Silence the Voice

From a tender age she saw Dad assaulting Mum,

Severally, they ran away, seeking refuge from family,

He came for them, his dear family, promising not to even hurt a fly!

Family unity was more important than revenge,

They got back home,

Silence the voice in her head.

Few days back, he unleashed the animal inside

This time, ready to kill, he swore on his mother’s name

Spouse or child, he knew no difference,

Hitting them in inhumane ways,

She blocked the hit that would have decided her mother’s fate

Silence the voice in her head.

The final hit on her mother’s hind limbs rendered her immobile,

Her mother left on all fours, bleeding profusely,

She grabbed her brother and ran away to a faraway land,

The desert was greener than home,

Two days they traveled, sleeping in deranged homes,

All they had was each other,

Silence the voice in her head.

A Good Samaritan got her to her aunt’s place,

Their senses were dead, numb,

Few months later, her mother succumbed to her injuries,

As if the grave was seeking vengeance, it took him too, two months later,

She sat stature in her new home, unable to feel, see, hear and smell,

Silence the voice in her head.

Her body and mind could not take any more of it, it snapped

She’s now on antidepressants, doesn’t worry much,

But it takes away her necessary thoughts too,

But it’s better than the old her,

Silence the voice in her head.

Empty Alone

Have you ever a met person whom 50% of your conversation is about them? Who heartlessly goes 20% of the time dissevering their situations, analyzing it as they seek for the possible solutions. 20% of the time is your opinion about their lives, which they’ll constantly interrupt as ideas never stop streaming out of their overactive brain, bringing it to 16%. When they feel philanthropic enough, they’ll spend the remaining 10% clumsily and inactively listening to how their diligent listener is fairing on.

That’s me, to wade off any doubt; I’m a talker, I’m not a good listener. Many wonder how an extrovert would get depressed since we spend most of our time talking. I’m dealing with depression. To put things into perspective, it’s not the usual day to day frustrations but real clinical depression. I learnt to tuck away the painful, dreadful and horrific parts of my life when I’m around people, only to go over them multiple times in solitude, thinking them through to the bones. Dissecting, rearranging, climbing the pyramid and falling right back to its foot. I was alive with people and dead alone.

When the bottle was filled up with my hidden emotions, it spilled, unable to contain the pressure exerted from every area of my life; mostly from within. I could no longer hide, neither could I silence the voice in my head nor wish away the numbness on my skin. My secret voice got louder by the day, forcing me out of my usual pretense sessions to wallow in my sorrow full-time.

I read through the scriptures to get me out of the bottomless pit. I read the Bible, prayed, fasted, gathered with them brethren hoping that my dark shadow will one day stop following me. I read several spiritual books, seeking spiritual answers where mental ones would do. I called myself stupid, shallow, unworthy long enough to believe it. Bearing the burden of life situations I had little to no control over, the guilt and shame of my life choices did not give me a chance to forget, holding me hostage to myself. Compliments never felt right, I’d always excuse myself. Ooooh, the beautiful dress is my sister’s, you think I have a nice body, you should see my colleague’s.

The sad voice in my head was so loud; I could not wish it away. No longer walking straight, my shoulders, just like my mind, bowed down to it. It robbed me the stamina for the things I once loved, pushed me to be alone most of the time, wallowing on the world that was clearly caving in on me.

I’m learning, slowly but surely, to embrace my shortcomings and acknowledge that conquering them brings the beams of light come through as I make my way off them like a caterpillar transitioning to a colourful butterfly. Learning to celebrate my small victories and not to worry about the things I have no control over.

Representation of Persons with Unsound Mind in Kenya.

Kenya is a sovereign republic with the constitution being her supreme law, it therefore follows that any law that is inconsistent with the constitution is rendered void to the level of its inconsistency. The county and national government have a set of requirements for the public office holders. These laid down requirements ensures the office holders are stable, competent and most especially reliable. A good call.

One requirement stands out, we give it little attention since most of the affected are not in a capacity to air their opinion. They are highly dependent on their families; some are in despicable conditions, left for dead. They are presumably a source of shame, indicator of demon possession or both. Others are tied up, like an untamed dog while others have no clue that they are party to this because their symptoms are not obvious, neither do the medical practitioners put a name to their condition. These are people with unsound mind. The constitution is categorical of mental incapacitation as a reason that bars an individual from holding public office.

Unsound mind, according to the Merriam Webster dictionary is mentally ill; not sane. Article 27(4) of the constitution states that the state shall not discriminate directly or indirectly against any person on any ground including race, sex, pregnancy, marital status, health status, ethnic or social origin, colour, age, disability, religion. Conscience, belief, culture, dress, language or birth. So much has been done to include most members of the society but there is little going on to have people with different forms of mental incapacitation fully integrated in the society.

Article 83, 1(b) asserts that a person qualifies for registration as a voter at elections or referenda if the person is not declared to be of unsound mind. This is repeated in Article 99, 2(e) regarding qualification of election for Member of Parliament position.

Despite this group of being clearly marginalized, they have not been included in the legislation meant to be enacted by Parliament. The law recognizes need to make women, youth, persons with disability, ethnic and other minorities and marginalized group in Article 100 special representation, catering for their needs, crafting policies that ease their lives. Depression, for example, the most common mental illness is ranked as the leading cause of physical disability. Do we need to wait for people to have extreme, visible physical disability to turn our heads? These are Kenyans yet they deal with stigma and abandonment that sometimes render some suicidal.

I applause for the governments’ initiative of substantiating mental illness drugs, for example, my monthly antidepressant dosage goes for ksh.30 in my county hospital, I can get them in the pharmacy for ksh. 3 per tablet, totaling ksh. 90. Further, measures have been put in place to avert abuse of the drugs, they are not sold over the counter without clear prescription.

What needs to be clear is that everyone with a brain is a viable candidate for mental illness. We can make hay when the sun still shines.

Punctuality Will Save The Day

19th April 2017, my second visit to the psychiatrist.

I squeezed myself in the meager space left by the lady napping on the available seat at the Mental Clinic Waiting Lounge. Waiting for my turn to see the doctor, I reminisce on my first visit that was marred with mix-up.

Wednesday, 22^nd March 2017

After a short examination, the psychiatrist asked me to go to the hospital reception and get a prescription book. Following the doctors instruction, I went to purchase the book meant to record my diagnosis. The hospital issues two kinds of record documents; one is a four paged card while the other is the old school book with about 20 pages.

Three people were seated over the two counters at the records desk, a lady to my right and the gentleman to the left. An intern was seated next to the lady on what seem to be a record keeping class. After few seconds of waiting, it was my turn to be served by the lady. I somewhat felt more comfortable. My name, Place of residence, Cellphone number and other basic details were filled up. Getting to the age section, I slurred, I have an age adding policy. I was born on 25^th October (feel free to send in gifts), I move to the next age as soon as I get 6 months to my next birthday, that is on 25^th April. This date also marks an important event in my life that happened 7 years ago. For crying out loud, this is March. I have a month to go! In one of the numerous hospital visits earlier in February, my Mum took the liberty of crossing over the year before time; I only let it pass because I was too weak to defend my policy.

Insisting that I want a booklet, not a card, the gentle man serving at the rare end looked my way and asked 'unaenda clinic?'

‘Ndio,’ I answered, silently wishing he had no intention of being more specific.

‘Clinic gani?’ Came the dreaded question. For once I wished I were pregnant so that I said pre-natal clinic

‘Mental clinic' I responded firmly. I could see the guy coil back to his cocoon.

The rest of the details were filled and I started the process...

Wednesday, 19^th April 2017

Being my second visit, I did not need to go through all the trouble. I went straight to the mental clinic. I always keep time; with the bouts of energy I’ve had recently, I stayed home to ensure all was well before my departure. Nilifika saa sita na madakika.

I had a difficult time selecting the most appropriate dress for the day; I ended up in a black dress with pink doll shoes. My sister had called in her 'best boda' she's saved his name as so, I learnt this when she forwarded his contacts to me a month ago. He’s the most efficient man alive, in my world. He was home, a few minutes to 12pm and dropped me at the hospital by 12:08pm. You agree with me now, right? I told you so! We settled on meeting up later so that he can ferry me back home. 'Nipigie tu, nitakuwa pale mbele ya Nakumatt.' He assured me

The queue at the clinic was unexpectedly long. The patient being served was taking longer than was comfortable for most people waiting in line. Right beside me sat a gentleman, probably in his late 30’s or if life has been kind to him, early 40’s. He wore a khaki trouser and a cream shirt which with a keen look was not its original colour. The guy seemed a little more anxious than the rest, he was in evident hurry. He went ahead looking through the door knob, he could not see through. He opted to open the door and confirm the presence of the doctor.

A few minutes later, he sat down again and as if trying to break the evidently loud silence, he called me, ‘Sharon.’ I looked his way, puzzled. He asked whether I knew him.

‘Nadhani nimekuona hapo awali,’ I responded.

‘Mmmh, ‘he responded. I quickly realized that the Coastal Swahili will not cut it.

‘Nikama nishawahi kuonako,’ I rephrased. ‘ko’ is an important part of any Luhya conversation. It saves you from using please because it indubitably replaces it.

‘Hapana, hatujakutanako’, he responded, smiling sheepishly

That’s weird, I thought as I turned back to my phone. Shortly after, he called again 'Sharon Jumba'. I was now getting uncomfortable, I moved away, siting at the edge of my sit. All through, he hadn’t seen my book or anything else that had my name! I tried having a conversation with him but he kept smiling and moving up and about the waiting lounge.

My turn to see the doctor came, sooner than I expected. It toppled my thought process. I had prepared all I needed to share with her but I was blunt. I recollected myself and talked of how well my body was responding to the medication. I mentioned the dizziness I felt on the first week and the slight stomach upset on week three. She asked me whether I experienced headache to which I confirmed to have had none through the month.

With all seriousness I could garner, I asked her if it’s normal to experience hair loss when dealing with my condition. This has been a piercing question since my health started deteriorating, I 'm not sure if it was the effect of the numerous unnecessary medicines I took at the time or the depression itself. She went on and asserted that some symptoms evident in her patients were learnt on job; they were not part of the course work. She was impressed with my progress and retorted that my body was just responding to the challenging life situations that I faced recently but it’s not out of control.

I’ve been having a difficult time waking up early to prepare for my May exams. As much as I was no longer dependent on other people to do basic activities, waking up early in the morning is still a challenge. She advised me to take my medicine early, as early as 6pm so that its effects can wear off earlier. Punctuality in taking the drug leads to a productive day. I went ahead to purchase the next 30 day antidepressant, I paid ksh.30 and it hit me that my family spent thousands of shillings on my treatment but I needed very little to regain normalcy.

Starting my second month of treatment, I fervently count my blessings for having this service near me. My psychiatrist will retire in 2 months’ time. She has served in an area of medicine few choose to study. I hope and pray that her successor will be posted soon so that she/he can benefit from her 17 years of experience garnered at Bungoma County Referral Hospital

The Inside Thief

The overriding theme of the World Health Day 2017 is Depression, a campaign that World Health Organisation (WHO) intends to run through the year. This would have been like all others that due to my ignorance never caught my attention in previous years. I took my first antidepressant on 22^nd March 2017 after months of health deterioration that rendered me redundant.

What are the odds, the World Health theme to be exactly what I recently got an understanding of? It all started in November 2016; my memory fails me on exactly how it all started. My life was busy, a student, employee, employer, serving in church. I moved around a lot, slept less, but no different from many city dwellers, so I thought. It started with unrelenting fatigue and dizziness. My sleep patterns changed, I seem to never get enough anymore, not refreshing. Work environments requires us to be equipped with problem solving skills, at this point I could not handle even the least of them, they needed more than my mind and body could give. The last nail on the coffin came when I isolated myself, preferring to stay home alone than get to social gatherings that I used to enjoy.  I lost my appetite; my body grew weaker even further. I felt tearful and alone time and again but I dismissed it for hormonal changes (ladies you know what I mean).

As this went on, I resigned from work, for the first time I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life upon departure, I wasn’t physically, mentally nor spiritually fit to work. As I served my one month notice in January, deep inside, I wished I tendered my resignation earlier. Public Relations is a dynamic field, substantial creative thinking is salient in making the brand you represent stand out. One needs to keep afloat with the changes in the industry to be relevant; this was a nightmare, out of reach then. I caved into its unyielding demands.

Don’t be mistaken, I sought medical help; I couldn’t just sit back and see my life get wasted away! None of them bore fruits, most medics thought my blood or sugar levels were wanting but the results showed otherwise. I took all tests you’d think of, yes, even HIV. All were negative, despite this; I knew I was not okay. When you normally take an hour walk but suddenly can’t handle a 5 minute walk, something is certainly a miss. I was placed on vitamins, antibiotics, appetizers, anti-acids, painkillers among others, they slowed down the pain and strain but the symptoms bounced back, tougher than before.

This orchestrated another hospital visit that made all the difference. The doctor looked at my previous doctor report and with firmness said I could be dealing with depression, she went further to admit that she does not have the capacity to deal with my condition and recommended that I see a psychiatrist. Seeing a psychiatrist, I did, on the same day. After a brief explanation of my symptoms, the psychiatrist went on, explaining that mental illnesses need consistent 6 month treatment. She mentioned more symptoms of depression that made me all teary, for the first time, someone got me.

I inspired many before; it all came from within, but not anymore. The inspirer needed inspiration; words failed me, who said I’m an extrovert? The bouts of energy I used to have had somehow unfriended me, leaving me desolate. I could not follow through even the shortest conversation, I had to request for the person I converse with to slow down.

My understanding of depression was that the affected has to show signs of having unsound mind. Nothing helps a depressed person more than the support of family and friends, including not belittling their symptoms or expecting them to just snap out of it. Others go further to tell them that their lives have not been the toughest, so you think. Some genetic make ups make some people more susceptible to depression, some medical conditions and treatment can contribute in addition to what is commonly known, a series of difficult life circumstances.

The 21^st century is filled with multitasking, few people can focus on one thing and live a productive life, we also witness fewer stay at home mums as they join their spouses to substitute family income. Sometimes with all this, we spin out of control and without proper and most importantly timely diagnosis; many may succumb to the world leading cause of physical impairment. Due to the high number of the affected, depression is referred to as ‘the common cold of mental illnesses’.

Depression is more than laziness more than loss of agility as many phrase it. It’s the uninvited blues that infuses you like a tick, sucking your will power. Depression robs you vision, with minimal energy, dreaming is a daunting task. It can strip you off your dignity, literally. Unlike most ailments that are primarily physical, depression is a mix of physical, mental and genetic effects that together explode to a dimension few can detect.

Before my diagnosis, someone recommended that I find a ‘new normal’ now that I consistently complained of not feeling normal. Genuine as the suggestion was, people should seek help as soon as they recognize any anomalies in their daily lives. Do not be quick to dismiss them. In your own capacity, bar the stigma associated with mental illnesses and let’s support the affected and prevent more people from going down this road. This is the beginning of my healing and the souls I’ll encounter.