Your Mind; My Mind

"They do not know
They do not understand
But Father, I pray for them
That they will lift up their hands
And seek Your Face
For who You truly are
And let go of the lies
That kept them in the dark."

By Gabrielle Cilliers

It just one of those nights.

I feel miserable. I feel as if the universe owes me something.

I take, and give… yet I can’t tell. What is it? What am I doing that makes it like this? Makes thing seem reasonable and sensical when I am just sad here in bed. What is it that makes me happy and myself? What is that makes me considerable in a game of five-a-side with my friends? For that call to arms to be with them in all walks of life. The embrace of warmth I feel when I know where I am and that the train which drives me has a rail which takes me to snowy mountains, sunset valleys and dew trodden meadows. I cannot explicitly act without remorse. Without question or regret teething on the back of my mind. Tormenting. Lamenting me, for the way I act. The way I think. And how I feel day to day. How can it be that I just exist, so harmful to the universe in expenditure of its energy yet no recall comes to call me to pack my bags and leave? Take me from whence I came as the ash to the final ash. I cannot apologize for any of it. I cannot apologize for the further remorse and tension created in the cosmic. All I can really do it sit back and enjoy the mess that is. The coffee stains on the beautiful wooden table of oak and splendor. Of the honey and cherry wine my blood contains which tastes oh-so-bitter at present. I know there is further time but all I can take is the strides forwards I am given. The stripes of light painted on the wall of my bedroom each morning, like the stripes of an aeroplane runway ready to take off. I hold my thumbs as tight as my heart every morning. I take off into the clouds where nothing is truly visible.

By Anonymous

Sometimes I need to take a moment to think
of how my life actually flies by within a blink
not too long ago everything and everyone I know seemed so innocent
but as my life continues I learn that values and rules are easy to be bent

As I get older and hopefully become bolder
I strive to follow only my Creators' orders
"Stay true to yourself," I will continuously say
but I still can't stop to think that life is just a game that gets played in a million different ways

By Anonymous

My boyfriend and I spoke a couple weeks ago. I told him how I always felt as nothing ever good happened to me, even though I am a good person and work extremely hard for what I want. He told me to give him a second, while he went to find a letter, and it said the following, “I wish you the courage to turn the page when things are not going as they should, or, simply how you would like them to go. I wish you the strength and power to let go of all those times, even when you committed so much time and effort and put all the will of the world into it. You cannot get involved. I wish you to anchor yourself to something that can and will make you smile and cry with happiness. I wish you the desire to always dare, the ability to listen to the advice of those who love you, but then, on time, the stubbornness to decide only on the basis of what you want, of what you feel. I hope you can always start over, even when life and situations are not on your side, because those who do not start inevitability stumble in tangled memories that make them stop thinking about the future. Have the strength to keep the unconscious moments/memories lived, but not do not, for the love of GOD, live in them.”

By Anonymous

*Trigger Warning: This post has mentions of self harm and suicide. No graphic imagery is used and this post is intended for the purpose of hope and understanding.

If life was simpler, I wouldn’t have grey hair.

So let me tell you a story of how I got my grey hair.

15 –  Fifteen was my first encounter with grey hair. As I woke on my way to high school, I couldn’t be worried about a pimple on my forehead or even the tear running down my cheek in the reflection of my mirror. I was oblivious, so fixated on how I got this shining piece of platinum cells all over this one strand of my beautiful black hair. Ashamed of what I looked like, I turned a blind eye to my real problem. That year, experimentation was not only in the science lab, but outside with a plethora of different alcohols and rolling tobaccos.  I still remember the day I told my father that I had started smoking. He told me to bring all my lighters up to the kitchen table, and he embraced me in his arms. He told me, “please stop smoking. I am so proud of you for telling me. I love you no matter what.” I couldn’t hold back my tears. I felt as though I had betrayed my own father, and yet he was willing to give up anything just to see me happy. But it wasn’t that simple you see. Life never is. I was depressed, and the long cuts running down my arm on the outside of bicep proved that. It didn’t last long before I was back to experimenting. I got caught many times red handed and it seemed to push me deeper and deeper into this state. Another look in the mirror and I was looking at the future me filled with grey hair. I was a failure.

16 – Sixteen. The only thing keeping me going was my best friend. He inspired me every single day to be a better version of myself. I knew I was on the edge. Life seemed almost pointless and exhausting. But there was small ray of light that came into my life. At the time I had thought I had found the love of my life. I truly cherished and loved every moment we had together. I truly did love her. But life isn’t that simple you see. Life never is. This ray of light hid my pain and depression in the shadows of the days filled with teenage love, or what we thought was love. I had pushed myself over the edge. I was depressed, but I never really saw it like that. You see, throughout my whole life I had been raised to appreciate what I had been given as I had so many things to be appreciative for. Even though my heart hurt and life seemed pointless, I never thought about taking my life. One year prior I had cut my arms, but there I was, future me. Still with grey hair, but maybe with a better understanding of my situation.

17 – Seventeen. I appreciated the first car I got, until I scratched it while on a drive without my parents’ permission. I had betrayed my parents. This part is a little hectic to speak about – but basically for 6 months my parents and I didn’t speak. I was deeper more than ever before. Those 6 months made me think. Why did I feel this way? You see life isn’t that simple. It never is. It made me realise things about myself. It made me realise that I was afraid of failure. I was afraid of rejection. I was afraid of not being good enough for the people around me, nevermind myself. You see, I love with a love so strong. I am a passionate and loud person. And I love that. I promise you, you will never meet anybody more passionate about different topics and ranges of music like I am. I knew that family was the love of my life. I needed to mend that relationship. It would take time, but it always does. When I finally did, everything fell into place. You see, I figured out that I never was depressed. I was AFRAID. That caused me to make stupid mistakes influenced by “Suicide Stereotypes”. The cutting, drinking, smoking, was all influenced to what I believed was depression. But that’s apart of my life. Failure. I was no longer afraid of failure and realised that my grey hair was a lesson I needed to learn from. I looked in the mirror again, and though my hair was still grey, I was wiser and stronger than ever. I actually never really knew what it felt like to be depressed.

18 – Eighteen. I still remember the phone call I got. My friend had just committed suicide. I finally got my first taste of death. He walked into my room in a dream and said time is of the essence. Memento Mori, Memento Vivere, Carpe Diem. I had lost my friend, and there was nothing I could do. He was gone. His death had made me realise once again to appreciate the things I have in life. I miss my friend and I love him more than ever. I had done my research now on the topic of Depression and Suicide. I was enlightened. But life is never that simple. It never really is.

20 – Twenty. I am now 20 and I am happier and healthier (with a lot of grey hair) than I have ever been. I have been blessed with such amazing friends that I do not deserve. But my heart is sore for the people that are struggling in this world. People fighting against Mental Health Issues, Gender Based Violence, LGBTQA+ rights, COVID-19 and climate change. I often think to myself that many of those people must have fears that have caused them to believe they are depressed, because of the way people view depression in society today. I would like for some of your advice, knowing what I know about you. How can we educate people about depression and teach them the difference between “fear” (such as my fear which influenced me to do certain actions that fall under the depression category) and “depression”?

By Anonymous

A Synopsis of the Experience of Black Girl

I had straight hair once and posters of Hannah Montana and white barbie dolls pasted high up on a wall opposite my bed. I remember the shame and humiliation that descended on me when I pronounced ‘management’ as ‘maanaagement.’ I still hear those piercing laughs from my peers who thought of me as a stupid black girl then. I still hear my Grade 1 teacher shouting at me for being illiterate. There were two black girls in my class then and both of us were in the lowest group for reading – alone. While other reading groups consisted of five or more people, my group had two girls and we were both black and unable to read fluently. I decided from that day to improve my fluency so that I didn’t have to cry again on the reading carpet. Whenever my mom came home, before she got the chance to put down her bags, I demanded that she sit down at the dining table to listen to me read. I had just spent over 3 hours reading out loud my story book of five pages of a story printed in big bold letters. I only got promoted two grades later. I remember during swimming lessons along the pool side I always sat with my legs perched up. If I sat normally and comfortably my thighs would be too big in comparison to my peers. Once I visited a friend together with another friend of mine who was black. The song ‘black and yellow’ by Wiz Khalifa was playing on the radio and it so happened that my friend wore a yellow T-shirt and black jeans. My other friend (the one who we had visited) sang the lyrics ‘black and yellow, black and yellow’, while pointing to my friend’s T-shirt and arm.  I shouldn’t have to tell you what her race was, I am sure you can guess it. I remember in Grade 7 I was called ‘white Obama’ by my teacher. I laughed every time he said it, but I knew deep down I hated that he referred to me like that. When I started high school, there was not a conversation I had without another person saying, ‘you speak like a white person’. My identity as a black person was constantly questioned and I was always compelled to prove that I am in fact black which was absurd. On the other hand, in a game that I love, hockey, I was told I only made the team because of the quota system. I was told, while having to sit bench for majority of the games, that I only made it because I was the best black girl and not because I was good enough regardless. 

These were forms of subtle racism. I could write about the overt forms but that would trick you yet again to think that racism is only valid when it is overt. 

No. 

Calling me white Obama was not a compliment, in actual fact, it undermines my very identity as a black person because it infers racism. It sets the notion that white is the standard of excellence and that even calling me just Obama as a compliment is not good enough. Being literate in English was not easy for me because, you can imagine, I came from a space where isiZulu was the language of instruction and communication at home therefore it was difficult to become accustomed to the English language. Now, I am not sour at the fact that I was in the lowest group for reading. If I could not read fluently, rightfully so, I should be placed there so that I can improve. However, I am upset at the humiliation I had to face as a six-year-old from being shouted at and fearing when it was reading time that I would be shouted at again. I write this with tears because I realise that young black girl never lived in her own truth. She tried to change who she was to please others. She spent days and years assimilating a culture and identity that was not hers. I am upset that, that young girl believed that her achievements were merited because of her ability to be ‘white’. I am upset that, that girl was constantly proving herself worthy because of her skin. I am upset that, that young girl believed her skin made her intellectually incapable. 

I AM UPSET. 

I am now upset to see that my black brothers and sisters are DYING at the hands of people that are supposed to be protecting them. I am upset that we live in a system which is built and thrives on the oppression of marginalized groups. Is it not enough that white people will always benefit from society in every shape and form? Clearly it is not – because the world, families and black people have seen roads, rivers and even their own homes covered in the blood of black people. 

It is unacceptable that it is ALWAYS black voices that have to constantly stand up for themselves. It is unacceptable that the concentration of melanin determines whether black people survive past their twenty’s. It is unacceptable that black women continue to experience oppression not just from white people but also from their own male counterparts. It is unacceptable that some people are ignoring current events because they see it as a ‘black people’s problem’ when in fact, the problem is rooted from the very people ignoring it. 

IT IS UNACCEPTABLE.

So, we ought to take to the streets with tired voices yet again. 

Yours with a heart that is disillusioned, angry and sad

Nomfundo Mfeka 

This prose was written by Nomfundo Mfeka and is in support of the #BlaveLivesMatter movement.

How To Help

https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co

Go to this website where you can sign various petitions, donate, and educate yourself about the #BlackLivesMatter movement.