Please don’t Call me crazy.

Nobody wants to come into a relationship with what they see as baggage. Still, sometimes things happen to us that we have no control over. Like when people around you lose sanity and you have to hold on to yours lest it slips away too.

I grew up using the term crazy losely.

To me, it meant something different, someone who wasn’t serious, always tripping, a joker, player, and a plethora of other millenial lingo. It never hit me that one point, crazy would be my reality.

I have been passionate about mental health in the past because I know what depression and anxiety feels like. I relate to that never ending wave of hopelessness and despair because some time back, that was my reality.

This in turn has left me angry, bitter, toxic and hard to deal with. I have lost touch with my creative self. I fall sick every day. I have became more depressed and I am hard to love. I admit I am. I am not my usual self. I became needy and so unsure of myself. My self esteem has died and I used to live on my partner’s constant validation.

That is until it stopped. That constant reassurance and validation.

After that, I was angry.

Some part of me kept on looking for who to shift the blame to and when I couldn’t find any, I directed my anger towards my failed relationship. It was the only thing that made sense to me at that time and desperately wanting to hold on to it had me killing it way too soon.

I thought relationships would save me. Turns these out things don’t.

Crazy came knocking.

In form of questions that seemed too intrusive and baseless accusations. That wasn’t Ma. I knew Ma. She was strict but rational so it didn’t occur to me that something might have been wrong.

It went from prodding to full blown paranoia, later on graduating to violence. I fell on my knees and prayed. My non believer ass fell on my knees and prayed for ma. I talked to a God I didn’t believe in. I begged. I pleaded. I asked this God for anything he wanted in exchange of sanity.

I even tried to pray the gay away.

I thought the gay was creating problems.

After all, isn’t that what we are taught? That gayism is a sin and our parents are suffering because of us?

That’s what crazy taught me. That my gay was not only a burden to me but to my family too.

I flinch as if in pain when I hear the word crazy today.

You must have noticed how I am using it a lot and to some people, it might seem insesntive and abelist but this is my way of dealing with it. With this monster that still refuses to let me be. This is how I conquer my demons.

Crazy has had me perfecting being on the look out. My eyes are always open and so are my ears, ever on the ground. I look out for anything that doesn’t seem normal to me. I analyze and over analyze until I am sure it’s okay.

And then I can breathe in.

Thats what crazy has me doing.

I know I am too traumatized to talk about what happened five months ago but this is my first step towards healing.

Writng about it.

Also, I didn’t seek Ma’s consent before writing this and that’s why I made this story about myself.

For once, I am okay with talking about my pain and struggles because in as much as I know nobody cares, I knew I had to heal.

©Nyar Afrika 2018


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