point. There is joy in making others happy even though I rarely ever get that back.
Hi! I’m yet to be 20 but I believe there’s something more in life for me. Oh look! I just graduated from the university too!

NEMS.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s ’Her Story, XXXI’ by an Anonymous writer.

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Her Story, XIV

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Hey Funto,  I have been following the stories on beneath the smile and I thought I should share mine.

I grew up in the north, in a very strong Christian home, My dad, a pastor and my mom was the head of Sunday school. I am the only girl with four brothers, I’m the second child. I remember one day, my mom saw my little journal and read it out to my brothers and they all looked at me like I was a sinner, that day she said a lot of things to me that really hurt me and what was there sef? i liked a boy in school, so? My elder brother would take down any of his friends that try to ‘set p’ with me. it was too much and I hated it. I love my family, I really do, but it was just not easy being the only girl.

October 2007, my mom suddenly fell really ill at that time, she was having slight issues with my dad, I remember them shouting at each other every night. Her illness got really bad and we didn’t know what it was. At first we thought she was just depressed because she was denied visa when she really wanted to travel and that spoilt a lot of our plans.

One faithful afternoon I just got back from school and saw a black jeep in front of my house, my mom had packed her things and my dad was begging her not to travel, she wouldn’t listen she said she needed to heal and none of us had time to take care of her.

She left.

December 2007, my mom was still in Ogun state, sagamu and we were planing to travel to see her, coupled with the fact that there were crisis in the north at that time and we couldn’t write our exams. I was so happy to see my mom because I really missed her. We traveled on the 17th December 2007…we all spoke to her that morning and she was so happy! But as we approached Ibadan we kept calling but we couldn’t reach her. we slept at Ibadan that night and planned to see her the next morning. Same thing happened in the morning she still didn’t pick up. We all had our baths and packed our stuff ready to go. My dad went out of the house to get a call when he came back inside he just sat down. My little brother who was just 7 kept asking “Daddy, when are we going to see Mummy?”. My dad just looked at us and said ‘soon’. All of a sudden we were asked to come out of the room to the sitting room… I heard people crying and the first thing I thought of, was my grandmom was dead, I looked around and saw she was there, crying, I was confused.

My uncle spoke for a while and finally he said:

“Your Mother, is Dead!”.
I Screamed “NO!!!!!”

I have heard of death, but I never really understood what it was. That day, my dad said we should just pray for her. I prayed like i have never have… I prayed… I touched Heavens…God.. I really prayed.

My Mom never woke up.

As the years went by my dad did his best to make us feel loved, he tried his best to be both parents to us. Things were not just easy for me, I was the only female being in the house. I found it difficult to have female friends, any friend I choose people would say she’s a bad influence on me. I hated being treated as a boy.

Like, I think differently. My emotions are more heightened and many other things. i just didn’t like it.

Sooner than I ever wished, I lost my virginity. I was really sad, i couldn’t talk to anyone about it, gradually my sex life worsened and I still couldn’t talk to anyone.
Majorly because i didn’t want to let anyone down or have people pity me or judge me.

As i grew up I learnt to keep many things to myself, I smile and act like everything is fine even when nothing is but I hate being moody I just try to be happy.

Hiding everything, beneath the smile.

• • •

Do not just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  ’Her Story, XV’ by @AuntyDerpina

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Her Story, XII

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

Hi,

I’m not a writer so this may seem a bit amateur but whatever. You’ll get the story anyway.

I’m Shirley (not my real name) and I’m from an average Nigerian home. I have 3 sisters, no brother. My childhood was amazing, we were given almost anything we wanted. Attended the best schools and all.
But I’ve always been different.. Always wanting more and I have always been alone. I still am. I’ve never been a loner per say. I’m beautiful.. With a very good body. So I have loads of ‘friends’ and all the male attention you can think of. But that’s where it ends. I never feel loved.. Or special. That’s why I crave that feeling of being in love; being wanted. That’s why I fall for the wrong guys and get hurt.

That’s why I lost my virginity to a 35-year-old man at a tender age of 15. He said I was like a daughter to him. We met on Facebook and he invited me to his place. The first time he wanted to have sex with me I was able to stop him. But the next time was a different story. He had his way with me. I felt disgusted and dirty. I think I lost something more than my virginity. Myself, maybe.

I dated more than a couple of boys after that.. And I slept with all of them. I even slept with some I never dated. I didn’t have any respect for my body. I felt I was dirty already so what the hell?. I even slept with a man older than my father. I fell in love twice. My heart got broken twice. The 1st time, I was naive. I was dating a popular playboy, hoping I had changed him but alas I was just another play toy. The 2nd time was worse. It left me broken. He got away with my heart, my self-esteem. He almost got away with all of me. We dated for 6 months. It was six months of heartache, suspicion, deceit. He had a serious relationship. I was just a side attraction.

He had his way with me and he had it good. I found out about his real girlfriend on a social network. Trust me, that sh** hurts. I put on a ‘I don’t care’ facade about the tragic end to the relationship. My friends still believe I wasn’t hurt. But for weeks I cried myself to sleep every night. I was never good enough for the people I loved. I was only good enough to be the side chick, the one who’s meant for just sex and not loving. After this, I built walls. I shut everyone out. I’m in my second year in a private university. I’m always dressed well. I’m regarded as one of the ‘hottest in my set’ my grades are good. I have lots of friends, I’m popular and a lot of boys approach me. But when I see a boy interested in me, my brain tells me ‘Run, Shirley, he wants to use you, and leave you

I push everybody away now. I’m so lonely.

I seem like a happy person.. always smiling. But beneath that smile is a world of pain. I love keeping to myself. Locked alone in my room, and just crying. Crying tears of frustration.. crying for the love I crave.. The love I have never found.

I’m dating again. I’ve told my boyfriend there’ll be no sex and he agreed. He says he’s in love with me. But these walls I have built haven’t let me fall for him yet.. maybe I will. And maybe this is love.

But till then..

Beneath my smile.. I’m a damaged girl and I’m all alone.

My smile is my shield.

My mask.

• • •

Don’t just read, say a prayer.

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Tomorrow’s  ’Her Story, XIII’ by Tinnie

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Her Story, X

Thanks for waiting. In case you missed the preview, find it here, so you know what to expect. If you are not sure what Beneath the Smile is about, please check the preview out.

The project aims at looking beyond the smiles of the next person, to see what’s really beneath, what’s really going on? How people really need help and won’t bother saying anything about it but would rather cover it up with a façade of strength, with a smile.
It’s time to look beneath the smile and lend a helping hand. People are going through real things, these are their stories.

We hope that you’d be kind enough to leave a comment. Your feedback is important to us.

Today’s story was sent in by one of our readers who has asked to stay Anonymous.

This is her story.

Please Read.

The ‘Beneath the Smile’ Project.

behind the smile

I will like to remain anonymous… The story I am about to tell you.. I have shared with very few.

My story might be scattered… I do hope you can understand.

Nothing I write here is fictional… Just the truth from my heart.

My parents got separated in my Jss1. I watched my dad cheat on my mom; beat my mum; and many other things. My mum left and things got worse for my dad. My dad would leave us at home to starve. No attention… Nothing.

School was my only escape, the people there were the only real thing to me. I finished from secondary school and got admitted to a private university. My first year in the university. I got raped by my best friend’s cousin. We had just finished exams and we went visiting.

… I blame myself

I learned to survive on my own from a tender age. I keep things to myself and deal with them the way I want. The only person I have depended on in my life was my boyfriend in school then. We broke up when we graduated. I guess I was so much of a burden to him.

Heartbreak.. I never want to experience again.

I’ve been in different relationships from then on.. Trying so hard to fill the void in my life. Void created by my family.. Yet I am still yet to succeed.

A lot of people will tell me to turn to God. Depend on Him. I just don’t know how to do that, because all my life I have depended on ME. I find it so hard to do that.

*Sigh*

I’m a sad girl.. I suffer from low self-esteem; I envy women that are doing well.

One day my dad told me “Because you are so slim when you get to your husband’s place you’ll be rejected because you look sick and no one wants a semi dead girl” … and many other awful things that I can’t get out of my head.

Everyone who follows me on twitter, see me as an exciting person… That’s just a mask.. A very good mask.

I need help..

I’m broken.. Sometimes I think I’m beyond repair.

But you’ll never know ’cause…

I smile a lot;

laugh a lot;

joke a lot;

no one knows…

So.. I guess this is me…behind my smile..

Behind my smile is a lost 28-year-old ‘girl’ who knows she needs to be found…

…but doesn’t know how, and when.

• • •

A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS?

N.B. The project goes on with Friday’s  ’His Story, VI’ by @IamNiyiOkeowo

You can still send in your own true stories to obafuntay@gmail.com

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column to follow the project, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)