So, when I started writing about depression I never thought that I would make it into occasional blog posts. I just thought that i was going to just write about it in one blog post and leave it at that. I soon realised that I felt so strongly about this issue and since I once mentioned here in November 2017, that my sole purpose for writing was to share my experiences in the best way I could then this topic is mandatory.
A very close friend of mine, sent me a message a couple of days ago after I had shared this pic on my watsap status.
Do you know what she said?
‘I love this new lady self confident‘
Not a lot of words I suppose. Just a few words pregnant with meaning.
Causes of depression
It took my travelling yonder, down the Southern African region to deal with this demon. I needed to meet a strong black woman who wasn’t terrified to free me from these clutches the enemy had put on me since I was 8 years old. Ever since I started writing about this, I have not once cried but today. My eyes are filled up with tears. Busisiwe Hlatshwayo literally grabbed me from the jaws of a lion that had trapped me for decades . They do not sting because of what I went through but I just realise that I was so blessed to have met her when I did. I will forever be grateful that she opened up about the sexual abuse she went through putting my own ghosts into abyss forever.
I was sexually abused by a neighbour I fondly called uncle.
what is sexual abuse?
I had to look this up here.
Would you believe it that statics show that 1 in 3 women will be sexually abused during their lifetime.
My father died when I was in 3rd grade. May his dear soul rest in eternal peace. My mother automatically became a widow and I unfortunately or fortunately had only me to take care of. she later on contracted HIV/Aids and died . I remember that day like it was yesterday.
My cousin sister came to collect me from school and told me that we were going home to celebrate her birthday. I was at a girls’ boarding school then. We got onto the bus and disembarked in Bulawayo where I stayed. I kept asking my sister why we were going to celebrate her birthday in my hometown. It just didn’t make sense to me.
Nothing prepared me for the red flag I immediately noticed as soon as we turned into my road. The crowd had gathered and were singing sad melodies. I was heartbroken. My mother had left me alone. I remember that I did not cry much. I couldn’t, more so when I saw her in the coffin, she looked like she was just sleeping. She was gone. I had so many questions to ask. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. There were roads I needed to mend but she wasn’t there anymore. Never was I going to talk to her again, see her smile or hear her laughter or touch her. She was just gone without us mending our relationship. Gone.
I should have cried and let it all out that day , maybe I would have been healed of my broken heart that’s what I always think.
She didn’t say anything to me before she died that’s also what I thought about for years. Her last words were to my cousin sister.
‘Precious,usare uchichengeta mwana wangu’
I recall also questioning my sister if mama had said anything else besides that.I wanted a message like, please tell Nomsa that I love her. Also, I wished I had just seen her one last time before her passing but alas, it was not to be.
It was not easy being an orphan. I longed for my mother everytime but there was noway I was going to see her ever again. It dawned on me years after, this I think in my late 20’s that mommy had not said anything like I love you my daughter but indirectly she had.
Leaving me in the most capable hands was the best way to tell me that she loved me. You know African parents aren’t good in saying out these words.
Who out there can relate with me that being melanin in Africa since long back was received with mixed feelings till now? Most people spat out hate speeches about dark skinned girls. I will start my rejection from there.
The colour of my skin
I could fault my dad on a lot of things but I’m glad that he loved and appreciated how I looked. My mother on the other hand ridiculed it. Funny enough, she was also as dark as I was. I remember one particular day where she used a stone to scrub my feet till I bled. Relatives and friends had one or two things to say also about how dark I looked, Honestly, back then people preferred fairer skinned girls . The notion was that girls needed to be beautiful as If being dark skinned was ugly.
Orphaned at 14
There is a saying in my language that says, ‘nherera inoguta musi wavigwa amai wayo’ translated to an orphan gets fully fed on the day the mother is buried. I can attest that I lived this idiom. After my mother’s death, naturally, in our African culture, my dad’s brothers or sisters were supposed to raise me up. I’ll not get into detail right now but they downrightly refused and painstakingly made it clear that they had enough kids of their own.
Thank goodness my mother had predicted this and left me in her niece’s capable hands. She was only 24 herself, a university student who also didn’t have parents ,looking after 3 more orphans.
Years after, I got thrown out of relative’s houses thrice. I’ll talk about this another day.
You can never know if your partner shall be abusive in the future. Many abusive partners in the early stages seem absolutely perfect in the first stages of a relationship. Possessive and controlling behaviors don’t always appear overnight, but rather emerge and intensify as the relationship grows. Therefore, I don’t think my mother knew what she had put herself in. I don’t think she would have signed herself to being bashed , being threatened and intimidated. I can not speak of their relationship as I was pretty young to know much but I do know that the fights were real.This is what my childhood was like.
These became my trigger points for depression. It led to unstable relationships, a need for validation, no sense of permanency, neediness and always trying to find myself.
If you enjoyed this post don’t forget to like, follow, share and comment!