The face of defiance

On June 25, 2025 I walked to a pedestrian bridge in Abuja with one goal in mind - to jump. I stood on the bridge, mentally calculating how to get it done such that it would be completely fatal, with no chance of survival. Then I remember squatting, taking in the hustle and bustle going on around me. I was lost. I had had enough of life with its ups and downs. I just wanted freedom from all the pain and suffering. I chose death for myself. I was ready. Closed my eyes. Said a little prayer. As I began to untie the ropes that stood as barrier, I began reminiscing about my life. I failed in everything. A writer, widely praised but whose writing nobody was willing to pay for. A creative with a wide range of knowledge, yet forever broke because nobody saw the financial value to pay for anything I offered. My talent's value is free. Everything I have to give, everyone wanted it for free. As I untied the ropes, I began to feel the release. It's going to end. It's over. You won't be irrelevant anymore. You won't be treated as irrelevant anymore. It's over.

Earlier in the day, I left a note in my small cubicle that I had called home for five years. It was the only place I could be happy. I thanked it for hiding my pain and shame. My home. Where I could just lay down and sleep.

At some point while untying the ropes, I froze! Is this it? Are you sure you really want to do this? Then the memories came flooding back. All the abuse, the betrayal, the constant disappointments, the shame, the constant begging for food, the serial journey to nothingness...I am nothing. I have never been anything. My digital footprints was all over the internet begging to be loved, to be accepted, to be helped, to be relevant. Everywhere, I cried. That realization gave me even more motivation. The ropes proved a little too difficult to untie, but I was determined...so determined that I didn't notice the curious gazes around me.

I was just a human being who just wanted to find rest. Years of labour with nothing to show for had turned me into an object of mockery. I didn't even know who I was anymore. My writing talent became my greatest albatross. I hated it! Why have a talent you can't use to feed yourself? Imagine begging for food to eat everyday...the shame of it alone. The pain of rejection...the taste of constant failed promises...it was too much. The more I untied the ropes, the more I knew jumping was the only choice left for me.

Then Intervention came! I was angry, I was pained that the ropes had kept me a little longer. If not for the ropes, I would have been off that bridge long before anyone noticed. As the passers-by tried to pull me away from the bridge, I took a deep breath (the deepest I had ever taken) hoping it would be my last, and I lurched forward. I could hear the panic, that followed as hefty men scrambled to pull me back. Then I screamed in anger. I didn't want to be saved. I saw them as my enemies. They wanted to keep me back to continue the suffering. It had taken me days of mental exercise to get to the stage where I was ready to jump and these people had the audacity to stop me. I hated them. I hated them so much.

They were only trying to help. My mind was thinking of the next way to escape them. They knew! They kept a watch over me. Eventually I was taken to the police station where I was kept for three days before I was released.

Back to misery. Back to the life I didn't want to live anymore. I have struggled in these four months. It's even harder because now I am also living out of respect for the people who saved me. But I am back to nothingness. No job. No relevance. Just everyday waking up and wondering what am I going to do? It's a hard life I have. So when in September I applied to attempt for a Guinness World Record, I never expected anything to come out of it.

October 10, 2025 (world mental health day) I decided to face my fear of that bridge (the story picture). I went back there with a puzzle (one other thing I love doing) and I spent hours on that bridge to wipe away the horrid memory of June 25. I was also able to personally thank the people who saved me (without telling them that I wish they had not). I would have passed them on the street and would not have known who they were. To be honest, they didn't recognize me too.

It was a mixed bag of emotions for me because the issues that pushed me to the bridge were still there. I didn't see my being alive as victory...I actually saw it as torture. I lost everything. The will to write and to read - the two things I never thought I would lose. No matter how much I explain nobody understands. You see waking up everyday with no plans, no agenda, is one of the most gruesome things that could happen to a human being. I was gone. The person I knew was gone. The writer was gone. I had nothing. Nothing to give me joy.

The email confirming acceptance of my application came a few days after I revisited the bridge. I think this world record attempt has given me something to look forward to. Though it's really hard because I am about to do something that is so tasking, but also doing it while I am at my lowest ebb might just be a great wonder. I am lost but I am willing to find myself again and I believe this crazy task will help me find who I am, to rediscover what I love and set my life in a path to get out of this quagmire....hopefully. If anyone wants to reach out please do. It's not natural for me as an introvert to ask for encouragement but I need to be encouraged by everyone who can. I am alive to tell a story and this might be the opportunity for me.