Children of darkness

                                                                                                                                               

Txema Rodriguez

Fiona Coyne was an actress, communications consultant and best known as being the host of Weakest Link South Africa. I remember when a local T.V station sent out a nationwide casting call to find the host for the Weakest Link they wanted someone who was "as tough as nails". In an interview with Fiona after she was cast she very confidently stated "I am honestly not intimidated by people". Man, I envied her!. And she lived up to her reputation on the Weakest Link for her biting comments used to cut over- confident contestants down to size. She was smart with a post grad in Clinical Psychology. But she also had a great heart- being actively involved with charities focusing on nature and education. She sponsored a disadvantaged student through university. She indulged in the finer things in life: theater, opera, travel. Everyone described her as fabulous and feisty.

On the 19 August 2010, her housekeeper arrived at her house to find two letters on the kitchen table, one being addressed to her. In the letter she said she was very sorry and told her housekeeper to call the police immediately, she even wrote down the number. When the police arrived they found Fiona's body in her bed. She had committed suicide. The entire country was shocked and in utter disbelief. In everyones mind, including those closest to her she was the last person that would have taken her own life. Not just because she "seemed" to have it all but her very personality didn't seem to fit the profile of someone on the edge. Fiona had planned her suicide to the very last detail. In a letter to her mother she said she had weighed up the positive and negative aspects of her life and made her decision based on this. This story is especially tragic because just two months later, Fiona's older brother Bruce, heartbroken over his sister's death also took his own life. Sibling love can run deep.

This time last year, there was an amazing story of a man who parked his Audi R8 sportscar at the Table Mountain Cable way station and handed his keys to 8 car guards, saying, "It's yours". The story reached the evening news and everyone was curious about the anonymous donor. Generosity rubbed off on the lucky car guards and instead of selling the car immediately they cut a slit into the bonnet where people could donate money to charity. Eventually they did sell the car, four of the car guards were able to return home to The Congo with enough money to support their families for a life time. Two of the car guards used their money to start a creche for disadvantaged children and donated money to Haiti after the earthquake.

But where this story unfortunately ends is with the donor- his name was Rob Taylor and last week he made headlines again when he took the cable car up Table Mountain and jumped to his death from one of the look out points. Sadly this has shed some light onto his donation and the real reason why he gave the Audi away. Some people believe that he even meant to commit suicide they day he gave his Audi to the car guards. He was a wealthy property developer. People who knew him said he always gave to those less fortunate.

Now closer to home. When we moved into our current house a we hired some people to help us. One of them was a lady who had a daughter- in- law. This daughter- in - law was a diabetic. I am not to sure of the circumstances but her husband really wanted children and so she consulted her doctor. But her doctor gave her devastating news that she could not have children. She went home and apparently took every pill that she could find in the house even vitamins. She was only 25 years old. This has rocked the small farming community where I live. Her husband was so distraught over her death he had to be hospitalized.

Her death has also struck an emotional cord with me and not just because it was suicide. I cannot have children and this has made me re-evaluate how I handled this news ( I shrugged it off ) and what this could really mean for me. One, I have felt very guilty for being able to handle this news so well and two I have realised that the real consequences of this are still coming (will save that for another post). This girl had no previous history of depression or mental illness I can only imagine the emotional horror she must gone through in those final hours.

A few months ago I walked down to the cottage by the lake on the farm scoured the the front lawn for a sharp stick, sat down on the grass and began cutting my wrist with the sharp end of the stick. It really hurt and I wasn't really making any progress because the stick wasn't sharp enough. In the end I gave up because it was sore and I was just making a mess. I went home feeling like a caged bird. That night my Mom took me out for dinner and told me my godfather would be paying for a psychologist.

There is no real message behind this post, just self- absorbed pondering: How were all these people able to go through with it?. Why haven't I been able to?. I have been suicidal since I was 11. I remember standing on the balcony of my room really, really wanting to jump. But I didn't. Why didn't I?. I have been at the edge more times than I can count and I have turned back. How?. I don't think the answer is because I really want to live, deep down inside. Maybe I'm afraid of death- I don't know. During those times I  really wanted to be dead, so how can I be afraid of death?. My sister has always declared that people who commit suicide are the most selfish people on the planet. That has always stuck in my mind. The church I grew up in believed you went to hell- something I think is bullshit but I'm ashamed to say I still wonder about.

Maybe I'm a coward- I won't kill myself by slitting my wrists- it hurts. I hate the smell of petrol so gassing myself in the car is out. I won't jump off something high because being on something high without a barrier tends to paralyze me, and I hate that "falling" feeling. Drowning I know, I just know I will come up for air before I loose consciousness and a dead body in water is...yuck. I don't own a gun and the idea of my Mom being confronted with bits of brain is just cruel. That leaves overdosing but even when I have made the decision to swallow all the pills I have...I. just. don't. do. it.

It seems to be that I am the most picky cowardly suicidal punk that ever walked the planet. I'm too scared to go through with it. So I have been living my life in a rut- not being able to stop being suicidal but unable to actually go throw with it. I know it sounds weird but the people I have written about seem incredibly brave to me.

I'm not sure how to end this...I will still be here tomorrow and the next day and the next.....

I have already received the greatest gift.

My last post was very negative, but I stand by it. This is an incredibly difficult time for me personally and for my family. Debt, death and illness are our constant companions this Christmas and I needed to rant, to get all my frustrations out.

We keep telling each other and whispering to ourselves that this too will pass. And it will... what we are experiencing right now is a massive shift and change. Our old lives as we know are coming to an end an a new life is beginning and unless each of us embraces it we will be left behind.

I am destitute right now, I have lost everything. But this morning I began to think of my best friend and my break down when I was in America- how very close I was to ending it. And I realised that right now even though it appears I have nothing I have already been given something that many people can only wish for.

I have been meaning to write this post for a while but quite frankly I just didn't have the words.I am going to write about the people that have kept me alive, pulled me back from the brink when mental illness threatened to engulf me. They are the light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Please bear with me because I don't think I could continue this blog without mentioning them- they are all the reason why I am here.

My Aunt: A great sadness and guilt still fulls me when I think about this. I was staying with my Aunt in California when things started to happen that would eventually lead to my breakdown. I don't know, but I have a feeling that my Aunt blamed herself for what happened. What my Aunt didn't know is that a lifetime of trauma, abuse, depression and anxiety was closing in on me. Why it happened while I was staying with her I will never know. I had only met my Aunt a few months before and was so embarrassed about what was happening to me that I did all I could to hide it, instead of confiding in her. Eventually I got to the point where I could no longer hide anything from her as I was slowly falling to pieces. Still, I refused to talk to her. She knew something was wrong and didn't know what to do. Her life was already stressful when I arrived- she was caring, full time for her husband who had suffered a heart attack nine years earlier and had been severely brain damaged as a result. It is only now, having to care full time for my grandmother that I really have gotten a sense of what it must be like. Her husband was ( and still is) a wonderful man and love of her life. What happened to him devastated her.

This woman bore the brunt of my breakdown. Despite that she allowed me to stay with her, rent free, paid the MASSIVE phone bills I rung up (I'm talking like a $1000 people), supported me for three months while I waited for my social security number (someone forgot to do that when I was born) bought me a laptop for university and a camcorder and a camera to document my time in America. She was a lady of few words but through everything she did for me I knew that she loved for me. I am just so sorry she had to see me like that.

My Mom: I can honesty say my Mom is the sole reason why I haven't landed up in an asylum. If you are a mother you can particularly empathize with what my mother has had to go through. Like I said I was overseas when I had my breakdown and my mother was in South Africa. She had to sit through my hysterical phone calls where I was to terrified to form coherent sentences or I was drugged up on sedatives and slurring. She never knew if would be the last time she would speak to me. The hardest most sickening thing is that there wasn't much she could do...except pray. And everyday she was down on her knees having her faith- which is something she has been blessed with in abundance- tested to the limit.

The person that got off the plane when I came home was not the person that she had said goodbye to nearly four years before, just a shadow of her former self. My Mom has had to suffer through my mood swings, she is the sole receiver of my sudden rage attacks, she continually looks in on me when I sleep 18 hours a day. She has had to have almost soul- destroying conversations where I actually tried to convince her to let me commit suicide, that she would be better off without me, that she would move on. And she would say, she'd be lost without me and ask me to please stay. Yep, I've done some pretty heartless things.

My mom is not perfect, she has made some huge mistakes, especially where my Dad is concerned. But she has stayed in hospital with me, held me through all my lumbar- punctures (spinal taps) and endless panic attacks. She organises my meds- that she hates- into pill boxes each week and reminds me to take them. She has dragged me out into the sunlight when I wanted to stay in the darkness. She prays for me unheeded and believes against all the odds that one day I will be healed.

Karen: Karen is my best friend, who lives in America. We met when I was sent as a temp to the company she worked for. I often joke that she must have her house hooked up to the fountain of youth somewhere- she was in her late thirties when I met her but she looked no older than me in my early twenties. Our friendship was still in the beginning stages when I had my break down. I didn't talk to her at first but she knew something was wrong. She had every reason to walk away- I mean I was acting like a freak not mention that mental illness scares the hell out of most people. But she stayed and took care of me. She nearly lost her job because of me. She saved my life. I honestly would not be here if it weren't for everything she did for me. Not just her, but her husband too. He could have told her to stop seeing that psycho South African girl but instead he tried include me in everything they did. Since I didn't have a car he would come to pick me up and then drive back to drop me off- they lived in the next town so this was no small journey.

Many things have gone wrong in my life but I really can say that God has blessed me with true lifelong friends- even if they all live in different countries!. I had lost all my faith in God and even in the existence of God after my breakdown and I wondered why I could hear nothing from Him, why had he abandoned me. I  now know that I was never alone and I do believe he used Karen to make a difference. She changed my life and I now treat people differently because of her.

The picture up top is of a Willow Tree ornament that I gave Karen on her birthday. The picture below is of the one she gave me before I left (That's my precious Basil in the background). It's called "Angel of Remembrance"

This has been a difficult year for many people all over the world and this Christmas will be sad for very many. I'm going to reveal the materialistic side of me and say that I LOVE presents and the fact that I most likely won't be getting any is a real downer. But in the grander scheme of things I have already received one of the greatest gifts anybody can get: I have been loved unconditionally and even better....I have been able to love in return :).

These ads come out while I was recovering from my breakdown and every time I see them now it puts things into perspective.

Things...they are not too good

So I wanted to make a post on Friday...and then Friday turned into Saturday. Saturday somehow became Monday and I have been wandering around the house for most of today wondering what to write. I know there is a post in there somewhere but I am not sure how to write this.

For as long as I can remember the closer Christmas draws, bad news whatever it may be will find me. I have to be very delicate in sharing this as I do not  want any ill- favor to fall the person that is involved.

About two months ago I was horribly, severely depressed...more suicidal than I have ever been. It was the first time I felt I had no choice. However part of me was either afraid of dying or didn't want to give up so I actually told my parents. My Dad told me well done for confessing but there was nothing he could do for me as he "had no money" and he then ignored me. My Mom reacted with as much love, compassion and fear as she has. She always does that, I didn't think anything would come of it but I scared her more then I thought and she called my godfather who offered to pay for a psychologist. She also called a lady that I have known since I was a baby who is a church counsellor.

To cut a long story short I have been seeing this psychologist for about two months. Two weeks ago her secertary e-mailed me the bill as she had failed to get in touch with my godfather ( he lives on a farm in the middle of nowhere and travels often). I was firstly hit with shock and guilt at the amount and then secondly began to really worry that....it hadn't been paid. Two more weeks went by, my therapist would briefly bring the bill up and I had no idea what to tell her. I soon found out though that the school fees of my twelve- year old cousin- which he also pays for- were seriously overdue. I made the decision then and there to tell my therapist the truth and stop therapy immediately until the bill had been paid.

I have just found out that my godfather's business partner has done him out of a lot of money and there has been an ongoing court case where his brother's grown up children are suing the family estate for another whole lot of money. Basically....the guy is strapped.

Now let me explain a few things...my godfather is actually my mother's first cousin- my second cousin. He is the patriarch of a giant family and ALL the family member with problems come running to either him or my mother. He helped my parents put my sister and I through a private school, fully paid for my last year of highschool at a private homeschool, helped me go overseas, paid some of my university fees. As I write this I want to cry because I feel so guilty....and thankful. He has given my parents money more times than I can remember. Right now he is supporting my loser aunt and her whole family by paying their rent. If I could count how much money that woman has manipulated him to give it would probably run into millions.

I am more than grateful that he has done this for me because it pulled me back from the brink.

But I am now left with a massive bill that neither me or my parents can pay. Money that is being set aside for me to go back to university is dwindling as it is. And it has sunk me even further into the mounting debt that I am struggling to pay off. Not only that, the stress and pure fear this has brought me is undoing all the hard work that I have done in the past weeks.

During the day my hands are full with teaching a six year old little girl to read and write and generally taking care of her. Although this has been exhausting it has been a blessing in disguise because it has kept my mind off my troubles. But at night, or whenever I get a chance to be alone, the terrible dread fills me. It is not just my debts although that's enough to cause sleepless nights, it's the fear that I won't be able to go back to university therefore not be able to go to Japan ( it may be a weird aspiration but it's an aspiration that means a whole lot to me). I want to live and extraordinary live and achieve the impossible- that feeling is the last shred I have of the old me, the me the died when I had my breakdown and I have been clinging onto it with both hands but it is slowly slipping away.

Most of all I want to get better or be in a place where I can managed this wretched illness that has plagued me for as long as I can remember. It has nearly killed me, it makes me want to die. I kept remembering what one of my church counsellors told me, that I have never known freedom. I remember that because he was right. How tragic and funny that the apple is always dangling beyond my reach.

I have been busy while writing this post. I have not seen my therapist in two weeks and my mother made an appointment for me tomorrow. This has made me feel very uncomfortable and quite frankly I don't feel like talking to anyone right now. While writing I have attempted to cancel my appointment only to be stopped by my mother. This has resulted in huge argument between me and my parents ( funny how my Dad always reappears when the arguing starts). I don't really know what to do, I am dreading the appointment tomorrow. Of course my Mom told my therapist that I have been sinking further and further into depression since I have seen her. I feel a reprimand coming my way.

If you have been reading this post, thank you for reading it until the end. I wrote this hoping that I could transport some of my fears from me into cyberspace, where hopefully it will disappear forever. Maybe it will work....

My baby is on the way & CBT therapy session 1

In about six weeks,I'll be welcoming two new babies into the house. Surprise surprise I'm going to be a mother to two little balls of fluff- one a pale cream colour the other brown- sporting two long ears and a fluffy tale with a serious addiction to hay, carrots and pellets!



My mother saw an advert at the local shopping centre for dwarf rabbits. We went to see them the day before yesterday They were the size of my palm and very tempting to squeeze. I've always wanted a rabbit- my sister and I had bunnies when we were little. That lasted until our landlord's Jack Russell decided to have them for lunch- literally

One of the ideas that has kept up coming in my support group is that owning and loving a pet is very therapeutic for people with mental illness. I'm hoping to add a kitten to my fluffy family (it will learn to love the rabbits!)

On a different note yesterday was my first session of Cognitive behavioral therapy. I think my zombie- like behaviour at home had more of an effect on my mom than I thought- she phoned my support group counsellor who recommended a psychologist specializing in CBT and made an emergency appointment. Only after did she tell my godfather who agreed. I was bit surprised at their efficiency, they are so used to my moods by now that I had thought they might have gotten to the stage when nothing shocks them anymore.

The psyhcologist asked my mother to join us for the first session to shed some light on my childhood history and to teach her relaxation exercises to do with me. I immediately knew this was useless because a) I remember my childhood in most cases better than both my parents- this has been proved time and time again and b) my mom would never have the time or even remember the exercises she was supposed to do with me. So I started off the hour being really irritated at having to deliver yet another monologue about my childhood, teenage years blah blah, while I watched my mom's eyes glaze over at having to sit through the same old story yet again. I don't know if it is essential that a parent or partner be there for the first session but maybe it would be a better idea for the psychologist to schedule a separate appointment to full in the blanks.

The psychologist was a very nice, sweet lady- very positive. I was immediately aware of her enforcing the Cognitive behavioural therapy. She challenged ALL my thinking and took EVERYTHING I said and turned it around into the positive. E.g Me:"I feel like part of me died after my breakdown" (that's the best way I can describe it) Dr: "Do you really think that it is possible for part of you to die?". After describing each traumatic event she would be sympathetic and start rationalizing it. What I've told her is just the tip of a very, very large ice burg- I'm really going to be putting her to work- she ain't seen nothing yet!! :).

The session flew by, generally the sessions are supposed to have a time limit- I would think because it is bloody exhausting. Truly after an hour of her turning around everything I was saying, I was ready to scream, "Just let me feel sorry for myself dammit!" The big emphasis is on SELF- HELP, they give you homework to do!. My homework this week was to go for one walk a day and keep a diary of everything I saw. We have just moved to a house on another farm and- until I discover some more- there are only two walks- each about 5 minutes long. I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to journal about. On my walk today I saw a pigeon...then another one. I suddenly realised that an online author I am following had probably updated her story, so I ran all the way home (it is a VERY good story)...that was my walk.

Tomorrow I have my appointment with the church counsellor, who is praying for healing for me.So right now I'm seeing a state psychiatrist, going to a support group every two weeks, am on medication, seeing a church counsellor and finally have a proper psychologist. I have all the tools I need to help me get better. The rest is up to me.

And that's what I am afraid of. A month ago- even two weeks ago I would have the drive I needed but right now the-the selfish cow that I am- I just don't feel like I have the energy that I need to work towards healing. I was so tired sitting in that psychologist's office. I felt like a hundred years old being forced to walk down the same path again. I have always been eager when starting treatment- thinking that finally this will be a chance to get better. In the end either money would run out or the state health care would mess up putting a stop to all those treatments. It's like I'm cursed. How can I stop feeling this way?

I'm also having to really trust my godfather and my mother- who hold the financial and emotional keys to my treatment. You could say they are the matriarch and patriarch of a messed up family full of needs. As my Dad put it, "The loudest bark gets the most attention". This time it is my bark that got the attention, but there are other people in the family- some of them children- that are in desperate need as well. I feel guilty for the precious kids and angry that I am being lumped together with all the adults in our family who messed up and are now wanting charity.

It's past 2am and I need to attempt to go to sleep. I have no idea who is reading this blog. I know a lot of people aren't right now because I'm not exactly promoting it. But I have found that it is cathartic to write on here. And the possibly that someone may read this is a motivation to write :)

3:34 am

Oh what I wouldn't give right now to be inhabiting The Land of Nod. To be passed out in blissful slumber. But no, it's 3:34am my mind is racing and I feel like I want to tear my own skin off, I'm so restless. It doesn't matter that I was up until 05:00am yesterday morning- barely got 4 hours sleep before I was woken to help change my grandmother- I am so hyped up I feel like I won't sleep for the next hundred years.

Every thought that can possibly invade my mind is on a relentless attack. From one of our employees that was given notice on her flat because we paid her late (again) to how I'll get my newly cut fringe to stay flat. I'm thinking about whether it will be possible for me to return to university next year. My favorite online fan writer has left her weekly story in a terrible cliffhanger until next Sunday. I need to find a job and then another one if I'm going to save. One of these days I'll need to move out of my parent's. Will I be alive next year?

It would be a relief if I could at least calmly think about each of these subjects one at a time, but they are coming like an endless gush of water, mixing with each other, confusing the hell out of me.

My depression has been so bad in the last couple of weeks. It hasn't been this bad since I was in America. I can say that it is both situational and chemical. Approximately 36 hours ago I was practically catatonic and couldn't stop thinking about slitting my wrists. Then my sister came home to do research for a job interview. Her visits are normally marked by a lot of tension both for her and for us. Honestly every time she cames home the reality of how bad things are takes hold. But this time she needed me to set up a blog for her, having no idea how to do it herself. I worked on it all night pulling out all my creative stops. In the end working on her blog actually brought me out of the suicidal rut I was in. But now I'm on a wave of energy where I can't rest. Unfortunately coming down off of it doesn't solve any problems either because once I'm down I'm back in that dreaded rut where I have to fight for survival.

My parents know about this. Before my grandmother came home I sat them down and said that they needed to put me in a psychiatric hospital, even if it is a government one. Unfortunately for me they have a limited understanding of such places. My mother firmly believes that they do medical experiments on you. They have said they'll support me but...nothing has come of it. My godfather- also my mother's 1st cousin- has said he wants to throw me a "lifeline" he has said that he will pay for a psychologist. Being an analytical type of man, he wants to "shop around", get the best "price" then think it over, talk about it with me, talk about it with my mom, think a bit more. This lovely kind- hearted man's middle name is Procrastination.

In the meantime my mother has sent me to a lady that I have known since I was a baby who is a church counsellor. They already know that I struggle to believe in God. To start counselling I had to make a list of every person that had ever hurt me and work on forgiving them each one by one. It was a relief to finally have someones undivided attention and eventually just talk about how I was feeling. I felt great when I left. Until I got home and starting thinking about some of the people on that list...for the next two days I was SOOOOO angry. I'm wondering if digging up the past and dealing with it in conjunction with everything that's going on in the present is the best thing.

4:20 am: I don't know if it is my imagination but I think I am finally getting sleeping. I don't know what is going to happen to me. I just can't see an end to this right now. All I can hope for is that my godfather moves his butt with finding me a psychologist. And I don't think reality will ever hit my parents until they are carrying me out here in a straight jacket...apparently they don't use straight jackets anymore?