Tiny Letters (Or Dear Diary)

Covenant Chimnonso
2 min readFeb 17, 2020

Some nights, I stay up and wrestle with thoughts of my deepest fears.

Dear diary,

I am scared of the dark and drowning. And last night, I buried my head in a bucket of water with the lights turned off after a psychologist suggested that I should face my fears. After what seemed like hours, but was really just a few seconds, I started to hear my heartbeat slowing, and saw blurry visions of my mother dying. Oh, crap! I have to start again.

Dear diary,

I am scared of the darkness, drowning, and of my mother dying. Last night, I buried my head in a bucket of water with the lights turned off for what seemed like hours but was really just a few minutes, and imagined blurry visions of my mother dying. A psychologist suggested that I should face my deepest darkest fears, head-on, so I plunged into that bucket of water and heard my heartbeat slowing. When I brought up my head from the water, and after I allowed the cold droplets fall to my naked feet on the damp rug… Oh, shit! I have to start again.

Dear diary,

I am scared of the dark, drowning, death, and debt. Last month, I received notification from my manager that I had been laid off work. Last week, I received notification from the house manager that I had three weeks to pay my rent or be evicted. Two days ago, I got a text from an old acquaintance reminding me that he was coming to collect my rug based on an agreement to give him my expensive rug for a small personal loan. He asked me to keep the rug dry.

Last night, I tried to drown myself in a dark room, with thoughts of losing my mother and my life flying around in my head. The shrink I saw a few days back suggested that I face my fears. I tried to bury my head in the water long enough for my heartbeat to slow into memory, but the ticking sound of my clock made it difficult a task to complete… Ah, fuck! There’s the last fear I forgot about… And now I have to go over it all again.

Dear Diary,

I’ll jump off a bridge tonight, a picture of mom in my back pocket, and my rug safely stashed somewhere nobody will ever find it. I hope I remember to wear a wristwatch. I’ll miss you.

Your old friend,

Chimnonso

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Covenant Chimnonso

Multidimensional storyteller. Documenting where it matters. Traveller, not tourist.