It’s not the doctors- humans just do fail

I have this annoying thing; I take other people’s emotions, and it gets worse the older I get. The irony is that I cannot tell when I am having an extremely emotional experience until much later, in this case, a year plus later. But sometimes, it is evident, a LOT of alcohol, and tears, and locked up in my room. In the same way, there was a notification on my laptop of extreme UV light until there wasn’t, and then later, you’re like, ah, cancer.

The trigger

I nearly died a year ago, and it wasn’t COVID. It would have been due to negligence. Oxygen levels in your blood are happy at 95+ percent. I won’t even google that. Later the levels were 96 consistently. That morning, before 6 am, I was at a friend’s, and I called my dad and told him I couldn’t breathe. At least properly. I could feel the onset because of my breathing… and after the call, I fell to the ground. I remember sounds around me a few seconds later, “help me carry her,” and then being in the car.

I was lucky. I need you to understand that. I had a friend who was 1) Awake at the time and 2) Acted fast enough.

And no, doctors still don’t know what caused it.

Also, a special fuck you to XYZ Hospital for discharging me only to find myself in another hospital overnight because COVID was the money maker. I was brought there, unable to walk and on oxygen. She wore a beige hijab and told me not to miss my bipolar medication again. I am not calling out her religion, but that asshole stunt. And also, the hospital for wanting to admit me until my dad fought for me to get a rapid test. It wasn’t COVID. I was unwell.

On the way to the nearest hospital, I could hear them but could not respond. I was aware that I wasn’t seeing but looking through what were my eyes.

Shout out to the next shitty nearer Xyz hospital at the time for putting an intern in my case when I was brought in, barely unable to walk.

It started with my fingers going numb; it was about 6 am. I am cold. I am on a hospital bed at this time. Then my feet. They are cold, but I can’t feel them. Then my lips, I am barely there. I was later told they had gone blue. I am black-skinned. I talk funny and tell my friend, “Tell my parents sorry, and I love them.”

Again, I was there but not there. It’s like using binoculars. I am staring at the ceiling. I hear, “Her oxygen is 69…” I hear, “The oxygen tank is empty???!!” I hear, “carry here to this bed; this tank can’t reach there.”


I remember there was more light in the room when I came around. My parents had arrived. Calls are being made. Ambulance. XYZ hospital. I was wheeled in.

I was in and out of consciousness for 3 hours (I think) before I was deemed okay enough to walk myself to that bitch of a doctor who deemed quetiapine a reason my body lacked oxygen. I had tried to OD on that medication during a depressive episode, and it didn’t work. I was brought in an ambulance, and it took me a couple of hours, maybe 5, to be able to walk, only to end up back in another hospital. Dizzy. Nearly fell. A nurse and my dad were there to hold me up while waiting to see a doctor.

Shout out to Doreen Gakii. Thank you, my old friend, along with Nimaro Loyol, for telling me, “We got your near-death selfie from the ambulance, but take your ass back to the hospital.” What? Gallows humor. Look it up. I was sure I was dying, but sentimental to friends, not quite. They know I love them.

Where I am coming from

How many people die from a wrong diagnosis? I had a cousin, Kamore, who visited us to see an optician because he couldn’t see well. KCSE was coming. He needed to see his papers. One year in Kenyatta hospital from an inoperable tumor in his brain. He was sent home to die. Doctors in his hometown this whole time just said he needed glasses. His head and face were disfigured when he was visiting before ending up in hospital.

On the day he died, he was sharing a room with his mom in the village, and she said at about 4 am, there about, she felt super-hot. Less than 2hrs later, she had changed his clothes and was on her way to the police station to file a report.

How many people have died from a wrong diagnosis???

I am tired.

PS: I never met you, and I am moaning with your people. I hope it was painless. And know that you are loved. As your spirit left the room and you couldn’t signal for help, know you were loved. I am sorry this world failed you.

The apology that will never come, and how it’s ruining your future

I did something absolutely foolish about three months ago. I had a good reason for doing it, but it was still quite foolish. Does that make sense? It did at the time but nearly cost me a beautiful relationship.

For this next paragraph is heavy, but I’ve since healed from it. It was a painful teachable moment that I chose to use to empower myself and others.  

Context: I didn’t realize how important hearing “sorry” was for me. Until I messed up.


You’re having pillow talk with the best thing- sorry- human- sorry- man that has ever happened to your life. You are both committed to open and honest communication, no matter what it is. As two emotionally mature grown-ups, you’ve set up boundaries and guardrails so that the other person feels safe talking about what goes on in the deepest or darkest corners of their minds and hearts.

And then he asks, “Why did you go to his place?”

The case of the ex

From where I am seated, I am owed an apology, not just from Confused Brother in Mother’s Armpits, but from the other armpits he’s been under. My mental health was used to desecrate my character so that they don’t have to be accountable for the bullshit they put me through.

By the time, you, a woman who’s also been in a shit relationship and went back home to your parents with a child, tells me, “Here we wash our onions before we cut them” it becomes very apparent that there are conversations going on in that household about me behind my back. The total lack of respect for me as an individual.

Rant: The fuck you think raised me? What are you saying about my mother? Do you even know me? What the fuck you mean you have to wash onions after peeling them and before you cut them? The fuck you think I am stating such commonsense bullshit to me? What? Because I have been to Thailand and the closest you’ve been to a plane is JKIA to pick someone? See that? Assumption. But you suddenly think that I am too bougie to understand the art of cutting onions as a Kenyan and Kikuyu? What? Is it the schools I went to and how I speak and my career that has you so intimidated that you’d pull that line on me? Fucking hell.

Also, there were carrots, tomatoes, cabbage etc. that needed chopping but let’s give her the onions. Like a real OG, I did not tear up. Also their counter is lower than ours so that helped lol

Oh! And his mother looking me up and down and sneering whenever she saw me. Offering breakfast and snacks that featured barely ripe and clearly not fit for human consumption watermelons and stale peanuts that even her son didn’t touch.

Or throwing sachets of coffee on the table, spite and disgust on her face because, like her son, I take coffee and not tea.

And now to the son. How a conversation about me not wanting to cook turns into a lecture about how I don’t respect his parents is beyond me. I don’t like your mother, deal with it. It is not about respect, it is about her behavior, and where I come from, we don’t kiss ass. I was told by a good friend that I have balls of steel. No, what I have is self-respect. I don’t give a flying fuck who you are. My parents are the yardstick I use for respect and boundaries. If they respect me, and, you don’t guess what’s going to happen?

You will be featured on this blog as an example of shit not to put up with.

Boundaries, those are important, but he had none with his parents. At 31, they would call him every morning. And no, those conversations did not end with “I love you” but more of, what else can we place on this donkey of a son that we have that is willing to do anything for us because the other one doesn’t want shit to do with us?

I now respect his brother for all the times he did not pick up his phone or was offline. He didn’t want to deal with all that shit. Or so I think. I don’t know. He could have been fighting his private demons that his family couldn’t understand.

Why am I saying all this?

Because everything changed when I went to a psychiatric facility and them realizing it was my second time. I still remember this stupid question, “Why didn’t you tell me you had an issue?” Because taking medication while I was with you and saying I am bipolar was  just something I did for fun…

Here’s the thing. They were nice to me before that. And then the monsters came out to play.

This is me making it clear to people like them that being a shitty human to a person, once you learn their mental health status, makes you the scourge of the earth. And a hearty fuck you for that.

I am already going through shit. I am dealing with parents who hardly understand what I am going through but are doing their best even if it means praying and soaking me in anointing oil. I am already dealing with a sibling convinced I am a toxic bitch, and another, quite ironically, thinks I am dramatic. I am dealing with self-hatred, and fighting not to end my life on a bad day. I have panic attacks and chronic anxiety, along with depression. And then you treat me like shit over faulty mental wiring I have nothing to do with.

Another hearty fuck you.

I am sure my parents and whoever else benefited are enjoying that KES170,000 (ish) dowry down payment they made. And yes, I found that out more than a year after the separation. Let’s call it, “my bad!” money.

Back to me trying to sabotage the relationship that grounds me…

Also, the relationship that helped me not end up in rehab. We shall talk about the 5 bottles of liquor that used to fill my dustbin every week some other time.

So I took my foolish ass to his place thinking that I would get an apology. Like a proper apology. Note, it was not for the purpose of getting back together.

Not marrying a man because of his mother is a thing. Like that woman… Let’s say the endless stories of women who’ve been terrorized by their mother in law flashed before my eyes. Also, not marrying a man who is intimidated by your background, character, personality, intellect (we are learning more each day), common sense, love for peace and cursing, among other things, is not ideal. They will psychologically try to break you down, question your mental stability, assassinate your character, and when all fails, get physical. I have seen this script in my backyard.

So you can see why it was foolish of me to go over expecting an apology?

The apology that will never come

I am sure there’s some people reading this and going, “Bitch, where is MY apology??!!” You know what, you are right to ask that. It is likely I don’t know that I owe you one. It is also likely that I burned that bridge, scotched the earth, and set you on fire because when you get on Wambaire’s bad side you get the full hell spa treatment.

So this pillow talk turned into my explaining what I have on this blog. And it was followed by an apology because I should never have done that in the first place. I was wrong to do that. I could have gone for counseling instead of chasing ghosts. I could have called him. I could have done so much instead of going to his place. It hurt him, and rightly so, because that was a betrayal. Shall this amazing man have to worry about the case of the ex?


I will never get that apology. That is fine. I am okay with that now. It hurt me for so long but now I see it. I am better off forgiving, letting go, and hopefully, finally forgetting. That’s while watering my garden. Loving my future husband and father of my children with my all. Checking up on my tribe and being there for them. Focusing on what is flowering and not the weeds that, quite honestly, should have been in a furnace by now.

Now to you

What apology are you wanting for that, deep within you, know will never come? They could be alive or no longer with us, but stop to ask yourself, “How is this potentially ruining my future?”

Not touching that sh*t, even with a 10-foot pole

Happy new year!

Actually, I could care less. It’s the same nonsense just staggered forth to another lap around the sun. We still have a pandemic, and I still don’t give a fuck about a lot of things. But that’s not the point of this blog. Let me take you on the journey of the “not with a 10-foot pole” policy. And yes, I know we use the metric measurements in Kenya, with the US being the only people dumb enough to hold on to whatever the fuck they are using, but it has a ring to it. Humor me.

I’ve been a rebel all my life

I have a scary morning face. It is something between the grinch and being so upset that I didn’t somehow die in my sleep? Too dark? Welcome to 2022, where the fucks were left in 2020. So I am generally not pleasant to interact with in the morning. Two, I have a mouth on me. My opinions are strong, something my younger brother wrongly mislabeled as facts. Are you being an idiot? Yes. Will I communicate that to you in no uncertain terms? Also yes. Am I always right? No. But mostly, yes.

Not partaking in family drama

I will not expose my parents (lol), but the simple truth is that they are not perfect. There is this- I don’t know- pedestal mentality that people have about their parents and that they cannot do anything wrong? Yea, I missed that class, and if it wasn’t being taught, that gene escaped me. I have no problem telling my parents when they are out of line. And please, don’t try this at home. You might catch a flying slipper or get excommunicated. I put this down to basically who I am as a person. And my parents made peace.

In my 20s (girl, you is old), my mum told me the reason she stopped beating me as a child (welcome to Africa, my non-Africa readers!) was that she thought she’d kill me. That’s how hard-headed I was from the jump. She’d tell me to do something, and I was okay doing it, but I’d always ask why if it didn’t make sense. She thought I was a witch at some point.

Last year, my dad slapped me for being vocal and standing up for my mum, but that is neither here nor there. We are cool now. But also, when I was in high school when he was lecturing me about something, I would laugh as I watched him all worked up about something I did that he was complaining about that didn’t even make sense. He was being extra, and it was funny. So, I suppose that slap was a long time coming.

Either way, when my parents are being extra, I talk back or walk out. According to the 5th commandment, I might die at an early age. Thank God I am not an Israelite. Smiley face.

After the drama in the family, I adopted the “not with a 10-foot pole” principle.

How I learned that minding my own business was important

So, if you follow this blog, you know I nearly threw my life away to a useless man and his mother in the name of marriage. I am so glad that being in a psych ward brought out their true colors. In my true fashion, I can say “fuck you and your mama” because I didn’t know I was getting into a relationship with him and his parents. And that’s where my lessons began. 2020 was indeed a shit show for a lot of us.

And then came the realization of empathy. I was in that relationship to help him with his family drama. Yes, it was also my fault. And then 2021 just rolled in. I realized that most of my friendships were an act of charity. I was there to be a wing woman, a listening ear, a therapist, a sponsor (btw if you’re a guy and I’ve religiously bought you drinks for the duration I’ve known you, FUCK YOU), and basically someone that, you’re okay if we hang out, but you don’t want to hang out with me with your regular circle. I would be rich right now for all the unofficial therapy sessions I’ve had.

But it’s 2022 bitch!

This is where I knew that I needed to turn off the empath tap and channel it to better use: some stupid kid who’d been in Russia for 7 years. Her AUNT is someone I was in uni with, but we never quite hang out. He gets his aunt to call me to hang out at their place. Then he proceeds to take me to his cousin’s house in the name of “moving the party to another place,” only for me to be shown to the bedroom we’d both sleep in. Never mind, I’d listened to his struggles, how being back is hard, his mum, getting a job, passing exams to be able to practice medicine here…

I called Mr. King’ori and asked for uber money to get back home (Yes, I am back in school, but actively looking for a job. I am available.)

This little shit. So, you try to get me drunk, and then you think- This little piece of shit.

I thought that I was helping this 27-year-old out to get his bearing after being out of the country for so long and all that. I really was. But behold. Oh, and there’s that guy who invited me to the local, only for him to talk about his family the entire time, like it was a therapy session? Thank you for the beers, but no. It’s why I didn’t pick your calls after that. At least even ask me my favorite color. I’ll refer you to my curtains, duvet, and nail polish.

The business I am minding in 2022

One word: Henry

Other business I will mind in 2022

I am back in school—diploma in Counselling Psychology, Certificate in Life Skills and Diploma in Trainer of Trainers.

If you have an evil eye, keep eyeing.

The other business is my tribe; you know yourselves. From fries dates to laughing at memes that even the devil wouldn’t- you are my people.

What I will not mind in 2022 with a 10-foot pole

My parent’s marriage.

My younger brother (I stopped minding the elder one a long time ago)

Your drama because you refuse to go to therapy.


Overall, I am tired and done with being used as a therapist for people in my life. I am an empath, and things hit me hard. I cannot spend another day in bed crying over someone else and the battle they are going through. Not my family and not people I call friends. You’ve been wondering what is wrong with me? I feel too much. I am on medication for anxiety and panic attacks because I dare sit with another person’s issues, knowingly or not.

I don’t intend to make this medication a habit. My tribe is doing their inner work. If you aren’t my tribe, please, don’t call me for a therapy session. If you want to, KES 2,000. Thanks.

For my other readers, protect your space and your mind, especially if you’re an empath.

Cheers, my lovelies.

The Science of Depression: A handy resource

*Out here addressing the pseudoscientists in these streets. I can’t keep stopping mid conversation to explain myself yo!

When you have a chemical imbalance in your brain, certain buzz words and phrases are not only annoying but relatively insensitive.

“You have to think positively!”

“Look on the bright side of things!”

“Why are you always negative?”

“I don’t like being around you; you’re no fun.”

“You’re too much in your head.”

“You just want attention.”

“You’re difficult.”

I could go on.

It’s not that I don’t want to be happy, cheerful, or even content. I do. It’s just that my neurotransmitters aren’t working okay; dopamine and serotonin. In my case, they are either low or high. Let’s throw in genetics and the environment, and behold, a secret handshake in your brain.

Can things be done to improve and manage this issue? Yes. But that’s not what this blog is about.

Science lesson in session

Let’s look at two hormones/ neurotransmitters mentioned: dopamine and serotonin. Sources are after the article.


Dopamine is integral in the brain’s reward system, which controls motivation, desire, and cravings.

You’re not lazy; you’re just not motivated. You’re not a dark cloud; you literally don’t feel like there’s a point to live. You’re not a hog or trying to starve yourself, fam; your cravings are just out of hand. Oh, and cravings also include taking alcohol or illicit drugs and engaging in behavior that gives you a rush. Snorting cocaine, sex, gambling, shopping too much- list an addiction here.

These addictions come about because one is trying to chase the euphoria, bliss, motivation, and increased concentration that too much dopamine produces.

When your dopamine levels are off-balance, your mood, sleep, learning ability, alertness, movement, blood flow, and yes, even your urine output gets affected.


Serotonin is another neurotransmitter, with most of it found in gut cells since it regulates movement in the digestive system.

Other stuff serotonin does is regulate your sleep-wake cycle, emotions and mood, appetite and metabolism, concentration and cognition, hormonal activity, blood clotting, and body temperature.


Commercial break: Award speech

I want to give a shout-out to “my” ulcers, insomnia, erratic moods, lack of appetite, and mental slowness for being a part of my life for this long. We’ve come from far. And let’s not forget you, body temperature, for giving me heat rash in Nairobi weather. Thank you all.

You’ve been loyal!


How do the two work together?

Dopamine and serotonin need to create a balance in the body; otherwise, things will go haywire. For example, having low levels of serotonin can cause an overproduction of dopamine for compensation.

In short, if you have too much serotonin, then you have impulsive aggression, aka mania. Too much dopamine? Impulsive reward-seeking behavior and addiction, here we come!


Commercial break: Dark humor at its finest

I’ve lost mass- what are curves?- and I’ve been asked about it.

Them: What diet are you on?

Me: It’s called Depression. It’s working great for my weight loss, though I wouldn’t recommend it.


So, what am I saying?

If you’re not down with this explanation on depression and have theories on it, that’s fine. I’m more than happy to hook you up with the four psychiatrists I’ve seen in the past three years. Then, you can discuss your science with them. Otherwise, I am tired of having to stop and educate people.

Read, damn it!

I’ve written this to act as a resource and a blog post I can link to.

Otherwise, cheers, and as always, thanks for stopping by.


NHS UK: Causes- Bipolar disorder:

Medical News Today: Dopamine and serotonin: Brain chemicals explained:

NCBI: Role of Serotonin and Dopamine System Interactions in the Neurobiology of Impulsive Aggression and its Comorbidity with other Clinical Disorders:

Just checking in

I haven’t been here for quite a while, and with good reason. I do not believe in posting for the sake of it in the name of having a regular schedule. Even this post is more of an update than anything. A couple of things:

1. New relationship

That’s all for now. Do so now if you want to send the evil eye my way, see your local witch doctor, or just wish me bad luck. Otherwise…. Otherwise.

2. Podcast

I have been singing to myself and others about starting a podcast. I’ve had two “false” starts, but that’s about to change. I’m currently getting equipment and working on a line up of guests and my content that I’ll be sharing so stay tuned. For now you can click here to listen to Just Checking In with Mundi, where I was a guest. Honest and raw with a dash of potty mouth hehehe!

3. School

I am in the second semester of a seven-semester-long Diploma in Psychological Counseling, and your girl over here is triggered in all the ways one can get triggered. It’s nice to explore various theories and get reminded of all the ways that you are messed up. I don’t need Eric Ericson telling me about a personality crisis. I have lived it. I still have my moments. Could you leave me alone? So once in a while, I will pop up here, the podcast or IG to talk about that.

4. Mental health

I have mellowed out. For most of this year, I was in a HORRIBLE state. For one, I was worried about being committed to a psych ward or rehab against my will. Weh, the people I live with. What’s helped is keeping a long ass distance from people who don’t want to see me prosper mentally. It mainly meant keeping to my room for a month straight and only having meals when no one was home or asleep. I even had a stash of snacks in my room. Boundaries are both essential and healthy. I made it clear that I will emotionally and mentally cut you off; I don’t care if you’re family. Yes, I love myself that much these days

5. Friendships

My circle is small. Like. Small. And ever since I shrunk it, I have been so peaceful. Oh. My. Goodness. I didn’t realize how many friendships I was carrying on my back! The ones I have left are just the best; shout out to Queen Petty and Cat Lady. I love these two intelligent women and their right amount of crazy. There’s also Nyambura; this woman is just gangsta. I’m hoping to have her on the podcast to share her story, but I love that we currently share the theme of “and no fucks were given that day.” I can’t shout out everyone, but you know yourselves. Though I am sad about some friendships I have lost, so there’s that.

6. Idiots

These will forever exist. Some stray into my inbox, and like the rodents they are, I just blue tick and keep it pushing. Imagine you don’t have to engage. Some people are just bored and out here trying to test you.

7. How are YOU doing?

When was the last time you stopped to check in with yourself to see how you’re doing? Take a moment, scan your body and your mind. It doesn’t have to be for long; even three minutes is enough. Where’s the tension? What’s bugging you in the background? Don’t forget to extend love and grace to yourself; life is hard as it is.

Thanks for taking the time. Until next time, cheers, my good people.

Can I please have a refund for my 30th year?

Whoever was handing out my 30th year, you have won, by the way. I turned 30 in a freaking psych ward with a black forest from my then-husband. Apart from losing my job and everything else, I was 5 minutes away from check myself into a freaking rehab two weeks ago because your sister over here is apparently considered to be an alcoholic!!!!!!!!!! After realizing that the institution’s owner was broke and full of poop, I hang up, schedule a call with my therapist, and put my ass back into bed.

To whoever was handing out my 30, kudos.

The anger that is within my body is ridiculous. And I cannot let it out because some uninformed humans are waiting to take me back to the psych ward or rehab. God forbid the trauma in your body catches up with you after years of suppression. And more so if it comes out as anger, pain, sadness, and a large portion of retribution. Molestation, witnessing and experiencing things a child should never have within the home, rape, domestic abuse, low self-esteem, self-sabotage- you name it, has been stewing for so long that only one phrase remained, “Scotch the earth.”

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And I have been scorned.

As with everything I write, I do it for, one, pure compulsion, and two, an inability to stay silent because there’s no way I am the only person on this planet dealing with that I go through. It is to tell that one person, I hear you, and I see you. I feel your pain. I can not take it away from you, but I can walk with you.

And that’s the kind of support system I’ve been blessed to have. It is an odd mix and match, but in the end, it’s working out for my sanity. It is these people who tell me that I am not crazy. These people tell me that my anger and pain are valid even when those around me want me to shoosh it. They rally behind me as I walk through the years of trauma that people will never know anything about because who empathizes with someone from my parent’s financial background? I have been opinionated and vocal about many things, so hey, that’s that crazy bitch, don’t mind her, she just wants attention!

I don’t have the answers right now, but what I have done is scotch the earth because I am tired of adopting a reaction formation response. Showing my true feelings will get me ostracized from people within my family, both nuclear and extended. Let me put patriarchy in there because, my goodness, the men in my life have spectacularly failed me. And guess who has to fix me? ME. So while I am here allocating blame, I am aware that healing is my job to do. I don’t need to remain a victim. But you! I will speak up!

I have to be true to what is going on within me and damn the consequences. I have given it up because I learned in class that you are only meant to have your defense mechanisms up for a short time as your body recovers from the information received. Anything longer than that causes mental disturbance. CASE IN POINT *pointing at self*. I am giving that defense mechanism up no matter the consequences. I can’t live like this.

You want to demonize me; that’s cool. Do you. Do your worst. I have been living in mental hell for a long time; nothing can be done to make this shit worse than it already is. Since suicide has refused to be an option (and not from lack of trying), I choose to face all of this head-on.

Here is how I am choosing to see this, with a bit of help from google.

“Slash and burn agriculture is a widely used method of growing food in which wild or forested land is clear cut and any remaining vegetation burned. The resulting layer of ash provides the newly-cleared land with a nutrient-rich layer to help fertilize crops.”

This metaphor just came to me as I was writing this, but it’s a fitting complement to the scotch the earth mantra I’ve adopted. It’s probably going to be hell and probably worse than I feel right now, but that’s okay. I am daring to hope. And If god-forbid I don’t make it, know I tried my best, and you too can succeed.

Cheers, to a year I refuse to have again.

But for real, 30 has been mostly rubbish. I am all here for the growth, and I love it, but it’s really been rubbish.

Thirst traps, scripture and guilt-trips

My posts fall under three main categories: psychoeducation, outright rants, or, like today, juicy conversations.


Shared with permission.


So, there is a FINE gentleman that is back in the market. It’s normal, so what’s the big deal, Wambaire? A lot of females, in uni and beyond, liked him. Even those who didn’t want to boyfriend him would blush at how fine he was, myself included. I won’t say much, lest some of y’all realize who it is and snitch on a sister.


What made this guy different, and a feature on my blog, was the caliber of girls he went for. Christian, holy, virgin. You can see why I didn’t bother to waste a wish? LOL!

And he did get the girl, and they did get married. And you know the conclusion. For me, the circumstances in which the relationship started makes this whole thing all the more hilarious. Fam. Cool, y’all did it the “holy” church route, but even so, the beginning was sketchy as hell!

Disclaimer: I am not throwing rocks; church route or not, sketchy beginnings don’t get you far! Look at me! That asaid, when it’s new, it’s fantastic so I get why people take the leap. However, when reality sets in… weh!

Now back to the PG18 chat

This chat began with Cat Lady sharing a Thirst Trap of this fine-back-in-the-market guy. You’re allowed to look sexy, it’s okay.

Now, Cat Lady; she a church girl. She love the Lord with all her heart, mind and soul. BUT MY PEOPLE, the FLESH IS WEAK!


Everyone is allowed moments of weakness, and that’s cool. What I wasn’t gonna allow is the backing up of a thirst trap with scripture!

I see y’all adding scripture under your thirst traps!

So of course I had to come for her, and hard. Let’s not pretend this angle you’re coming at is Christianity!


The beginning of your relationship is sketchy, only that it’s cloaked in what you call Christianity. For example, you waited till after marriage to move in together but y’all had been fornicating before that, only that we didn’t get to know about it. The rest of us over here are feeling like sinners for taking the traditional route with your judgy “You weren’t married in church” questions. Whatever it is, a red flag is a red flag.

Which reminds me… I went on a rant on IG, as I always do, to address this breed of women that make what we single women do their business. Sawa, you’re married and now you think you have some moral high ground. You come quote scripture for the rest of us for going on dates.

Please, go mind your marriage, and your cheating husband while you’re at it, sawa?

Another disclaimer: You may have to be open minded to survive my posts, but for those struggling- I am not here for couples that honor God and are pillars in the Christian faith when it comes to marriage. I am here for those who make us feel like rubbish while quoting scripture only for the façade to crumble.

Be careful, that burden ain’t light!

I’ve tried to play holy and ended up playing off the devil’s handbook. That humbled me a good one. You could have three men, I won’t hang out with you, but I won’t judge you either.

So you, if you want to take that holy route and rub it in our faces during conversations, unknowingly or otherwise, that’s okay. But just know I’ll blog about you when I find out you’re cheating, being cheated on, or your divorced self is back in the market.

Si we be honest?

I am not here to question people’s Christianity. I’m just saying the version I got is problematic. I’ve made more headway in relationships through healing my childhood trauma than quoting scripture over and over.

So please, ladies, gents, let’s not lie to ourselves about our Christianity. You are not sliding into their DM because you want to know how they are doing. Like Cat Lady, you have an angle. And here’s how you know you have an angle, and not a genuine one:

“I don’t know why they are/were with so-and-so…” ati because you’re the better and holier option.

Cat Lady is honest with herself, hence the laughter and making fun of people’s version of Christianity.

Be like Cat Lady.

Now go yee forth and have a conversation with God about your horny ass self.


Turning your first-ever epic slap into a huge “NOPE!”

I am knee-deep in the Tales of Arcadia when a thought hit me.

“This man tried to reduce my essence into a housewife.”

Please, from now on, call me by my nicknames: Mandy or Mai Li.  Here’s the reality. My essence will not be reduced to flings, side things, failed relationships, blatantly denied opportunities, being misunderstood, or any other state that is my life is. Nah.

The genesis-es

What I thought was a marriage did crumble, and after six months of a back and forth going like, “You can donate them, set them on fire, or bring them- you know where I live,” his best friend dropped everything I had in that house at my folks, minus the hangers I took there with me. I don’t feel like going shopping if “giving everything back” is a thing. Firstly, and lastly, it is embarrassing how many clothes I have in general. For six months, I didn’t need jack from his house (I use “his” because he made that clear severally during the “marriage”). In shame, I gave away more than half and a quarter of what I already had for the same duration and before as well.

Yes, I went shopping after the “marriage” ended.

Yes, she bourgie.

And she has parents who make her look so, never mind that her bank balance is just in the negatives (ghostwriter for hire!!!!). But you know, we have to keep face; can’t have your daughter going for her items. Defeats the purpose of being rescued from a violent “spouse” at 2 am during a curfew by your folks.

Mandy is petty and not taking any hostages.

Something about your narcissistic – slapping you to the ground for calling out his bullshit changes your life.

But don’t mind me, Mandy is goooooooooooooooood.

That aside, to my sisters, that thing about marrying your father is entirely accurate if you’re not careful. After all, I did leave that relationship because this ex of mine thought it was a fantastic idea to put his hands on me because his weak masculinity could not take the truth. But you know, dear mummy and daddy to the rescue! And here are people wondering why some of us are pretty fine being the single rich (or broke) aunties because of the toxic masculinity we have officially refuse to take: that and soiled diapers.

(Background doesn’t matter, but this is a conversation on my podcast for another day).

I’m sorry, where was I?

Multiple choice: How did he want to turn you into a housewife?

1. Calling out BS where I saw it was a no-no.

I don’t care who you are, don’t disrespect me. So, when I feel I am getting that from someone on your side of the family, it will be said. I am not a doormat. I am not those daughters-in-law. Most of all, bipolar is not a personality trait. It is like you calling a diabetic relative a menace to society for something they didn’t ask for. Also, read a book. Just don’t disrespect me.

2. I didn’t cook and ordered takeout.

*pauses to scratch my head* I can support my habits; if you can’t, that is also a you-problem. You were cooking before I came. Nothing about your limbs changed. That whole “When I come back from work, and I am tired, I expect- “bull-crap doesn’t work here. When I wasn’t there, what was happening? Did you starve? And can people not disrespect the rest of us who work from home?

3. “You don’t respect my parents-”

and other tales for basically everything not related to how you’re bringing unnecessary baggage into this relationship. See a therapist for crying out loud. Or READ A BOOK!!! Your issues with your family are not mine; deal with it? What is this sour mood you’re bringing to our “sacred sanctuary”? Talking shit about a family member, not addressing it, and then pretending y’all are good when you meet? Huh?! Where I come from, we don’t work like that.

The End.

Again, call me Mandy because shit is grim, and I stopped giving a fuck.

That said…

You can treat a woman like they are “less than” all you want, but if she rises and takes control of what is meant to be her death, don’t be surprised.

And I’ve always had a “problem” with putting my issues out there. I refuse for that one person who can relate to feeling alone to feel “insane”. I am willing to “scorch the earth” for you. We can’t keep repeating the same cycle.


An “ode” to shitty counselors in Kenya

I see one of the top psychiatrists in Kenya. Or so I am told. She is lovely and has helped me medically wise. Then there’s the reality that eight years back, she saw a relative, and a few years after saw another relative, and I can give her a 2/10 for her mishandling of them. Did she realize she needed to change? Possibly. And the reason I am revealing the gender is because these people are not above reproach because of their profession. I have had- yes, they are people’s relatives- TWO USELESS male psychiatrists in my life that I can’t even. It is not a gender thing; it is a career and age thing. The latter one to treat me should be in retirement with assistant care. He is OLD. It’s one thing to be unaware and bipolar; it’s another to be aware and bipolar. So, please don’t insult my intelligence. Please.

I saw said psychiatrist recently, and because she’s thorough, I had a breakdown and referred me to the adjacent psychologist or whatever her title was. I was crying at this point because life was on a mission to show me that it can fuck me up over severally and not care. Getting a job that screwed me over, and I lost several thousands; I am female, let’s not even look at how society treats me. The reality that I had lost an international fellowship and an opportunity to do my masters… basically being female and alive in my context.

And then we have this psychologist trying to push her narrative on me. That was my telling sign- she said she was a mother. Then continued to create a FUCKING CHRISTIAN PICTURE of how we should treat our parents. Are you shitting me? Are you fucking serious? My case is not extreme, but I wonder if a woman or girl walking in saying that their dad was sexually abusing them, what would be her response? To respect the father because of the Fifth Commandment and asked her to find a way to appreciate the father? Like, are you fucking shitting me?

I am enrolled to become a counseling psychologist. I said this before, and because I don’t want to be sued, I was in an institution studying the same that miserably failed us. To be honest, I am pretty okay calling him a couple of names. But here we are. The point is, I would hate to practice and become one of these counselors, that due to their parental and marital failing, are pushing their views instead of WHAT IS ACTUALLY TAUGHT IN CLASS!        I have done enough to know that at no point should a counselor push their own agenda because the session is about YOU and not THEM! Hell, I am even happy that the program fell through because there is no ass way some of my fellow students should have become counselors.

It took me seeing a trash (I am sorry, but you are) counselor to understand the skepticism.  

Here is my takeaway. Suppose you see a counselor trying to push a system, belief, or whatever toward you (woman, Desiderata wasn’t in the curriculum), walkway. They will damage you. They aren’t better or more qualified to counsel you. Google, minus the conspiracies, will do a better job.

Fuck shitty counselors. Like, just, fuck you.

Oh, and happy Labor day.

Sunk Cost Fallacy: Why you remain in rubbish relationships

I won’t sit here and pretend that my favorite parts of the day were when he left and when he came back. My parents and younger brother are back to spotting me every two days, so the idea of being alone the whole day was a joy. But then, at about 7 pm, I would yearn to hear him trying to open the door, of which I’d walk over and open the bottom latch. I miss that, and I won’t lie. Seeing someone who was your favorite walk into a room is quite something. Unless I wasn’t in the mood to cook. A story for another day.


At 02:57, crossed-legged on my bed with a passed-out guest in one of the spare rooms and a younger brother I need to look for soon, lest he passed out on the dining table. That was a fun evening.

Sunk Cost Fallacy: Ati who?

“The Sunk Cost Fallacy describes our tendency to follow through on an endeavor if we have already invested time, effort or money into it, whether or not the current costs outweigh the benefits.”

Here is the source.


The relationship did not last for over a year, though I had known him for longer. A story for another day, because now that I am back to being single, people have SEVERAL opinions, including calling him “The Village Idiot,” and others discussing, “How the fuck did that happen?” Not the point; that was my choice. I find him to be a sweet but very misguided human. But as I said, see me with him again and call the cops- I need to go to rehab because I have grown a liking to cocaine, never mind having not seen it.

Here is where sunk cost fallacy comes in.

But before that: Public Service Announcement

I went on Instagram and announced that this man is an abuser. If you end up with him, that is a “YOU” problem because 1) let’s not recycled abusers, and 2) I told you so. If the same shit happens to you… hm. The verdict is out there about “but you should have kept your domestics to yourself,” but here we are.

Yo, even my father declared me single three days ago. Someone tell his people they can come for the percentage of dowry they chucked. Here in the Kamiru Clan, we don’t fuck around. Not when you put your hands on your woman and call their father-in-law at 2 am to come to pick their married daughter from “your” household. (We might as well, let’s not pretend other women haven’t been through worse. Ati me censoring what happened is helping who? Nonsense.)

Back to the point, and my awareness of my female privilege of being born in this Clan. And with my personality. And why I will compliment you if I spot the clothes and things I didn’t go back for on your body because I think I have good taste.

Back to why you’re being deceived

It didn’t happen once; it happened twice. I don’t feel like explaining how this vocal bad bitch found herself by the front door wailing, afraid to have her ass whooped, but that happened. That’s the thing. I looked at the amount of time, emotion, body, mind, money, words, cleaning, cooking, being the ideal wife, and all that shit I had put into the relationship. As I said, “those were red flags, not pom-poms.”

The benefit wasn’t presenting itself. Sure, I was no saint. I would go off on his intellectual capacity when he got matching for the patriarchy. I said he and his mum triggered me because I don’t come from an argumentative family. Us here we fight when you have SINNED. That didn’t go down well, and it turned into, “You don’t respect parents and God,” hence the justification for the violence. Hah. But you can call out my mother for wanting me in the “Happy Hotel” for two days longer and said a lot more about “your father not putting effort” to take me out sooner. I am putting that nicely.

Sidebar: I am tired of the sigma. I have been to a psychiatric institution twice. I am not mentally all there. I have medication and therapy. If you think a certain way about me, that is fine, but pretending I have been okay all this time…. Fam. I am done. Fuck your “lakini hizi manbo si lazima watu wajue” ass self. I am here to help people like me.

My being drawn into this fallacy was that I have made it clear this is the man I want to be with. I had thrown people’s opinions up in the air and said fuck it. In a deep sleep with a light snore, this is a man who grabbed me midair, falling from the bed on my way to the loo. That’s how intertwined we were. He is not a bad guy. He isn’t; I just don’t know this version of him that cropped up on the last week of December. That’s not the man I met.

Sunk cost fallacy would have me stay there until I recovered the man I met.

And then there is me: fuck that shit.


First, you can tell Mr. XYZ from KAPC to get his life and the institution together. I would be in my second year of Counselling Psychology, but here we are. Please quote me because it’s just nonsense. I have wasted one and half years and have to start again in another institution. Mr. XYZ. That’s his name. Tell him to get the institution straight. I have other choice words, but hey.

Second, I met some fantastic humans during the brief time I was there. Even so, there was a chilling story from one of my classmates. She was working in the emergency department of a well-known public hospital, and during one of the classes, she revealed something devastating but well know.

The number of married women brought to the hospital dead by their husbands and mothers-in-law due to “accidents” was a lot.

I don’t feel like being an accidental statistic. Do I think he would have killed me? No. Do I believe in a rage and protecting myself, I would have pulled a knife? I don’t know. I don’t have to find out. I had already turned one to my wrist.

Mental illness aside….

It’s a fallacy

Here’s the thing: many women stay behind because they feel they have invested way too much to walk away. The ones I feel the most for are those with children with no income of their own. They have to depend on men to foot their needs, airtime included, which never comes because who are you calling?

That said, if you’re like me, making your cash no matter how little, there is no shame in going back home to regroup. If you have more, get as much as you can and walk away. Something my favorite uncle (the 72-year-old who continues to traumatize me), my father, and namesake, said was, “I know you left a lot of nice things there, but there is no benefit in going back for them.” Sure, I am blessed to have more clothes back at my folks, but if you’ve left, beloved, if he calls you to pick your things, don’t go.

I have an aunt who’s the counselor for the teachers she oversees, and the number of stories she has told me of women tragically going back is too many.

Do I think he will do anything to me? No. But am I likely to say something, no matter how mild, to trigger him? Yes. Me, I don’t want that.

There is nothing back there for you

I was chased away (for hilariously stupid reasons, but okay), but you, beloved, there is nothing there for you if you are reading this. NOTHING. Will you take a long ass while to move on? Yes. You are meant to. This is someone you gave your ALL to. Undoing that will take a while. Honestly, I think I have spent all of one and half months of hours in bed for the last three months. This “moving on” shit will take you a while, and there is no shame in that. You loved, and you loved hard. But yet, here you are.

But that’s better than a body bag, accidental or otherwise.

Giving up the fallacy

Do I want to be back there, sitting watching movies and him passing me soda or booze just at the right time when I realize my glass is empty? Fuck yes. Cuddling? Yes. Watching him trying not to blush when I called his street smart? Yes. Touching him the right way and watching goosebumps form all over his body? Yo. Having someone dedicate their existence to making me laugh and me encouraging him? HELLS YES! I miss that shit, and it hurts me (less these days) to remember those moments and know I don’t have that anymore.

As I said, again, nice guy, but highly misguided.

Was it my fault? Sure, he didn’t understand bipolar when we met. That’s all I can say about that. And knowing myself, being triggered in the “right angle” is a recipe for disaster. Did he need to put his hands on me? Ask his mother. 

And I have therapy to thank for the boldness to walk away. THERAPY! That 2018 move was smart.

Do you know yourself and your worth? Do you know what you deserve? Do you know what you ought not to tolerate from other human beings?


Thanks for reading this far…

I am here to be honest, and let people, or one person, know they are not alone. Help someone out of an abusive relationship, no matter how “mild,” because emotional, psychological, etc., aren’t acknowledged. Even one- that is more than enough for several generations.


PS: Muchura, thank you for your 4:30am feedback. Much love. (and no, humans, we can’t be friends in peace?! Aunt Emily I am talking to you!)

PPS: I deleted the last post of the schupid text he sent.

PPPS: We found my younger brother on the sofa, he is now safely in bed LOL!

PPPPS: The guest just text (05:40) to know where the loo is LMAO!

It was a good night.