Combatting the battle within; why admitting defeat is never the wrong choice when asking for help.
It was early Wednesday morning, when I started to feel that something was not quite right. The reflection of the beaming sun against my window had awakened me. Without fully comprehending what was happening to me. I noticed I lacked the energy to emerge out of my bed. I recall hearing children from the playcentre across my house, the raucous laughter echoing against my window, a painful reminder that life was moving forward exceedingly elsewhere for others.
A sudden surge of sadness washed over my mind. Unaware of what was happening with my body, I began feeling distressed about life. Hesitant of ways to voice I was feeling emotionally unwell, I stayed in bed, my mind afraid of what others would think.
When negative thoughts of self-destruction plaque your mind, it can become difficult to express to those closest to you what is happening to you.
As my empty soul laid silently wrapped in cotton sheets, hurtful emotions interspersed with regret swept over me.
Forcing myself out of bed, I gathered some energy to place myself under warm water to shower away the negative thoughts that continued to swim inside my mind.
It kept telling me I was not good enough. That I was worthless and that no one could possibly ever love the broken woman inside of me. It told me this was the reason men dispersed away from me when it came to building lasting relationships. I was told that I would never be good enough to succeed in any aspect of life due to my inability to finish anything I attempted to start. Each thought that crossed my mind, worse than the other aided my anxious mind into self-destruction.
On the surface I was an optimistic young woman filled with confidence and self-love, harbouring inside of me a secret, that deep inside I was hurting.
I was brought up by a strong black woman in a single parent household as a little girl to never display signs of weakness outwardly to others.
Seeking help isn’t a familiar territory for someone like me. Emotionally I felt strained, and yet the thought of seeking help startled my soul. The idea that I cannot grasp a hold over my emotions emphasized my internal fragility.
(Verily, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest.) (Qur’an 13: 28)
At the end of that fateful afternoon, I recalled playing surah Rahman to help me calm the storms swaying inside my soul.
When the devil’s voice lingers inside your mind with detrimental thought, the soothing sounds of Quran becomes a reminder for you to place gratitude at the forefront of your internal struggles.
Pain has taught me to deal with my emotions silently, for those of us dealing with angst along with life’s complications, we’ve mastered the art of carrying a façade in front of others.
According to the World Health Organization, 3.6 percent — or about 264 million individuals worldwide — have an anxiety disorder. As women statistically, we are more prone to carrying feelings of sadness than men.
Sitting in the doctor’s office unaccompanied, tears streaming down my face. I felt the world crumbling underneath my unsteady legs.
Mystified I was unsure of how at thirty-two I was being diagnosed with having a disorder. I could not fathom how my life had got to such a place filled with darkness.
Remarkable recollections of the past, of times I was happy with who I was plastered across my memory. Of times where the beaming confidence inside my soul overshadowed feelings of fear, times when I had internal strength to lift me up on the day’s emotions filled with sorrow brought me down.
I am told that with time my emotions like the wind can alter its direction. I read somewhere that said, ‘tough times don’t last, tough people do’.
It is imperative to understand that in this life, we will all be forced to deal with trials and tribulations.
Whilst anxiety and depression has been a large chapter of my journey. I am certain that better and brighter days can only be ahead in the story that is called my life.
