Six Types Of Suicide (You Might Be Committing Unknowingly)

Someone must have lied against me because without having done anything wrong, I got a truckload of work on my desk. The work ate me alive and vomited me whole. Phew, I survived. Pass me a medal. It’s not over yet. I still have no space. My boss just stepped downstairs so I sneaked into this blog to beat you guys with your shinbone.

Note: stop praying for a job (who job help?), just go straight to the point and ask God for money. All this pretext, I want to build my skills, I hate being idle etc are bullshit. It is money we’re all after. Making ‘I want to build my skills’ comment is just you polishing your greed. That’s by the way.

A lot has happened since I last wrote here. Suicide, depression, certificate scandals etc have trended in Nigeria (and still trend). On the certificate issue, I have already written why you shouldn’t go to school, I won’t bother talking about the A4 piece of paper schools issue people who are gullible enough to gather in an overcrowded lecture hall for a lecturer who hasn’t updated his notes since 1994 to abuse.

I don’t know enough about depression. Depression is already bad in itself without quack doctors like me adding to the library of guesswork, cant, and blackhat diagnosis. I am still researching on depression. No, don’t send me any links on WhatsApp. I will find my way, my own way. Thanks.

Let’s talk suicide.

Suicide is a big issue. To understand it, we will divide it into two broad types–the instant suicide when you jump into the lagoon, or fly into the path of a speeding truck or drink ‘ota pia pia’, or trust APC; then there is the slow or shallow suicide which is the one I will talk about here. It is the one people are more likely to neglect or overlook. Funnily, this type of suicide we must have committed one time or the other, or still committing.

Seven of them.

1, Ponzi Schemes

My dear this is suicide. Put ten thousand to get twenty; put twenty to get one million. Dangerous game. Nine out of ten times, you will lose. I had a close shave with MMM. I can count on the fingers of both hands, the number of people who are yet to recover from MMM criminal affair. In April. And there many of them Get Help Africa, Get Help Worldwide, Cashdomain. Nairalift etc. All is suicide. What kind of help do you expect from a total stranger? They want to help you eat your money. Run, bro, run!

And it is addictive. You lose one thousand, you decide to recover it. You win two thousand, you get greedier.

Please, check out among your colleagues, neighbours and family. Is anyone looking dull, forgetful or tattered? Did he play any Ponzi? Please hug someone. Keep dangerous substances out of the reach of Ponzi children. Collect their account number, send them one thousand naira. Buy them zobo. Pray for them.

And most importantly, stay out of Ponzi sites yourself.

2, Abusive Relationship

You know, whenever we mention abusive relationship we subconsciously envision a lady in physical abuse. That is the most pictorial abuse, but that is not even the most popular abuse. We have criminals, terrorists, 419ners, armed robbers parading as boyfriends and girlfriends, launching all sorts of abuse. From mental abuse, to emotional abuse, to economic abuse, to social abuse, and even destiny abuse. If you remain in an abusive relationship, you are digging your grave, slowly. One day you will be lowered into it.

Wait, you don’t understand destiny abuse? Now, what do you call a relationship where a man earns 90 thousand a month with no side business yet his girl requests for 150 thousand naira phone and gives him a deadline? And the guy is running around ‘to see what I can do’. My brother, run for your life. Stop looking for a shovel to dig your grave. Run, brother run. There are no village witches. You have one witch, your girlfriend and she is a city witch. Runaway, idiot. Idiot.

3, Smoking and Drinking

You take a pack of cigarettes and you read clearly Smokers are liable to die young. In bold letters. Mehn, what other argument do you want? My friend, you are digging your grave. I have nothing more to say on smoking, go and argue with the federal ministry of health.

Occasional consumption of alcohol is not the issue here.

Suicide is when you drink your life to a stage where you crave for alcohol, where you can’t stop as soon as the first bottle hits your teeth, where you need alcohol to build your morale, forget a disappointment or solve your problem. My friend, you are already on top of Mainland Bridge. One more sip and you will go tumbling down.

Pass me  the bottle.

4, Abortion

I consider abortion evil. I can understand a girl who at eighteen or nineteen failed to peer pressure or got led by a terrible mother or aunt who doesn’t want the ‘shame in the family’ to abort. But there are a group of serial abortionists that are committing suicide. I know or used to know a few couples who have sex without condom (because I don’t like the smell of condom, condom reduces the sweetness, condom is too rough, wow, wow, wow, etc) the girl misses her period, they get a test strip, confirm it and she takes an abortion pill. End of problem. (No talk of HIV and other STDs even).

Two or three months later, the same thing happens. They terminate. They resume sex. Pregnant. Terminate. Press repeat. So you see a three years relationship canopied with twelve to fifteen abortions. Jesus!

Have you no sense? This is not murder, it is homicide, genocide even. You are shedding blood. I don’t care what you believe in but blood is powerful. No bloodshed will go unanswered. So you are not only risking your womb, you are risking your life, and your future. You and the nigger who pays for the mess.

Incase you missed Seven Signs You Have Poverty Mentality

5, Money-Crazed

If money means so much to you that you can do anything to get it, if you are depressed when you don’t have enough and you toss on the bed and eat yourself up, you are digging your grave. Who doesn’t like money? Nobody. The question is, who has money ruling (and ruining) his life? If money is the most important thing in your life, if money is the thing you live for, fight for, then you have a shovel.

Nigeria is a hard country and money is so slow to come by and nearly everything is for sale, including ‘good morning’ and ‘I miss you’. Understandable. But the bad news is that money doesn’t necessarily come to people who hustle harder or worry their head off. If your village witches are sitting on your source of income, forget it. Just eat your soaked garri and belch happily.

What things are more important than money? you may ask. A lot. Eg:

1, your life.

2, your happiness.

3, your family.

4, your health.

5, peace of mind.

6, good name.

7, love.

More or less. Which of the above can money buy? Yeah, money can take care of your family but not when you are rotting in Kuje Maximum Prison. The point is, if you need money to be validated, to feel fulfilled you will never get enough for a complete validation and fulfilment. You will keep trying until strong hands carry you, dig a grave and lower your carcass.

6, If You Stand With Any Nigerian Politician especially Buhari and other APC incompetent hypocrites woe betide you! Sorry, says the blogger, sorry is your name!

I am outta here.


You sit by the lush lawn that overlooks your steel gate, reading a magazine while sipping from a glass of chilled citrus drink. The weather is mild; shining from the back of a dark cloud is the sun, gazing weakly at the world. A passing breeze toys with your hair, blowing them over your face. You didn’t put out a hand to hold them in place, rather you let the breeze nudge them about.

The once gentle breeze gathers into a howling wind which snatches the magazine from your
hand, throwing it feet away from you. You gave a chase, both hands lifted in mock panic, to retrieve your costly magazine. The wind gets excited, doubling its might and swelling your gown like ball wears worn in the western world. You pause in your pursuit, the magazine has been hurled over the fence and you stand holding onto your gown smiling.

You remember Miracle running not too long ago, after a piece of paper she’d been sketching on, stolen by the wind. The thieving wind, you called it. You equally remember how she had laughed when the wind blew up her skirt, you see her gleaming eyes filled with shocked pleasure as she paused to gather her skirt. You remember how you had ran out to her, how you two giggled until the
drizzling rain turned to a mighty downpour.

You remember too how you took turns drying each other’s body, and how you stayed up all night watching her unsteady temperature. Miracle is a fragile one and easily catches cold.

The falling rain brings you out of your nostalgic trance. You turn and flee to shelter while the tears you don’t notice mingle and fall with the rain.
Anger masks your face, stretching it to a frightful angle. You pace in short quick strides, rounding an imaginary table a thousand times. Miracle stands by the sink, playing with the water that runs over her fingers. Her face is frozen, void of any emotion. She raises her
face and looks at you briefly, now you see the defiance in her eyes. You cannot help notice she dons a turtle-neck sweater which is black and thick over a knee length gown; you wonder if she is cold.

You stop right before her. Your eyes are pleading and teary, and your lips shakes from threatening sob.

‘Please,’ you whisper, fighting the sobs. You take her hands in yours.
She moves out of your semi embrace, furiously wiping her eyes with the cuff of her
sweater. She is strong willed and stubborn, just like you.

‘Mother.’ There is plea in her voice. ‘Years ago while in college you had me. You had nothing; no friend nor family to support you, yet you had me despite the mockery and scorn.  Had you aborted me, would you have had me with you today?’

You sit down, letting the tears flow, looking at your sixteen years old Miracle and grasping the meaning of her words.
You ache from what the world would say to her, how the world would treat a teenage pregnant girl. Seventeen years ago you were there yourself, and the pains you passed through still clings to your heart. The world has not changed much in seventeen years. You hug your daughter, weeping with the same unity you had giggled with under the rain.
Vin giggles as you tickle him. The sound of his laughter brings light to your heart. You set him down and watch him crawl happily to his pack of toys.

Months ago, you had sat watch over your teenage daughter and her growing belly. From
the first to the ninth month, fearing that things might go wrong any second. You stood by her against the world and fought her battle with her.

When Vincent was born, you had wept profusely, hiding your face from the excited nurses. You had cried for your daughter’s safe delivery, you had cried at her bravely, but you cried more for wanting to get rid of this angelic being that did
you no harm. All for the sake of what the world will say.

The birds are chirping happily outside, and Fat Jo your dog runs after them, playfully barking up at the sky while clawing at their faint shadow on the ground. You are at the lawn, not reading though you have a magazine on your laps but watching Vin in a slightly oversized cap play with his kite. He is two years old and calls you mama. Far, from the north, the wind came calling. Blowing off Vin’s cap and hurling both it and his kite over the fence.

He turns to you with wide eyes,
laughing, you run to him laughing. Your laughter mingled with Jo’s barking as you all run around playfully.

You lift your grandson to your back, his giggle fused with yours as you run from the falling rain. You are afraid he will catch cold. Fat Jo barks excitedly, running after raindrops. Your dog loves water a lot.

Your voice is sleepy. You sit rocking him to sleep, singing a lullaby. His petite angel-like face cuts your heart. The guilt is still there, although you didn’t get to destroy this happiness.
Nonso Serah Uchechukwu has been published in this blog under the name Serah Donald Mbachu. She sent in this from Owerri. You haven’t seen the last of Serah here.
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