I AM NOT OKAY… BUT

This is probably one of the hardest topics I find myself not only writing about but talking about. This issue is not only personal but effects one in five people and yet we have only recently started unpacking the stigma surrounding it. Suicide is at an all-time high with the youngest person to commit suicide being six years old. SIX YEARS OLD. Let that sink in for a moment…

For as long as I can remember I always felt anxious, about what I’m not even sure, and didn’t even know what it was. I thought I was the only one experiencing it. I would over think everything and my thoughts would somehow go beyond what my reality was at the time. I grew up in a middle class family with the benefit of attending great schools. I was raised to be a scholastic achiever, not because my parents “forced” me, but because I showed potential in my academic capabilities. It was “expected” for me to do well. So when I was on the verge of failing my first subject (Zulu) all the way back in grade 5, that’s where it all started. My first disappointment. My first failure.

I don’t know what it is that stayed with me as the years rolled over. I just knew that I wasn’t going to allow myself to “fail” again. I remained above average scholastically and still got encouraged by my parents to do better because honestly they just wanted what’s best for me. By grade 10, I felt even more pressure because now I had to choose subjects that would define the rest of my life. It was like I was forced to choose one career path, one cage, to spend the rest of my life in. Needless to say I had my first panic attack during exams of that year. Grade 11 came and with it, my first diagnoses of IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome). The first question my doctor asked me after explaining my diagnoses was “what are you stressing about.” At 16 I was told for the first time I was too stressed and too anxious.

My cousin attempted suicide a year later. She overdosed and drifted off to sleep. Thank God family members found her and rushed her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. She was then placed in a facility which my family still refers to as the looney bin as if depression means being crazy. This was my first introduction to depression. And at that time my understanding of depression meant suicide.

Years rolled by and still carried this “thing” with me. Pretending it didn’t exist because I thought I was fine. Yet my body was constantly weak. I got ill more regularly than one should and couldn’t understand why my body was always tired, weak, and lethargic. I didn’t understand why my immune system was so bad, why I had constant headaches, why I just wasn’t happy. I went to a doctor (not my GP because he was not available that day) and explained my symptoms. He then told me I was depressed and referred me to a therapist. I walked out of that consultation denying that I had depression because “depression meant suicide” and I wasn’t suicidal. A few years later I was back in the doctor’s office. My GP this time. I explained my symptoms once more and he made me fill out a quick questionnaire. The result, I was showing signs of depression. Again, I denied it.

Fast forward to 2019. I’m 27. Have a degree with honours, working full time, being an “adult”, and have my first real boyfriend (yes it’s a little late to have my first boyfriend at 27 but that’s beside the point). I had panic attacks every day for about a month before I finally accepted that something was wrong and asked my GP for help. I got put on antianxiety meds and got referred to a therapist.  I now had to face the fact that I had chronic stress and level four depression (even though I wasn’t suicidal). I got put on medication and saw my therapist once a week. I told my parents and to my amazement that understood and supported me. To be honest I thought they would tell me that I was “crazy” and that I am overthinking things and making myself sick.

By no means am I writing this to tell you how to be “cured” from anxiety and depression or how to “get over” your mental issues. If I had the answer I’d be “cured” and spreading that information like wild fire. But what I can tell you is that you are not alone. You are not crazy. And that with time and the proper help it gets better. It doesn’t go away, it’s a daily fight. But guess what… you were born to be a fighter. You have a purpose and your life is worth more than gold. To speak out and ask for help is the first step. And as a Christian dare I say that prayer alone cannot help you. Trust me, I’ve tried.

Mental health needs to be addressed and DE stigmatised. It is very much real and spreading like an infectious disease in our world. This isn’t something that has only been around recently. This has been around for as long as humanity has existed because as long as you have emotions as human beings do, you are susceptible to mental health issues. Did you know the bible even talks about depression? Just read Elijah’s story. So why aren’t we talking about it as much as we should today?

“There’s life after your diagnoses. There’s life during your diagnoses. It does not have to define you” – Candice Mama.