Mental Check

“Perhaps the butterfly is proof is proof that you can go through a great deal of darkness yet become something beautiful.” Toby Mac

I laughed and the sound that emanated from me was both shocking and yet delightful. After spending ages lost in darkness that seemed to have no end it was like a spark encouraging a bit of light to shine. It was like a flame that pulled the moth that’s me to its flame. Or semblance of a flame.

I laughed? Me? Didn’t I, a month ago, wake up with pain so debilitating and heavy that the first time I felt it I thought I was really crushing to death? Wasn’t I the same one who found refuge in my bed that glued me to it and I to it? I laughed. Wow!

If beds could talk mine would be singing out like a caged bird set free. See I was at a phase where fear roamed freely in places faith and calm used to roam. Doubt ruled while anxiety was his partner on the throne. And my bed was my forte, my comforter, my shoulder to cry on, my punching bag, my sliver of hope and slice of heaven. It bedded me and I wined and dined it with my emotions.

This is what happens when you leave so many thoughts, feelings and eventually deeds go unchecked, uncalibrated. You get stuck in a bed trying to pull yourself back together as weeds try to step in and choke every fertile seed, every potential, every warmth, love, power.

“If I don’t make some kind of big change, I’m going to come out of here wondering how anything is different from before, and I’m going to end up right back here.”

Its Kind of A Funny Story, Ned Vizzini

So where do I really begin? Eight months ago everything I held dear all came down on me and I crumbled and fell. I was a shadow of the person I usually am. No energy was emanating from me. No high pitched cackles that made you laugh too was escaping my walls. No love was flowing sensual nor succinctly. I was dried up. Even my shadow was afraid of me and didn’t come out to play. Who knew I could feel so much cold, be so cold.

I not only choked my light but my creativity was dying a slow death too. What was a pleasurable pursuit turned into war. I locked others out lest I infected them. The world too was divorced thrown into the box and the key thrown away. I never stepped outside with the exception of that day my family was so excited to go out together I didn’t want to dim their light. So we got out of bed, dressed, plastered a smile like it was make up and out went I galavanting albeit with a heart so heavy it’d may have fell you of you held it.

For three months I stayed in: in my home, in my caged dark space. Hurting and being hunted.

I reached out but I got cut and I may have cut in return, with my words and confusion, fear and worry. And I am deeply sorry. I see the efforts you put forth to try help and even understand what I was going through. You were as new to helping at this as I was to this deep darkness.

As much I had lost most of my light one persistent shadow kept following the shell I had turned into. Licking me, nudging me to share cuddles, looked at me as if I was the world, never giving up on me, yet never sharing a word…

On the days I was so afraid to even be by myself lest my woes became too heavy for me to bear and I resorted to extreme measures, he was company and comfort. No words but I felt love so warm that I had to find a way out of this stupor. For him at least.

If one of my fave wordsmith was with me in my head as I write this he’d be like “If we were to name Dixie after a city what would we choose?”
“What?” I’d say because I suck at these games.
“Anchorage. Because he was like an anchor to you,”he’d retort back 😂
But am digressing.

I did a lot of thinking and inking at an attempt to sink these negative cloud, drinking positive thoughts and linking with my creator that I felt my heart, mind and soul syncing again, in slow motion but any motion was welcome.

It’d be an understatement to say words literarily helped save me. With my warm loving shadow, a pen and a notebook as constant companions I sat down to root out what got me here in this barren, darkness. Rooting for the cause of what shot me down to my knees had my fears shoot into light even more. And the triggers I found were shocking and no body armour could shield me from the ricochet of awareness that ensued.

How could I have accepted all these to seep into me and take root? Why did I believe fallacies and what purposes did I expect would have been their fruits? Why did I let so many feelings and thoughts go unchecked? Why do I keep on sweeping so many things under the rug? Who would be the gate keeper to my mind if not me?

This is one of the scariest endeavors I had undertaken in a long while and yet it had to be done. I still woke up with panic attacks. I still was afraid of being left alone. I was still rooting on my bed like an anchor. But at least I had some semblance of life flow. I could feel warmth slowly encroaching my feeble heart.

I didn’t solely warm up on my own. Some amazing individuals lit me up in ways I forgot another being can with their warm words and soft thoughts that reminded me of the deepness I enjoy with people not afraid to go into the deep. Till this day they don’t know how they helped me source heat to warm further my hurt heart. And I shout thank you to my maker for them.

Their light helped me crack the darkness inside me just a bit everytime they talked to me, made me smile, made me hope again, checked up on me. With every message they made me remember my beauty, magic, wonder, light… Thank you so much and may you keep on lighting others with your kindness, love, light, beauty, faith.

There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice – patched, retreaded and approved for the road…

The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath

And football, of all things, football warmed me up in places others couldn’t reach. Imagine. That ball that’s kicked around a large grass grown field warmed me up. I think it was the all in one camaraderie that delighted me. And am grateful I partook instead of hiding more.

I cannot forget to mention my besties meditation and gratitude. They got me out of a jam once and they did it again. Till this day I can’t get enough of them, a guard and his guide shone more light to fuel me further.

So here I was laughing again. And then eight months later am up, and running. Running on fire of faith and healing. Creating has become second nature to me and appreciating and relating like it’s besotted fruits.

I still have moments of melancholia and I panic. Now though, I know how to deal with them and other triggers. I know when to draw my mind’s curtain closed from certain energies. I’m no longer afraid to say ‘No’. I’m vigilant of what I accept as truth. I forgive easily and let go. But I still share my energy like it’s confetti. This is one thing I dare me to never change however much life wants to grab it greedily from my grasp.

I hope you’ll learn from me and weed all that’s not necessary before it’s too late. That’d you’ll filter what you consume mentally just as diligently as you do with what you put in your stomach. I hope you’ll you’ll learn to accept endings and let go. I hope you’ll take the time to heal for time will not still for you to and neither will it heal you. You have to put in the work.

I hope you’ll not be too afraid to ask for help and that you’ll have someone trustworthy to hold you if you fall in the blackhole while you pull yourself out. I hope you’ll find the light in the darkness and that darkness will finally let up.

I hope we’ll open up more space to talk about our mental health as we do shout about our physical health. I hope we’ll reach a place where it’d be okay to not be okay and we shall not be shunned for it. I hope we’ll reach a place where more will have the courage to speak out and not drown in darkness all alone.

I hope…you’ll keep on having consistent mental checks so you can cash in peace, poise, power and joy. This is my prayer for you.

Postscript

This is my 12/22 entry for #WinterABC23 and its by far been the hardest thing I have ever had to pen. You should have seen how many times I chickened out of writing this and how I’m still debating if this is the right choice put my heart on a sleeve and airing my mind. But it had to be told. This is a topic that needs to see more light of day (especially in Africa) for we never know who we might spark with our story of healing and being in control of our mental health. Sending out my deepest love, light, warmth, healing for anyone going through a tough time mentally. May you find the light.