My Girlfriend Wets My Bed and Blames The Witches From Her Hometown

From the very first day I met Afi, there was something soft and fragile about her spirit. She wasn’t the type who rushed into things or jumped into love with open arms. For over three months I chased her, called her, sent her messages, visited her, and gave her every reason to trust me. But she kept saying one thing over and over, almost like a warning carved deep into her mind: “You love me now, but once you get to know me, I know you won’t love me again.” I thought she was only afraid of heartbreak. I had no idea it was something more. Something that had chased away every man before me.

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When she finally said yes, you would think everything would become easy, but it didn’t. After another three months of dating, she still would not sleep at my place. We could sit together until 3am, talking about dreams, childhood memories, and what we wanted in life. But the moment I suggested she should sleep over, even when I promised not to touch her, she would pack her bag, call a taxi, and vanish into the night. I didn’t understand. I thought maybe she was shy, or maybe her parents wanted her home early, but even that didn’t make sense because she stayed out late with me anyway.

One night, after begging her again to stay and watching her still prepare to leave, I got frustrated and locked the door. I told her she wouldn’t die if she slept over, and she should stop the unnecessary fear. I slept in the hall and gave her the bedroom, thinking that would make her feel safe. At dawn, a strange sound woke me. Water running, clothes being scrubbed. I rushed to the bathroom and there she was, washing the bedsheet. The moment I stepped closer, the smell hit me. Her eyes told me everything before she opened her mouth. Afi was a bedwetter.

“Is this what you’ve been hiding?” I asked softly. “Is this what made you think I’ll stop loving you?” She nodded slowly, ashamed, her head down like a child caught doing something wrong. She couldn’t even speak. I washed with her, and reassured her. That day, I promised to help her seek proper medical care. But Afi had her own ideas.

She told me about a herbal doctor she had heard on radio who claims he can cure anything, from spiritual attacks to addiction to bedwetting. She insisted we should go there. I didn’t believe in the place, but she begged so much that I allowed myself to follow her. We paid over GHC1,200 for one month’s treatment. But halfway through, she stopped using the medicine. “I don’t see any improvement,” she told me. “Why should I continue?”

I begged her to complete the full month so we could go back for the follow-up. She refused. Instead, she started sleeping with a huge rubber sheet under the bedsheet anytime she visited. Watching her do that broke me. I wanted her to find healing. I wanted our future to be free from fear and shame. But instead of trying the hospital or a specialist, she said something that crushed me even more: “It’s not medical. It’s spiritual. My family witches don’t want me to have a good marriage.”

From there, everything went downhill. She would stay up all night joining online prayer sessions. She paid pastors for “direction”, bought oils, sowed seeds, joined fasting programs, and still nothing changed. She would do anything except seek medical help. Anything except listen to logic.

Now I’ve stopped inviting her to spend the night. Not because I don’t care, but because I am tired. She says I am giving up on her. That I promised her undying love and now I’m withdrawing. But I’m human. How can I love someone more than they love themselves? How can I fight for someone who won’t even meet me halfway? I’ve tried, but she’s pushing me away with her refusal to embrace real help.

She is genuinely a good woman. Sweet, loving, humble. But even in the daytime, she sometimes pees on herself. She tells me she doesn’t feel the urge until the urine is already at the edge. She says her body betrays her without warning. And all I see is someone who needs a hospital. Someone who needs science. Someone who needs professional care. But she sees demons and witches instead.

I am worn out. Emotionally. Mentally. Even spiritually. I want to stay, but I am breaking. I want to help her, but I am drowning in the process. Part of me wonders if I’m a terrible person for thinking of leaving. Another part asks if I’m foolish for staying when every other man before me quietly walked away.

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So is it my fault if I leave? Am I wicked for wanting her to try what will work?Love alone cannot fix everything. Prayers work but there’s science for a reason. Afi won’t listen to me but will listen to a pastor who promises to have heard from God. I am tired for holding on to a woman who refuses to hold on to herself but also can’t leave because it feels like I’m breaking a promise I made to her.

—Eugene

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