John was a desire I could barely live without. When we started as lovers, I couldn’t go an hour without talking to him. He called me “Swan.” I said I didn’t like it. He kept calling me with that name until I automatically came to like it. Whenever he called my real name, I asked, “Are we fighting?”

To me, that was love that should have gone on forever but months into the relationship, I started feeling bored with him. He didn’t change. He didn’t stop calling me Swan or stop calling my phone. If anything, John sped up his interest in me. He came around each day but whenever he was around, I couldn’t wait for him to leave. I would be on my phone while he talked to me. I was simply not interested in love, or the relationship. I just wanted to be alone.

He called a meeting and asked what was wrong. I told him everything was fine. He screamed, “That’s not how fine looks like. Don’t I know you?”

I couldn’t explain what I was going through clearly. How do you tell a boyfriend you’ve lost interest in the relationship and still keep him? So I told him to give me space to figure out what was wrong with me. He gave me a yard. Yard became a meter. Then it was a distance. When he complained, I asked for a breakup. It broke him but I was fine. I just didn’t like the relationship again.

Three months after he was gone, I missed being loved or being in a relationship. Justice came along. I don’t know how it works but men always come along when you’re ready. It reminds me of the story of the dog on heat. My dad said when a dog is on heat, a male dog in another country can smell it and travel to her. Maybe love is a magnetic field. When you’re ready, you become magnetized so other magnets; people ready to love, can find you.

Justice is old school but I love vintage stuff so I loved him. He didn’t come chasing and texting and calling. He saw me once and proposed. He said it was love at first sight. I called it infatuation. He told me he was old enough to know the difference. “It’s love. I want to do life with you if only you’re ready.”

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He was ten years older than me. Someone I should have added bra, or Sir or Mr to his name when calling him but because of love, I called him Kwame, his local name. He treated me like a trophy. He took me to where his friends were. When his family had an event and had to attend, he went with me. His people referred to me as his wife. I loved it until I didn’t love it anymore. Again nothing went wrong. Six months later, everything he did had a stamp of déjà vu on it. I started withdrawing. I gave him excuses.

When I get to that stage, it’s like a curse. Even when I want to get up and do it, my body will decline. My legs will fail. So I called off dates at the eleventh hour. I told him I was traveling but he came to my place unannounced to catch me sleeping. He looked inside the room. He could smell the presence of another man. To him, it was the only reason I would lie to him that I was travelling. He kept telling me he wasn’t a small boy. He wore his age over his trousers like Superman wears his briefs on top of his trousers.

For weeks, we fought about the same thing. I sent him a message, my favourite way of breaking up because it gives me a place to hide and shout the breakup in your ears. “You don’t trust me. What’s love without trust? It’s better we stop here and move on.” He sent one back, “We need to talk.” I sent another back, “No need to talk because I’ve made my decision. It hurts that the man you love doesn’t trust you.”

It lasted for nine months. If our relationship were a baby, it wouldn’t have crawled before dying. The problem was me, I knew it but I wasn’t ready to have that conversation with myself so I blamed the men for pushing me to leave them.

Currently, I’m twenty-nine years old. I’m at a stage in life where I should take relationships seriously or go back home single. My mom has started asking about my boyfriend. My dad goes straight to the point; “You should be having your second child by now.” They expect something from me but I don’t expect anything from myself when it comes to love.

I’m in a relationship though. It’s a five months old relationship but I’ve started seeing signs of decay. It’s rusting at its seams. Nana doesn’t know it so he keeps doing what a man should do in a relationship.

I count myself lucky looking at the kind of men that come into my life; sweet, gentle, caring, God-fearing. But why did they find me, a faulty woman at heart? They are not lucky in love and I pity them.

I’m trying so hard to hold on to Nana. I’m trying to match his energy and because of that, I’m scared to be alone. It’s when I’m alone that I begin to think those crazy thoughts. So I’m with Nana every day. After work, I go to his place and spend the week there. I’m writing this story in his bed. I don’t remember the last time my own bed had me for two nights on the roll.

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Staying with him makes me sane but it’s not healthy. I feel I’m choking him with my presence. If a man feels micromanaged, it doesn’t end well and I’m scared he will start feeling the same way. But the thing is, the problem doesn’t get solved because I ran away from it. It’s still there. One day I’ll call it off just like I did to all others. I need help.

“What’s your problem?”

“I can’t last in a relationship.”

I’m even laughing.

How do I get a solution to a problem like this? Therapy? I can’t afford it now. I want to open up to Nana about it but I’m unsure how he will take it. I’m scared he will weaponize it against me. So I’m here, trapped in a relationship that’s killing me with boredom but can’t leave because it’s a problem I need to solve.

Am I making sense? As in, do I sound like a sane person while you read this essay? Tell me. Be blunt about it because I learned mad people don’t know they are mad.

— Sikapa

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