Depression doesn’t have a face


I told a close friend that I had depression, and she said I don’t look like a person that has depression and suggested that we pray. I loved her for suggesting that we pray but I don’t think she understood that depression can’t simply be prayed away.

Mental health issues within the black community, I think, are not taken seriously because we don’t have enough conversations about the condition. When one says they can’t do work because they feel demotivated, they’re lazy, never depressed. If one says they feel a bit under the weather, they’re being moody or grumpy, never depressed. When one says they can’t face people or get out of bed, they’re being rude and anti-social, never depressed.

I was conversing with a friend about the lack of awareness about depression within the black community and she told me about her uncle. He was the life of the party, the most optimistic person she had ever seen. Everyone liked being in his company but one day he was found hanging from a ceiling because no one knew about his depression, not even himself. I think there’s a stigma around depression in the black community, there’s a misconception that one is unable to function and live a full life because they are depressed. When you mention “mental health issues”, the first thing that comes to mind is a mental asylum. That misconception has to stop.

It’s time that we start realising that depression is real, it’s time that we educate each other about mental health issues. It’s time that create spaces where everyone is safe and free to speak about their condition. It’s time that we remove the stigma that comes with depression. It’s time that we take time to understand and acknowledge the severity of depression.

How does my depression look like?

There was a time when I closed off and didn’t allow people to see my soul. There was a time when I would pretend like I was okay when my soul was slowly breaking into pieces. There was a time when I would be happy at one moment and be sad the next. I would be superwoman, aiming to assist anyone that needs assistance but refusing to be assisted. Nothing much has changed but through support and counselling I’ve managed to pull myself together, because I have a fantastic support structure that is willing to listen and understand when I tell them I’m sad for no apparent reason, I am truly blessed. I refuse to allow myself to live in a body that’s constantly in a battle with a mind that refuses to live. I am not depression, depression is a condition that happens to be part of who I am. It’s taken time for me to understand that, but today I do.


The Church makes me goisha at time

I recall going to a church whose name I shall not mention. I was wearing a pretty decent pencil skirt in my opinion. I was not aware that I had to wear a long skirt and a doek. The person who had invited me did not inform me of the church’s dress code so I just waltzed in with my pencil skirt, braided hair and long sleeved t-shirt.

The moment I stepped inside the church, everyone was staring at me and no they weren’t staring at me because I was nqunqaring and slaying, ha.a no. They were looks of judgement, without even saying anything you could see that the people staring at me disapproved of what I was wearing.

I sat down, sang hyms and prayed when I needed to. You’d think people would make it less obvious that they’re talking about you, but no!! The ladies behind were talking so loudly about my dress code that even people passing on the streets could hear them, okay I’m exaggerating but you get the picture.

I don’t mind being corrected, I’m a big believer in constructive criticism. I would have appreciated someone coming to me and explaining the church’s dress code, oh I would have appreciated that shame. But, no!! In a church full of “Christians”, individuals who are apparently “Christ like” I felt the most judged. It was even worse when the pastor opened the bible and preached about seduction, he singled me out of everyone and used e as a premise for his sermon.

Kwakumnandi kuhlekwa mna in church that day hey I was the Potiphar’s wife trying to seduce Joseph caba. Yhu I was going through the most that day, I was goishing but I kept a straight face because there’s nothing I hate more than crying in public, during the people nogal (Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just a personal preference).

When the church ended, I walked out I could not mingle and chat with anyone in that state. That experience put me off church for quite a while but I still had a lot of love for God.

I mean how are we supposed to entice people to God if we exhibit signs of judgement as Christians. God is love, she is kindness, she is a friend, a companion, she is non-judgemental and is a conqueror. Whether we like it or not, our actions as Christians are a put-off to many people because we live double lives, all holy when it’s convenient when our hearts do not reflect God’s heart and his love.