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, an anthology of short stories and If My Bones Could Speak, a poetry collection. She also co-authored Kas Kazi (a novel) and When a Stranger Called (an anthology of short stories).

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