Campaign Message

You don’t need to be depressed. Why feel sad? Open up. You are never alone. Don’t entertain that feeling of worthlessness. Not even in a time of failure or a loss or when others are preferred to you no matter how hard you try. You can always rise up when you fall or find those who will love you if you hold on. Never kill yourself and never keep the pain inside – by not talking about it. Start talking.

‘Morning Flower’, the most annoying Samsung Alarm rang at 5:30am on my phone, snoozing and vibrating simultaneously beside my pillow. At that moment, I didn’t only hear the sound of the alarm; I mostly heard yet again, an insufferable call to live another day. Yes, I was, for the most part, not grateful to see a new day and the days after. I felt a weight of unbearable exhaustion as opened my eyes and turned pressed anywhere on phone’s screen to turn off the alarm. Maybe I was tired of my early 7:00am class, or I just hoped to be alone for the whole semester or simply, forever.

Why? Did I have a traumatizing occurrence lately? One wonders.

No, nothing daunting had happened the night before, or during the week. There was just an inadvertent buildup of persistent suppressed feelings, imprisoned in an arena of sad feelings, depressed moods, restlessness, worthlessness, and possibly, guilt. As I turned my face to the other side of my bed, the irritating sound of ‘Morning Flower’ rang again. Mawuli, sleeping below our bunk bed, hastily rose from his bed and headed for the washroom. I took my phone and put it off.

This was one of many mornings I felt forcefully oppressed by mine own thoughts. These horrifying episodes, I’d call them, made me experience myself reaching the epitome of my hidden depression.

“Yo, PaaKow, will you not go to class? Bro wake up, wake up”. Mawuli didn’t stop.

However, I felt that morning was different, I was overly emotionally shattered to even respond to my roommate. He patted me on the legs, trying to get me up, probably because he knew I’d never miss my lectures. I turned to the side of the window adjoined to the bunk bed, clenched my body and buried my almost teary face in my palms.

Mawuli eventually gave up. A while after, there was an abrupt knock on the door, and it was familiar. 

“Shit, shit”. I said, certainly disappointed.

Mawuli opened the door to Araba, my course mate, she’d always came to call me every Friday morning for the only scheduled class we sat in together.

“Oh PK, you look sick, what’s wrong?”

 “And why aren’t you ready for class?”

I sluggishly responded, “No, I’m just-, I just slept very late last night”

“Ei shark, you were up studying eh?”

“Haha”

“Hurry up then, I’ll wait for you, but you know the doors will be closed at 7, tssw, that lecturer is simply just ex-haus-ting”

“Tssw, tell me about it”

“Ok, you know what? Go and save a seat for me. I’ll get ready as fast as I can and meet you in class, okay?”

“Hmm, are you sure? Okay, I’ll do that. Hurry oo PK.”

“Hey Mawuli, see you later, bye”. Araba swiftly exited the room.

Hence, I got up from my bed. Seemingly willing to pretend I can be also be normal like every other person and disguise my insecurities about everything by playing it ‘cool’. In hopes that I can put on a good show and not completely explode in tears, until I retire to my bed at night; and silently drown in those awaited tears. And arise to another day, a new day I am not optimistic for, and do it all over again.

The same nights I repeatedly asked myself, “what did I ever do wrong to anger the God or the universe?”

I did get a shower, dressed up and took my bag. But as I stepped out of the room, I felt the awful reminder that, today- today I- I don’t know- today- today I just-, I just cannot do it anymore. I strolled across the street outside the campus. Mostly, I’d put on my earpiece and play ‘in the moment’ consoling music. That day, I just walked, dead to the existence around me, and alive to tormenting thoughts and disturbing ideas. Wandering, lost to the heavy fumes and loud highway sounds of fast-moving busy cars and commercial buses .from the high road. Endlessly walking miles and miles further under the overly scorching sun and never stopped.

I intentionally wanted to chase the wind, wishing I wasn’t me anymore. After some minutes, hours maybe, drenching in a pool of sweat and shirt soaked, I spotted a bus stop sitting area and I sat there. Watching the hassling streets, the purposeful movements of different people. I thought of home, my mother, my father, my siblings, my friends, my dreams; and what I thought I meant to them.

As I reached inside my bag for a handkerchief, my phone fell out onto the bench. My eyes lastingly fixated on the screen. I had to overly and even boldly convince myself that I was only going to check the clock, and yet inwardly, deep beneath the vulnerability, desiring I could possibly find more, if something has changed. A reason to not feel this way any longer. I long pressed the power button whiles wiping away profusely increasing beads of sweat on my face and neck. Three missed calls popped up on the screen from ‘Mama’.

A sudden sensation of disappointment in myself took over my mind, uncontrollably filling my eyes with heavy tears. As I rubbed the back of my palm over my eyes, my phone rang. Mama was calling, again. I wiped all the tears, got up and proceeded to walk ahead the busy road.  Mama called again and I answered.

“Oh Paakow, I’ve called you all day. Haven’t you closed from class yet?”, she keenly complained in African language.

I was silent, shivering, I felt my heart pounding hard, my breath racing, I couldn’t make another step. So, I halted under an isolated mango tree shade.

“Mam, Ma-”, my soft voice shook and gradually felt lost.

“Paakow, Paakow. What is wrong?”

At the sound of her worrying voice, I utterly broke down in endless tears.

“Mama, I- I- don’t, Mama I- I-”, I felt all the burden I had suppressed boiling up inside of me.

“Take a deep breath”, Mama warmly said.

I cried even more as I daringly forced the words out.

“I feel like I want to die every day. That I’m worthless. That God is nowhere. I-”

“Oh Paakow, Paakow, my son, why? No, don’t say that my son”

I wished I also knew why. Why? I wished there was a simple answer. Where do I start from? How do I start to explain how, how I have hated myself since I could remember as a child?

“Paakow, I am coming. Your father and I will be there before you know it. Don’t worry. But promise me-”

“I won’t do it”

“Please my son”

“I promise Mama. You don’t have to leave work and the boys, all the way from home to come here”

“No, my son. We are coming”

At that moment, I turned my back and started walking back to campus. I couldn’t explain what I felt then. But for a very long time, I began breathing freely from a somewhat relieved heart, however slender my breakthrough. Mama and Daada took the bus and journeyed 300km for 6 hours from home to my campus that night.  

They tugged me deep in their bosom with the warmest hug at the sight of me. We sat and they listened to me. I saw the brokenness of my state surface in their eyes, as they kept on about how they love me without measure, how my brothers love me and have always looked up to me and, how they were sorry for being a part of my long-suffered agony.

Truly, I had felt alone for several years of my life but, they showed me I definitely wasn’t, not anymore. I promised them to see the university counsellor until I could finally convince them to go rest at a guest house and return home early, the next morning.

And so, I did, I began my healing process. And that is what I’ll do; heal. I still am healing, I am recovering, and I am certainly better than before. I am a young African man and I suffer from depression. I put on the bandage of a survivor, because I am now hopeful every day. Indeed, it is not easy, but the future is very promising, so, I know it gets better.

 
 By Eugene Ewusi-Annan
 Writer / Mental Health Activist