Day 19: Something That Never Fails to Make Me Feel Better

Day 19: Something That Never Fails to Make Me Feel Better

I have been dreading this day simply because I do not have the slightest idea of those things that make me feel better. I occasionally have bad days, weird mood swings, unfortunate happenings, mishaps every now and then. But I have never struggled to make them go away. I might even be guilty of enjoying the occurrences, because most times, I just sit there and wait for them to leave as silently as they came.

Now that a blog post cannot be this short, and a challenge has to be completed, here are a few things that get me there.


The first time I started journaling a few years ago, it was such a hectic experience for me. What is hard in writing the experiences of a single day? The next time you are tempted to ask that, step into the nearest shop, buy a journal and start the journey. We could share notes when the year ends.

There were days I sat staring at the blank pages, wondering what had happened that required noting in one of the things I hold so dear in my life. These include days I followed routine; woke up, meals, classes (and nothing interesting happened during classes, not even someone getting caught with a mwakenya, or another one throwing their phone in the ocean).

When I started journaling, I wanted all of it to be about me, so you understand when you fail to find ambiguous statements like person x did something, unless it directly involved me.

But I realised the only time my journal was healthy and every day filled to the brim were the days I was having a rough time. The days I struggled to get out of bed. The days I struggled to beat deadlines but failed miserably. The days I couldn’t pick an appropriate outfit for an event. The days my own strength escaped me, and I couldn’t notice my very own smile. The days when the world was spinning a little bit faster and I was struggling to keep up with the pace.

The days people bailed out on me. Like the day I woke up and realised my little group of friends did not need me anymore. Like the day I woke up and my computer refused to power up, and that was the last I saw of it. Or the day my best friend lost his mother and the only person he could talk to was me.

These were the days I poured my heart in my journal, exposing all the emotions bubbling inside me. I let my pen bleed on the loose-leaf pads and willed for more space. I left all my burdens on that little book, and when all was done, I was back to normal.

Sometimes, I unearth my journals from past years and get amazed at the things I went through. The heights I climbed and the depths I swam. I sometimes smile at the amount of filth that I let myself wallow in, because I know, at the end of it all, I was happy.

Long hot showers

These only work when I am extremely sad, and no amount of tears can wash away the sadness. I am not sure whether it is the impact of hot water on my skin, or it is the comfort of being alone and confined in a tiny room covered in white tiles, but I never want to get away when I get in.

Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I don’t. sometimes I just stand there and let the water do its thing. Other times I close my eyes because of the pain and the tingling sensation of the water, other times I am unmoved by any of that. Most times, my heart is a black ice-cube and the very thought of it drives me crazy.

Sometimes, I think about my self and all that may have happened. I think about the ‘what ifs’ and all the red flags I ignored. I think about how much more damage could have been done. And the more I think, the more I want the water temperatures to rise.

But most times, I just stand there with a blank mind and an empty soul, until someone knocks on the door to ask whether I was okay.

Somehow, this is my kind of therapy.


One time I was having a slight argument with one of my friends and it was really taking a toll on me. I struggled to say whatever I was feeling, even though I wasn’t the one on the wrong. I struggled to make my points clear, I don’t even think I managed a quarter of it. Later when all was good, this transpired:

Me: You know I was going to wait for tomorrow when we are miles apart, then text you about all that?

Them: You really like hiding behind the keyboard. Don’t you?

Me: I know. But it is only because writing is the only way I can truly express myself.

(This explains why I rarely pick calls. Just text, I will reply)

Them: But you know one on one conversations enable one to see the emotions of the other person. Texting does not allow that.

Me: I know. But I cannot help it.

I think writing is my best escape to freedom. If there is anything, I believe I can do well, then writing will take the first chance I get.

That is why this blog is even here in the first place.

I don’t need to say more. Do I?

I guess not.

See you tomorrow!


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Meet Eunniah Mbabazi
Eunniah Mbabazi is an Electrical and Electronic Engineer with a deep passion for books and literature. She has authored Breaking Down (a collection of short stories), If My Bones Could Speak (a poetry collection), The Unbirthed Souls (a collection of short stories), and My Heart Sings, Sometimes (a poetry collection). She has also co-authored Kas Kazi (a novel) and When a Stranger Called (an anthology of short stories).

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