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Going Through the Most

As I sat down by the locked door, I realized that I am going through the most.

Depression


Bad luck comes in threes, with one challenge following the next. You can't seem to catch a break or a breath. I couldn't hold my breath because I was feeling out of it. I felt dizzy, palpitations set in my heart and I was out of breath. The pharmacist told me to sit down and breathe slowly. He suspected an asthma attack. I know asthma; it wasn't it. I suspected of high blood pressure. But I knew what it was...

I was experiencing a nervous breakdown. Nervous breakdowns aren't a thing. We are already struggling with the discussion of depression, bipolar, and other mental health illnesses. I have been going under the guise that my shit is together. I got a heavy blow mid-May and had to pretend that I didn't care. I thought that I could make it through because I have done this before. My mind calculated how much work I would need to sustain me financially until I get the next decent job - for stability.

This terrible country rolled out the first stage of load shedding. Told me that eight hours isn't bad. I can pick up work from the time that the power comes on. However, in the past weeks, the ball game changed to almost twenty hours of no electricity. The higher powers call it to stage two. Unfortunately, where I live, it's been a week now without complete power. Even after filing several complaints to the authorities, all has fallen on deaf ears. This is the second curse.

Freelancing is my current source of food. There are bills to pay and projects that need funding. Check bank balance. Insufficient funds. Scroll down my phone book for someone to borrow from. Most people live in this hell hole of a country. Budgeting, saving, or lending do not collaborate with the unstable economic situation. Those people are probably going through your situation or worse. I'm broke. That is something I often refuse to put into the universe. Bad luck number three.

Who do you talk to about what you are going through? Responses will come as, everybody is going through it. Someone might suggest 'make a plan'. The African tongue will say, "Chingoshingirira. Namata. Zvichaita." (Be strong. Pray. It will work out). A typical Cancer, I crawl back into my shell. Introversion is my defense mechanism whilst battling with my mind for solutions. Hiding the humiliation, pain, and feeling of failure to the world has been easy. Thanks to a gallery of happy photos, that big smile will confirm that I am okay. But am I?

My daughter asked me, "Mummy, why are you sad?" She sees it and maybe feels it. Society taught me that my child should never see my pain. I lie. "Sorry my baby, I was just thinking about what we are having for supper," a wry smile comes up, "Do you need my help?" Yes, I was thinking about how to put food on the table. Sigh!  Most days I don't want to wake up. When I do, I sit in the sun, asking the Son for answers, ideas, or solutions.

The one day that I take a walk to clear my head, all emotions pour in. My head is buzzing. I see darkness during daylight. I can't breathe. My clothes are creating uncomfortable heat. I am hyperventilating while my heart races fast. I could collapse anytime and there's no one in sight. But who walks in this suburb. It makes sense why people are robbed in broad daylight. I hold on to a tree and try breathing exercises. Silently praying, "Lord gives me the strength to reach civilization. Please get me help."

Slowly walking through the green surburbs, I manage to get to the shopping area. Thank God, I sigh, still experiencing shortness of breath. I walk into the nearest pharmacy with a tingling sensation over my face and arms. The pharmacist is busy attending to a client. He sees me gasping for air and asks me to take a seat. Breathe slowly is the instruction is given. Tears well up and trickle down my face.

Minutes later, my body calms down. Air is circulating through my chest and nasal passages. I stand up and thank the pharmacist. Just a few steps around the corner, I get home. The front door is
Locked meaning there's no one home. I knock several times with no response. I sit down by the door. Tears well up again and trickle down my cheeks. I am overwhelmed and not in a good way. I could have collapsed on the road and probably died. I know of people who just collapsed into oblivion. I just wanted to lie down on my bed and sleep. My daughter later comes to the door and opens for me.

"Mummy are you okay?" She asks. I respond, "I'm not feeling well. I need to rest a little. Do you need my help?" She had done her homework already. She told me to get well soon and left me to rest.

Still, I feel alone. I have no one to talk to. When I am out of bed, I will face the world with that 'my shit is together' pretense. It's not a pity party but an acknowledgment I have been going through the most.


We should never leave anyone alone with their thoughts for too long.

P.S. Always write your own love story!

Ciao!

Lady E

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