iCharles

(N.B. I am still mortified by the hollow on this site and in my mind created by my inability to write yesterday. Only Lagos/Ogun state can do this to a man)

Hi Book (I see that’s how Faith has been starting her own writings).

My name is Charles and I have come up a couple of times in this book (that’s a lot, considering that there are only 9 entries here) 

The notion any reader who has read Faith’s entries  would have about me right now is that I am a useless bastard who has no right to live. I agree completely. 

I am not even going to try to start painting a picture of sainthood for myself because I realize that a man has to stop lying at some point. I am here writing to myself and I would not lie about anything. I am evil. 

Last week, my mom called and said that Faith had come over to the house and had dropped off a box. She had asked my mom to find a way to send the box to me and had stormed out of the house. 
The first thing I asked my mom was how big the box was. Let me not lie, I thought the weirdest thing: that Faith had carried the child for 9 months, borne him or her and then cut the baby to pieces and sent them to me in a box. 

Do you see how twisted and cruel my mind is???? This is my point! I think I need help. She only sent down this diary and I read the diary now and I realize that she’d never do that. Oh, how she loved Iyanu. She’d never.
Writing is therapeutic; so I have heard. But for me right now, it feels like I am opening a can of decayed worms that live in my existence. But then, the worms are really me. I am just a bag of decayed worms. 

I am constantly watching over my shoulders, wondering if life is sneaking up behind me to get back at me. (Haha. Take a break and recognize the pun in that sentence. ‘Watching my shoulders’ ‘get back at me’ Do you see it??) 
Sorry. 
Damn. 

I abandoned the woman I love because of a gift from God which we both ‘demanded’ for. 

I knew I was messed up and I let someone else into my life without fixing myself. 

I now hate the woman I call my wife and I do a terrible job at hiding it. 

I planned to severely deny the paternity of the baby if I ever met her. 

Now I know she’s dead and I’m making jokes. 

I really am a can of worms, aren’t I?