One in four

Perhaps, this should be understood like a demon. An impulse. Something you don’t want to associate with yet, when you least expect, it shows up. Like some shadow.

It might be a friend – or fiend. That person you do not really like yet when you see them and are trying your best to look away and pretending to focus on something, they see you. And shout your name. And run to embrace you.

“At that time, you cannot shrug them off. They are your friends. And they embrace so tightly that you actually think they are your part – an extension.”

“That imagery of a shadow?” I asked.

She said yes.

We were not talking in person. We were talking by phone but could see each other. Via WhatsApp.

It started with a text message.

“I can’t do it anymore. This is it.”

I saw it minutes later. I asked what the matter was. She said this and that, this and that, and in the end did not say the actual thing.

“When did it start?” I asked.

“Maybe a week now, I have just been holed up in bed. Crying. Losing interest in things. Feeling worthless. Feeling like I should just die.”

It was not the first time. And, I hoped, it was not going to be the last time.

There have been moments, in the dead of the night, when she has called. Her voice strained, and weak. Her resolve, broken. It is like a code, that when I get it then I should understand:

“I cannot do this anymore.”

“What are the new things in life?”

She said, nothing.

“No fight with your boyfriend or anything?”

“No, no fight. But I can sense he is on his last stretch of patience. It must be frustrating being with me. He has tried, he has been the best, but he just can’t take it anymore. I know he will leave. I think he should leave. I should just end it. For everyone.”

There have been moments when we have talked and I have been scared but that day felt different. Like, there was determination. And conviction. And desperation.

“You have a clear plan of how to do it?”

“Not really sure. Maybe an overdose. Maybe a rope. I just wish I had a gun. It would have been smooth and easy.”

“Are you still on medication?”

“That,” – edited – “numbs me. I can’t do it for far too long.”

“You got off it, when?”

Silence. Then, sobs. Like her heart was breaking. Like her sadness was huge that it could not be contained in words. I could feel the pain. The video was switched off. The audio remained.

“I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to die. But, the pain,” she said between sobs.

Before I could respond, the call was hanged. I tried to call again but it kept ringing. No response. I was left with prayer. And fear. And hope.

I struggled to sleep that night. It is a faraway place she is at. There was no one I could ask to go and check on her.

In the morning, she came online late. Almost afternoon. But, at least, there was some sense of relief. She said sorry for the previous night. She just suffered a nervous breakdown.

“I hate this – the illness.”

I did not say that, at least she is lucky that where she is at she can be understood as one battling with an illness. That, if she were here, and had said that she was suicidal then she would most likely be dragged to Church. And shamed. And ostracised.

 

I just said my prayers, thankful that she had made it through the night. And hoped that she would make it through the day.

The other time, when a friend told me of her friend that had lost her battle with a mental illness and committed suicide, I did not shift in my seat. I just let her rant, in anger, at the friend that had gone. After ranting, I asked:

“If your friend had cancer and had lost that battle to cancer, whom would you be mad at?”

She was taken aback. Almost jumped in her seat. Asked how I could compare cancer with a selfish personal decision.

“Have you ever been pressed?”

“Yes, a lot of times.”

“Why have you never contemplated suicide?”

She said it is because she is not selfish, because she cares about the people around her, because she is not ‘that weak’.

“Or, maybe, because you do not have the illness that makes people depressed and opt for suicide. Like, you cannot understand the pain of cancer until after you have it.”

She disagreed. We agreed to disagree while I prayed that at some point, maybe, we will start to have an open conversation on mental illness.

Postscript:

My friend and brother, Dr Alex Zumazuma, who is training to be a Psychiatrist is travelling to a distant place. He will be there for about two years. I will miss him. But, it is for a common good. Statistics assume that out of every four people, one has a mental illness. 

In Malawi, however, our approach to mental illness is lackadaisical. The number of Psychiatrists is low. I am glad a friend is following the path that will lead to an increase in Psychiatrists; a good number of young people are beginning to pay attention to mental illness.

The entry appeared in my column in The Daily Times of May 10, 2019.