Transfusion

Hello there!
So I sent in an article to a big Nigerian blog few weeks back (www.nakedconvos.com) and I got published! Yippee!!! It was edited a little but I have the real deal here for you guys 😉 you can visit the website to read the last part of the section titled void, pain, anger. https://thenakedconvos.com/a-loving-but-sexless-husband/

The transfusion.

Void. I’ve exhausted every bit of energy I had to the point of numbness. My eyes would have been bloodshot red but where’s the blood? Anything close to fluid on my face would be the tears I’ve managed to squeeze out. I bet my tear glands have dried up. The paleness of a thousand year old vampire got nothing on mine.
The bruises left on my tender skin have all converged to form a tattoo of torture. Did I say tender skin? Is that even feasible? Tender is pure, undiluted and innocent. Do I still stand a chance of possessing such characteristics after all of these. Can these contusions even be compared with the wounds I can’t see; the ones that can’t be treated with a first aid kit. I’d be like a specimen of butchery if I were turned inside out. The cuts of betrayal have gone so deep only a miracle can replace the flesh displaced.
Those syringes *scoffs* with their comparable fragility, you’d expect them to have a bit of mercy. But No! Unexpectedly, I was injected with slow but painful doses of treachery. My veins engulfed the drops of deceit and my blood stream was
exposed to the venom of infidelity.
And just when I thought you had the antidote for this poison. You came with the hope of transfusing the toxin and replacing me with a freshly made blood. For a millisecond, I was locked up in euphoria. A place I’ve only been allowed to visit for short periods of time. For some reason, I was certain this would be different; that you’d be my remedy.
I guess that was what made it so easy to swallow the tablets of folly you shoved down my throat. I was quick to quaff your supposed “antacid”. You parenterally administered portions of sugar coated trauma intravenously into me. And once again, I’m left to deal with the agony.

You’d expect me to be dead by now; dead to emotions. Switching off the vents that allow the passage of feelings into my heart was an option. But I chose not to. One after the other, I awoke every slumbered cell. Each one with double platelets of fortitude. My bones ,reinforced with impenetrable shock absorbers, will no longer be victims to cruelty. I’ve been inoculated with an army of strength.

I’ve come to understand that every moment of weakness is a chance to discover the depth of my strength. Even when I’m left empty, when my chances of resuscitation have become very low, I’d find a spot of strength. That spot I’d capitalize on to build an empire of vigor. And every time it comes crumbling down, I’d learn new ways to assemble a stronger foundation.
I’m still capable of affection, maybe in refined forms but not in any way of lesser quality. Your virus might have wrecked my body but I won’t let my soul be compromised.