Alex went bananas December 2017 and has since then been confined at a psychiatric facility with no substantial improvement; though hope is not lost, his condition has drained his family of their strength in several ways. His mother is critically ill which prompted my visit since Friday and we are putting the Sunday morning to good use by putting Alex’s room into a place where I stumbled on his diary. The diary was written in October 2017 and his last update was on Dora’s supposed birthday, October 23, 2017.

Death is like a music album; the end of a track marks the beginning of another. Dora’s death was the beginning of my afflictions. Regardless of my intentions, two lives were cut short, I have bitten more than I can chew, the guilt battered me for weeks, I could not concentrate on anything and thinking about it all, I realize I had burnt down a castle to put out a cobweb, underestimated the remarkable connection of bond we shared. Now, I realize the best part of my existence had been the moments and memories shared with Dora.

I knew I needed help when the nightmare started guilt had subdued my soul and the voices in my head would not give me a break to think straight, I could have a hilarious discussion, having a great time only to snap out of it to the reality that I have been acting strangely (daydreaming). I tried as much as I could to avoid sleep and public spaces to save myself from embarrassment laced with humiliation. She would not spare me regardless of what I do, this prompted me to find solace in pills, cigarette, and contraband substances. I eventually become a full-blown drug addict.

During my service year, I attempted suicide thrice before it dawned on me that she wouldn’t let me take the easy way out. My parents assumed and concluded my condition is some sort of spiritual attack as they believed drugs has brought me thus far into this peril. They eventually turned me to a specimen at several crusade grounds.

It’s been about seven years Dora died turning me to a shadow of whom I once was. I had stopped living since the moment she closed those beautiful eyes making living excruciatingly hectic. I’m filled with regrets nevertheless, can’t turn back the hand of time. Today would have been a day to celebrate your birth (40th) and all I can say is, I’m sorry.