O Little One

Regard thyself, O Little One, with eyes of Love;

As the kite that flies high up the Blue sky;

Spread thus your wings forth.

Like the bird offers its morning melody-

…a beautiful sacrifice to the heavens…

Step Forth

Leave your Footprints

In the Path you take

Touch a life; offer a smile

Love me; I love You

I saw Beauty

In her radiance, I glowed,

In her face, my hope overflowed,

Beauty undefined, beauty unequalled-

Is what I saw

Joy, love, laughter, peace everlasting-

Is what I felt

O Glorious Beauty,

In your magnificence,

I beg to live;

ETERNALLY

A Cry of the Forgotten…an Answer

A Rage.

A thunderous Rage.

A storm ripping through the Cold Night.

Chaos;

A shrill voice;

An ancestral cry;

A whirlwind;

A mighty shattering whirlwind;

The Silence is broken;

A cry of the Forgotten pierces the Night;

yelling; howling; wailing…

Is it the Storm? Is it the fight for Survival?

nothing. Nothingness. An unseen Monster. A fight in the Soul

Scream. Fight for Dear Life. An endless Night. Torment. Pierce the Night. Go to the other side.

breathless.

The Silence is Broken.

 

But Yet…

…come here Dear Child…

…let me wrap my arms around you…

…I am the Restorer…

…I make calm your Soul…

I am the Universe

 

Gone too Soon: Rest in Peace Lydia

She was with us. Only for a moment. For she was gone too soon.
She was always smiling; she made us all feel happy, and we never forgot to tell her how she brought joy in our midst.

Lydia had gone through a lot. Clinical depression makes one go through a lot. Often times you are not at liberty to choose how you feel. When the Blues come, they give no warning.

The voices; those unwelcome voices torment you to the core. They do not even ask for permission to invade your Soul. They force their way in. Ever the unwelcome visitor.

And the voices tell you many things; they tell you many bad things. The voices say you are worthless; hopeless; that actually you are better dead than alive.

The voices told Lydia these things and more. She battled them. This I know because she shared with us. Her support group. The voices told her she was better dead. She almost listened to this intruding visitor. Five times she almost listened.

However, each time she bounced back. Beaten yes, but willing to live one more day.

When she told us all this, we cried; we hugged her. We told her we were family. Some of us had heard the same voices; telling us the same things she heard for most of the past nine years.

And Lydia no longer felt alone. She started coming back; rising; and she was there; with that smile on her face; and she told us she finally was stumbling on those voices. Thanks to Michael-whose story brought her back from the precipice. She told us she was stumbling on those voices; they were not chaining her anymore. And so we always looked to be with Lydia for our bi-weekly meetings.

But Lydia won’t be coming for the next meeting.

Rest in Peace Dear Friend. You were gone too soon.

But I gladly say that your last days, they were happy days. Lydia was happy in her last days.

We may not know how much she suffered at the moment she called it off; but we are glad to say that the last time she sat with us, Lydia smiled. Lydia was happy.

The Splendour of my Smile

I was diagnosed with Social Anxiety Disorder in 2009. I had heard about mental health disorders but never thought I could have one. What I knew was that I lived most of my life as a spectator; the fly on the wall. I could not speak unless spoken to; I could not act unless pushed, and when I had to act; it was for me a moment of agony.

I was quiet, always smiled when asked to speak and say something. Everyone excused it; they said I was shy. I did not like this label; because I wanted to do what other young people my age did. I wanted to participate in school dances without feeling embarrassed about it; I wanted to join the sports teams, to do all that a young person would do while in school. In High School I wanted to not only attend symposiums but participate too. In class I not only wanted to get As in my exams but raise my hand in class to answer questions: Just like most of my classmates.

But it must have been the shyness; that’s what everyone called it, and I settled with that. I did not have to do anything. I could sit back and wait and watch the rest. However, it must have been more than that; it was an unknown fear that always engulfed me whenever I was in a social setting. Being on the spot was hell on earth for me. My heartbeat, why did it beat so hard whenever I wanted to ask a question in class? Why did I always think I was the unworthy one; the least of them all? I was a bright student; I could tell by the way I performed in class; but was this all there was to it? Pass my exams but not answer questions in class. Well, I could dismiss it; maybe it would go away with time. Maybe it was a phase; as I grew older, maybe, I could get hold of myself and be composed.

I could not share with anybody that I thought I had a problem. The teachers in High school thought I was selfish, for how could a Top three student not raise her hand to answer questions in class? How could an above average student not participate in the Literature symposiums whereas she scored As in her written exams? I was not selfish, I knew I wasn’t. But this fear. This unknown fear; why did it grab me whenever I wanted to be of use to those around me? And the accompanying thoughts; that I was lesser; that I was unworthy? Why did I have to entertain these thoughts? Maybe they would go away with age? Could it have been just a phase?

The years did pass. I loved the written word, and I wanted a career that would see me using my talent in writing. I was lucky to be among those selected to join a prestigious government media institution to study journalism. All I wanted was to write; I did not want judgment from people and I knew that being in the background would be my best escape. I settled for print journalism. But my escape wasn’t here yet.

In college, you express yourself well; you critique issues in class. In college you don’t give one-off answers like Yes or No. In college you need upward of 2 minutes to explain your answers. You are building a career, and you need to be seen to be doing it by how you carry yourself in class.

The first semester in college, 2005: I thought it was the new environment: I said I would participate in the next one. This fear. Allow me to speak. Not only on paper, but I can express myself as well; but this fear. This fear was intent on following me. I thought when I got older I would be wiser and bolder. I was 21. But I still carried the label shy. Was it normal?

My friends said it was normal. That everyone gets stage fright. That everyone gets nervous. But did they know? Did they know how I wished to be like them all? To dance in the music festivals; to be in drama; to just be heard and not only be seen. I wanted to be normal.

In my second year in college I spoke to a close friend whom I told that I did need help. That however much I seemed happy, smiles and all, I had hundreds of questions as regards the fear that always engulfed me whenever I wanted to partake in a social event. He took me to a nearby counseling centre. I remember crying, telling the counselor that the fear, that it was messing me. That I needed to get rid of it. I was told I needed to attend counseling sessions. Money was needed. And it was my barrier. I said that life could go on. That the best I would do was not to rock the boat.

An entry in my diary sometime in 2006:

BEHIND MY SMILE

I tell a story of fear incarnate,
Of gone and lost hope,
Behind my smile,
Hidden, suffocating sadness,
Repressed, tired laughter,
Faked joy waning by the minute,
…the pain of believing in fate,
Behind my smile; I CRY.

I got my first job in 2007, immediately after graduating from college. I was getting older, maybe this ‘shyness’ would go away. The phase would just pass. I had faith.

Now that I did not have to talk in a group of people; now that this was a small company; now maybe I would be fine. But something else cropped up. Something new. I started realizing that whenever the phone rang; my heart would do its usual runs. Beating, beating, I could not pick the phone. Telephone fear? How now!

I hit the search engine. ‘Telephone Fear, Support groups, shyness, confidence, fear,’ on and on it went. Until I stumbled upon ‘Daily Strength’ an online support group for people with mental health issues. At this point in time all I wanted was to find out if anyone out there felt what I felt. If they were afraid but did not know why. If what I had had a name.

The following is a journal entry I made in October 15 2007 in my profile on the Daily Strength site:

i am feeling terrible, i really hate myself, how can i be damn stupid over so small issue. case in study-everytime i face my boss i get so shaken up i fumble, i hate what is happening to me, can’t i be just normal, can’t i just be like some very confident people around me????i hate my situation, i hate that small matters can really affect me big time. i wish i could be somebody else.

Life pretty much remained the same. I quit the job after I was assigned the front office desk as the fear for the phones gave me sleepless nights.
As I had promised myself not to rock the boat; my life remained the same. Doing a little writing for magazines and not engaging in anything that would expose me to the fear. I ensured I lived within the ‘safe’ confines of life.

When I got another job in 2009 and the same problem of the telephone presented itself again, only then did I realize that my life would actually not move anywhere if I wasn’t ready to face the demons within.

I started going for counseling sessions with a clinical psychologist who diagnosed the SAD. In time she helped me to see how the images I created in my mind were distorted. She took me through my life’s journey; how events that happened in my childhood shaped my beliefs. How slowly by slowly I had fed the uncertainties of my life into a monster called fear.

This is what I was dealing with. This is what I want society to know. That Fear is real, and that once we feed it, it kills us.

2011: I am coping with the anxiety. I live with it. Some days are great, other days I want to live someone else’s life. However I am learning to embrace positive self image which I must say has its challenges. Early in the year I had a relapse where I again had to leave my third job as a result of anxiety episodes. I now visit a psychologist and I have been on a dose of antidepressants.

I have shared my story in a daily newspaper in efforts to create awareness about Anxiety Disorders and the need to be aware when what we would call ‘shyness’ actually is a serious mental health disorder.

I have also joined a youth campaign ‘one mind lend your voice campaign’ that seeks to create awareness about mental health and the need for young people to hold in esteem their mental health for there is no health without mental health.

I am also a member of a user movement, Users and Survivors of Psychiatry in Kenya of which we have a support group of young professionals with mental health issues who find solace in the comfort that they are not alone in their problems and that mental illnesses can be managed and one can lead a normal life.

As opposed to the dark sentiments that tend to want to keep flowing out of my Soul; here is a beautiful piece I penned down that I keep looking at to rejuvenate my spirit.

IN THE SPLENDOUR OF MY SMILE

I tell a story of love everlasting,
Of hope eternal,
Of beautiful memory and bountiful tomorrows,
I tell of glory and grandeur that is life,
Of joy and laughter overflowing,
I narrate of love ever so beautiful,
Of dreams in urgency of fulfillment,
I tell of flowers glowing in the night,
Of nightingales and beautiful melody,
I reach to the heavens and drink of the sweet waters of the sky,
I see the horizon and bask in its unending beauty,
I join with the night and dance with the stars,
In the splendor of my smile,
I am complete.

2012: I need to add that now I am a communications officer in a mental health research foundation. Talk of God’s small mercies.

Happy World Mental Health Day 2012