I had no reason to be depressed. No reason to be anxious. At least, that’s what it looked like from the outside. I was 19 years old and at the beginning of what everyone had decided would undoubtedly be a grand and flawless future. I smiled and embraced the blessings, but in reality, I felt like a fraud. I did not feel like the well-spoken, athletic head boy that they saw.
That’s the thing about trauma— it does not discriminate. It does not care about the image we project. It eats away at you all the same.
One Monday in 2013, I was in the car with my mother as she drove me to UJ for what would be my first semester as a university student. Something strange began to happen. I started to cry. Silently and uncontrollably. I could not stop. My mother, concerned and beginning to panic, asked me repeatedly, “What’s wrong?” I told her I had no idea, and the tears just kept falling. She turned the car around, we drove back home, and in that moment my once bright future had taken a dark and painful turn. This would become a sad dance between my mother and me— her asking me what was wrong and me telling her that I had no idea. I really didn’t. I could feel myself drowning further and further down, but I had no idea who or what was holding my head underwater.
Soon, the suicidal ideation began. These were not brief spells of thinking about killing myself. No, this was a daily, almost minute-by-minute obsession. Death became my best friend, and I began viewing every location and object around me as a possible opportunity to end my life.
But why? What happened?
Only a few months ago, I was the head boy athlete surrounded by friends and adored by girls, who had been accepted into two universities for Law and Journalism, respectively. Only a few months ago, I had viewed my life as charmed. Why was this happening to me? Why now?
The truth about trauma is that it often takes some time to manifest. A lot of the time, you find yourself blissfully wandering through your life only for you to be struck by feelings and mental troubles you do not understand in your later teen years. This may be due to the fact that the emotional center of our brains begins to reach maturity at this stage.
Often, we are unaware that we have demons lying dormant beneath the surface. This was certainly the case for me. The truth was that I had severe trauma that I had never dared to face, never mind address. I had sleeping dragons that were beginning to wake. The first was the unfortunate fact that when I was around four or five years old, my elder female cousins had begun to show me collections of my aunt’s poorly hidden pornography. Even more damaging, once the viewing was over, we would go into a bedroom and touch one another. I was barely older than a baby, so perhaps the more appropriate statement would be, “They would touch me.”
Secondly, I had never had a relationship with my father. He had been absent my entire life. I knew of him, yet he was nowhere to be seen. To a child’s mind, the math is simple – “I’m the problem, and I am unwanted.” What was happening, although I did not know it at the time, was that my body and mind were beginning to remember these traumas, and they were manifesting themselves as depression, suicidal ideation, low energy, anger, and apathy. Finally, my mother suggested I see a therapist. In 2015, I was diagnosed with severe depression, severe anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and attention deficit disorder. I felt two things.
On the one hand, I was happy because I finally knew what was happening to me and I was no longer fighting in the dark. On the other hand, I felt distraught because I believed I no longer had a chance to live the life I had once envisioned for myself. Yes, I now knew what to fight, but I was too exhausted for the battle. Over the next decade, I essentially gave up. I succumbed to an addiction to pornography & masturbation (mostly watching the same kind I was shown as a child), drugs, and alcohol. I became a dark shell of my former shining self. I was kicked out of 2 universities 4 times, and I squandered every opportunity my loving and afraid single mother managed to bring my way.
So, what changed exactly? How am I now in a position to be writing this?
Honestly, hitting rock bottom forced my hand. At the tender age of 27 years old, I attempted to take my own life. I bought myself a pack of codeine pills, some beers, and I slit my wrists. What saved my life was a series of delirious texts that I sent to my girlfriend, who then alerted my mother. After that nearly fatal episode, I knew I could no longer run. I knew I had to begin the process of slaying my dragons.
I spent the next two years, hand in hand with God, facing these demons. I had wounds, and if I were to live a healthy, loving, and productive life, these wounds would need to begin healing. For the first time in my life, I truly acknowledged the fact that I had been molested as a child. I examined how that had tainted my interaction with females and led me to desperately crave their approval. I began to understand why I had always been so terrified of women and of the world in general.
I faced the fact that my father had left me and the effects that had on me. The fact that it had birthed in me an insecurity and caused me to question my manhood, masculinity, and at times, even my sexuality. I explored the various roles that trauma had played in my failed relationships, and I accepted the fact that I had been incredibly desperate for a father figure.
I examined my abuse of alcohol and drugs. I began to understand that I was looking for an escape mechanism through them. I was searching for numbness, because if I was sober, the doors of my pain would be staring back at me, screaming at me to step inside.
Finally, I sat with my mental disorders—the depression, anxiety, OCD, and ADD. I began to make peace with the fact that they would probably need my dedication and attention for the rest of my life. As I dove into my trauma, pain, and disorders, I found that the physical pain I had had in my chest for most of my life had disappeared. I began to realize that my soul felt lighter and that I wasn’t disappointed each morning when I woke up. Instead, the dread I had always felt was being replaced by excitement, hope, and optimism towards my life. I began to share my struggles with other people and found that I was not alone. A lot of us were suffering, and that sense of community filled me with love and began flooding my once dark life with light. I was discovering that I was no longer a puppet to my trauma and that indeed, I had the power to tame and destroy my demons.
After two years of this journey with myself and no job, no girlfriend, and practically no social life, I knelt on my prayer spot and spoke to God. “My Lord, what comes next?” I asked. I believe God answered me through the stern voice of my loving mother. She told me, “Tshegofatso, it is time to use your talent. Write a book, as I have been telling you to do for years.”
She was right. She had been singing the same tune for years. But now, the timing was right, and timing is everything. I was finally free of my mental prison, and I felt I had a story, which, now more than ever, was important and needed to be told. That was the birth of my book, “Mental Decay.”
As I wrote it, I realized that my future was being crafted, and I made the decision that I was going to dedicate my life to preventing others from crying the tears that I had already shed. My life would be one of service. I would join the army fighting this war against trauma and mental illness. When I look back at how I managed to transform from being someone who spent day and night numbing myself through addictions to being able to stand in front of crowds and tell my story without breaking down, there are three things that jump to the front of my mind:
Firstly, I made the conscious effort to get to know myself, truly. I explored my greatest traits, but also the darkest, saddest, and most selfish parts of who I am. To this day, I regularly ask myself who I am and why I am this way. I ask myself why I make the choices I make. Are they born out of joy and motivation? Or do they come from a place of pressure, fear, and trauma? Are my choices driven by peace and purpose? Or are they steered by a desire to avoid and ignore painful truths?
Secondly, I was saved by the power of relationships. The family and friends we choose to include in our lives and hearts have the power to make or break us. Once I found the courage to tell those around me what I was going through, I was met with open arms and without judgment. The decision to open up gave way to a love and power I could never access through isolation and solitude. The people in my life saved my life. They showed me that no matter how far or hard I fall, I will be caught. They showed me that, like a boxer, whilst I am in the ring fighting my trauma and mental illness, they are just outside the ring screaming and chanting my name—willing me towards victory. There are many things that we cannot dictate in this life, but we can decide which relationships we want, and it is crucial to exercise quality control when it comes to that part of our lives.
Thirdly, and most importantly, God and faith saved my life. My growing faith in God kept me reaching and striving towards a better life for myself and for those around me. I now know that even when I am on my own, I can never truly be alone. I firmly believe that there is a greater Force that is always looking out for me and that is able to help me transform any pain or trauma into purpose. I know that even when I cannot see or feel it, I am blessed.
The meaning of the word “trauma,” in its Greek origin, is “wound.” The great thing about wounds is that with care and attention, they heal. In my experience, on the other side of that healing is peace and purpose. May we take care. May we pay attention. It is time to heal. – Tshegofatso Sephula