Trust me, I never wanted to appear to you in this form. You don’t deserve any fright of my ghost and I have tried but my conviction refuted me to continue seeing you suffer because of your mother. I am not saying she doesn’t befit your time ,no, I understand your frustration. Living a life trying to fit in my shoes as a son and a family man can never be easy and I heartily apologize. It was never my wish to let you suffer in my absence and the shame of being fathered by someone who chose death on a piece of fabric rope. However, that can never be undone, all I will beg of you is to hear me out and pass this message to your mother. Tell her not to let herself suffer, there is no good in suffering.Try to convince her in believing there is good in death. She will feel light after death. Her burdens I will share. She will have the sleep she wished for me over the years. Tell her suicide is the best remedy to all these suffering. It is sweet to die and death makes it sweet to loose your breath. There is no pain afterwards, not like what I went through. Tell her guilt is just but an iceberg if she decides to live. The blows of life and much of boiled water it will pour on her. Her skin it will deform with blisters. Ask her why was she raining blows on me over what has become part of her?
Tell her ,the man she channeled all her energy to kill was her children’s father. The man she lived with for more than 25 years and the wealth over which she greedily orchestrated death on me we gathered it painfully together. Remind her of how I loved her dearly. Show her the picture in my room of which is now an archive of what is left of me and my marriage with her and the day I said she meant the world to me, it came from my heart and that world I lived in it. And that world in cold blooded killed me slowly, like a slow poison it corroded my life. It ate on my skin. It galloped on my personality. It defaced me and I could not stand before my fellow male friends. It reduced me to a mere puppet. I became a laughing stoke for nothing. I died an dishonourable death because of her and my spirit she will carry until her death do as apart, for is that not what we vowed in church when love was a virtue?
Why would she cry now, it is not like her to become emotional and worst still show it in public? She hardly wanted to see that in me, even after that painful experience when she pressed my fingers with a plies, took my manhood away and I was left with only the hanging balls in a pool of my own blood and that night ,she never expected me to cry. I was a man, how could I cry? How could I not be what the society expected of me? Not just a family man, but a man who will never share the ordeals of a beaten hasbund by her woman.
I know you would ask my son, why was I being beaten? At what state was I when I was being beaten?
My dear son, this is a painful truth I will have to share, that a man does not become a woman or reduced to anything less because of being beaten by a woman. It is just that the society is too principled to particular norms. In fact, in my spiritual form I have entered homes customized to pretend they are happily ever after. Smiles are, but to pleas the public eye for the time. Who is that man bold enough to contain his emotions even in private? We are all humans, we feel pain and break down depending on the magnitude of that pain. No man enjoys becoming a wimp, battered over and over again and adding insult to the injury, we can never share our vulnerability. All the same,tell your mother I loved her and I died without my manhood because of her. As for you, learn to be open and share your suffering, you can never be celebrated dying silently. Choose well and have an act of tolerance.
Domestic violence on men by their women exist as much as violence on women and it calls for equel attention and awareness. As we focus on women, man dies a silent death.