Recovering a sense of abundance

Hosted our fortnightly creative group this morning and we delved into the chapter in the book "The Artist's Way" titled "Recovering a sense of abundance". It challenges me to give myself more time to do creative things. It is so easy to let work take over completely and to feel guilty when not working. Like others in the group I also need to get a balance. Tomorrow I have an invitation to go see the headmaster of one of the high schools in Harare possibly for a job teaching there. Am not sure if they have an actual vacancy or if it is just to discuss possibilities. I am trying to see if I can get anywhere with some other links to try stay in the environmental side. I don't know that I want to necessarily teach full time as I have mentioned before. I've still got to decide what I really want to do but the meeting this week on Harare's water crisis has reminded me that wetlands and water issues are really my passion. The issue of lack of water provision in Harare is a major problem and is something I would like to work on.

Went to visit my friend in hospital again today. It is the same clinic I've been admitted to once when I took an overdose of my sleeping tablets. I can't really remember much or how I got to the clinic after I took the tablets. I remember feeling helpless and thinking that taking my tablets all at one go was a way out. I can't recall much from after that. My Mum says I was ill on the way to the clinic and luckily got rid of all the pills that way. I just remember eventually waking up the next morning in a hospital.

That was the last time I've seriously tried to commit suicide. With the stress from my job recently I have had the odd fleeting contemplation when it all seemed overwhelming. The responsibility of my different commitments has prevented me and the thought of what it would do to my Mum. I eventually have managed to separate myself a bit from my work stress and to take a step back and see getting that stressed is just not worth it. I need things to be responsible for but they can weigh me down. It does make me put ending it all at bay though and make me consider things more.

With the chapter on recovering abundance, we discussed balancing work with play and use of time. I really need structure to my day and a reason to get up in the morning. Even if I have loads of time to possibly be creative I need to have a purpose for doing it and it needs to be for a given time. I haven't had time to paint as much as I'd like to. Getting a bit more time to do so is going to need a bit of work to keep me in balance and to give me an income. Still got to work this all out.

I remember ...

Clearing up my former bedroom of its paraphernalia I am reminded of different times of my life. More recently, the paintings I did whilst in hospital with severe depression in Switzerland. Some of the art looks slightly trippy with swirls of iridescent colour, similar to the disarray of chemicals in my mind. Others are starkly devoid of colour, reflecting the raw aching pain within that simply would not leave. Many show my indecision of whether to stay in Switzerland or return to Zimbabwe and the uncertainty I faced regarding Zimbabwe’s future and my return.

Dusting off my insect collection from when I took the entomology course in Cape Town, I am transported away to happier days, running around campus and in the Cedarburg with a butterfly net bug hunting. There is the elusive spider wasp, with its cellophane-like wings, then the punk-like disco-ball beetles, with their tufts of yellow or orange hairs on their carapace. Those were Elysian Fields for my soul and was a time when I was content with life.

I remember sitting in the chapel at school, trying to make sense of the fact that Lisa was gone. Paging through a nun’s bible and hymn book, looking for an answer, for solace, for reason. I did not find it that day. The song The Rose always takes me back to that day and your funeral as Chenai sang it to you and to our aching souls. Jacaranda season is another reminder. I imagine Lisa walking along the purple carpeted path through the playground and out the Herbert Chitepo Street Gate, where it is said she hailed a taxi to take her home to where she shot herself dead.

Music memoirs from a little while back

The local documentary club happens bi-monthly at The Queen of Hearts Coffee Shop in Harare. A group of upcoming professionals both young and older assemble and enjoy and evening of film viewing accompanied by a complementary cappuccino and if you pay an extra $5, a bowl of soup. Last night the film was on the Sound City Recording Studio in Los Angeles. A number of prominent bands had recorded hits there in its hey day and it had a state of the art mixing desk. It was an entertaining soirèe.

It did bring back memories though of my Father, and times from my childhood when my Sister and I had to sit patiently in the lobby or by the recording desk as my Father pursued his music career. I remember the mixed  bag of musicians who would wander in and out of my Father’s house and my Dad’s music room which was mostly out of bounds. Despite being a gifted musician, my Father never took time to teach my Sister or I how to play an instrument and we had to fit into his life and around his recording time. The only time he had use for us in his music was for a music video, in which my Sister and I were dressed in rags and made to sit outside a hut near the Domboshawa Area.

The music video was partly following the story of my Grandfather, and how born out of an extra-marital affair or possibly rape, he was raised by his African Mother in possibly squalid conditions. At the age of seven he set out from Penalonga along the road to Harare, in search of his Father. He slept in public toilets at night along the way but eventually located his Greek Father in the big metropolis of Harare. His Father, less than thrilled to see his illegitimate son, hastily enrolled him at a boarding school designated for coloured children. This and other disappointments and disownership made my Grandfather eventually want nothing more to do with his Father and ultimately caused him to change his surname from Zambellis to the made up name of Lannas.

The poor father-child relationship seems to have been passed down through the generations and my Father did not fulfill his obligations as a father willingly either. With his involvement in the music industry came other women who eventually replaced my Mother, and my Father dabbled in illegal substance abuse at times. His already volatile moods became more erratic and his artistic temperament could flare up with minimal provocation. The weekends we were to see him could be cancelled at a moment’s notice due to a gig taking precedence and my Sister and I had to adapt to the many women that floated in and out of my Father’s life.

People in Zim still remember my Father and his band “Talking Drum” even though it is many years now since my Father left for England. At the supermarket cashiers will sometimes look at my Spar shopping card and ask if I am any relation to my Father. On conceding to being his daughter I am then asked if he is still making music to which I invariably reply I haven’t a clue, which is the truth. A few years ago my Father reconnected with my Sister but he has extended no effort to try to contact me. In many ways I am happy it is this way but it does sting at the same time that I am not. 

How far I've come

A friend of mine who also suffers from bipolar depression has been re-admitted to hospital again. My heart goes out to her as I have been there and have recently felt the twinges of not coping and feeling life is just too hard. I hope I can be the friend to her that she has been to me and I can help her climb back up from the pit of despair. How much one is able to do this for someone else and how much they themselves have to overcome is hard to tell. I know in my own experience it helped to know I wasn't alone and friends who had depression themselves were the easiest to be with as you knew they had been where you were and wouldn't judge you. Each person's struggles though are different and even having bipolar doesn't make you privy to all that the other person experiences or what is causing their sense of worthlessness or self-hate.

Today as well an acquaintance at church who seems to also have mental health challenges said they didn't feel they needed to take medication. I admit that yesterday I had forgotten to take mine and the thought of just not taking it does sometimes go through my mind. I guess I see though that if I mess up my brain chemistry by just suddenly going cold turkey I'm going to do more harm and set myself further back. It therefore doesn't become a major stumbling block for me. I don't know this other person's history or condition but was trying to say that if they needed to be on meds they should try stay on them.

The thought of having a major bout of depression again or worse a psychotic episode does perturb me. I also don't know yet how I will cope one day without my Mum. That does scare me as I still am semi-dependent not only financially but for support on her. I know I once was an independent person and I was able to cope. Life in Zim seems harder some how and I think not having a full time, decent paying job doesn't help. I'm still thrashing out what I really want to do. The more artistic, creative side of me is feeling it wants to be used more but just how and how to make a living out of it is the question. Writing appeals, I am going to try maybe see if any local magazines or newspapers want articles.

Well that's my day's musings. Will be more soon no doubt.

Taking flight

In trying to decide on what it is I really really actually want to do, I find my mind is flighty and I have idealistic ideas of things. The nuts and bolts of it is I need to find something, not necessarily my dream but hopefully something I enjoy. When I peruse job adverts though I find myself snobbish and that most of the jobs advertised don't live up to my expectations. I recently saw a post on the internet suggesting that my generation finds it hard to find a job that makes them happy and that we have grandiose ideals of who we are and what we deserve in life. Whilst it was in a way over board and verging on the comic, it did have grains of truth in it that I could semi-relate to.

article -

Why Generation Y Yuppies Are Unhappy

I'm finding myself repeatedly questioning what I truly want out of life and what job would be what I really would find fulfilling. The life I have been living for the last couple of years has been doing odd jobs but the variation has been stimulating. I think I will struggle to find a single job that will allow me to be scientific and creative at the same time and which will give me complete satisfaction. Must I settle for less though and can I afford to be so choosey? That's the big question for me that remains to be answered, hopefully out of choice and not necessity.

Onwards and upwards I say ...

Well I haven't been on for a little while as, as I mentioned in the previous posts, I no longer have my current job after the end of this year. In many different ways it is a big relief as to be honest I wasn't really enjoying it of late. If I could have been doing fieldwork I think it might have felt it was more rewarding but I never managed to get to the field. Instead I have been cooped up indoors battling through statistics and been a hermit because of it. Statistics has been very stressful and I am very dubious of the p-values which convey the ever sought after deeming of significance. It is very easy to get a different result but science lauds the p-value and it's supposed truth a little too greatly.

I am therefore at a cross-roads again though job-wise. This is a bit unsettling and I have got anxious over it. I am putting my CV out to local schools to maybe teach next year. So far no takers but they have agreed to maybe have me down as a relief teacher for subbing if needed. I will probably have to tutor more to increase my income in the meantime. Am trusting for better things.

Having signed up for an online course on creative writing and story telling, I wish to pursue this a little more as I enjoy writing. At some point I want to try write a full tale of my illness and battles with depression. It would be cathartic and might help others, I don't know.

Depression and the threat of it's return do hinder me in my job search as I know I can't take on high stress again - I just don't cope well. Working by correspondence does give me grace for days when I wake up to downs and struggle. A full-time job would not be so accommodating but in a way structure would be good for me. Also I enjoy interacting with people to an extent and being cooped up at home working is not always good for me. We'll see.

In the meantime I need to finish off the dratted data analysis, so back to work!

Back to square one

The job I have been doing has been stressful of late and I haven't been entirely happy with a number of things. Today I received an email saying that the organisation can no longer afford to keep me on. In a way this is a welcome release and means I can look for something else. It does mean however that I will be without a major source of income and I need to urgently find something in order to survive financially. I may have to just suck it up and put in to teach. Not sure how easy it's going to be to find teaching jobs though as most schools seem to have their full quota of teachers.

In the meantime I luckily have some consulting work to tide me over. I am facing a conflict in personal and work interests though in the jobs I have to do as they involve wetlands and proposals to build over them which goes against my fundamental opinion. Will have to try find a way round this and do what I can to protect the wetlands.

It is a bit scary suddenly not having a source of income again as work is very scarce in Zim and there is no social security to fall back on. I am exploring what avenues I can and trusting that there is something else out there.

Support network

With my depression I have often felt terribly alone and isolated. I find it hard to put into words my feelings and I don't often want to burden others or go on about negative things. I therefore tend to keep an awful lot internalised and only rarely when prodded tell others (mostly my therapist and psychologist). My chief "carer" or care giver is my Mum. Since the time when I broke down in Switzerland she has been there and has walked with me. I had a very good friend from my church in Switzerland who also helped me in my dark moments there and whom I still am in contact with. To both I owe an awful lot and in some ways without them I might have actually committed suicide by now.

My relationship with my Mum though is not easy. There are things I can't tell her and when I am low I don't really vocalise to her what is wrong. She has to sort of work round it but often misinterprets what my silences mean. She has also not fully come to terms with me having depression and will try to pin my downs to other things. The complications with my poor relationship with my Sister interweaves into this. My Mum always defends my Sister and it feels like she always takes her side. If my Mum doesn't accept my illness at times, my Sister absolutely shuns it, taking a very religious view that depression is of and from the devil. We do not see eye to eye on many things. This makes the return of my Sister every year from varsity a difficult period and it almost always has some form of fall out. My frustrations with this sometimes lead me to become very angry and at times even more isolated as it feels as if my Sister and my Mum become a unit and I am not a part of it. Living altogether is not a healthy environment and I am going to have to find some sort of solution should my Sister return to live in Zim.

At times I am now coping well and can be more independent. When I take a dip though I really need people to be there for me and I rely on my Mum heavily. It scares me a little to think how I would cope if my Mum died. I don't quite know yet how I would. Currently I am not only dependent on my Mum for emotional support, but am also beholden to her financially as I don't earn enough to fully support myself. I am trying to take on more work but it is a delicate tight rope, as when I get under a lot of pressure I crumble and feel I can't cope. I am trying to push my pressure limits little by little though and try to press on to regain my ability to work well under a healthy level of pressure and stress.

Being in Zim

I started reading the book "The Last Resort" last night. It kicks off with the farm invasions and murder of white farmers in 2000. Gosh that seems like a different life time ago and thinking back to the days of fuel shortages and lack of even the most basic commodities feels like we're talking about a different Zimbabwe to the one I am currently living in right now. Things have changed in many ways but I guess some of the underlying things are the same.

My writing group is starting again apparently so I have started a separate blog on life in Zim and coming home (http://wp.me/402gN if you're interested). I really would like to write more. I find it far easier to type away than I do to sit down and analyse statistics! Think I may have missed my calling somewhere along the line. There is a free online course from a university in Potsdam that I have signed up for on creative writing and story telling. I really would like to go into writing more and maybe try writing stories or, if I could try, a book maybe. We'll see. Feel a bit excited by the idea though and it is something that does appeal to me.

I would really like a more formal job that pays. I have been opting to go into school with my Mum as we have been having bad power outtages at home as the national electricity supplier ZESA keeps havign prolonged load shedding. This has been very frustrating and particularly bad again since elections. At school I work in the staff room. It does at least mean I see more people than I would sitting at home, but I do feel kind of spare part-ish and like I shouldn't really be here. I do at least sub from time to time at the school when needed so can semi-justify being here that way. The school does have lovely grounds and I love walking through them smelling the iceberg roses and observing the flambouyant peacocks fan their tails. I don't think I'd like teaching full time but if I had to, an international school would be what would appeal most. But being a teacher is not my first choice career wise as I feel I would very quickly feel like I was back at school too. Will see. If other work doesn't open up I may have to consider teaching full time as it is job security and a slightly better paid income.

I think part of my aversion to becoming a teacher is that teaching takes over my Mum's life. Earlier I said my Dad is a workaholic, well the same is true of my Mum. From early on we used to have to spend hours and hours waiting at school for my Mum and get home late as she would still be working and might have even stayed on working if it were not for the fact that security wanted to lock up. We used to have to go back to school with her even in the school holidays. Part of it was her never ending attempt to tidy up her classroom, but it was also often when she gave extra lessons to help towards paying the bills. School seemed to overrule our lives and still does. We seem to have always spent more time at school than at home. In a way it has felt like my Mum stays away from home to avoid having to deal with life issues there.

Morning pages

I wrote the following this morning at the creative arts group I belong to, which is currently working through the book "The Artist's Way". We had been told to collect images of things that we dream of and make an image file. From my pictures I wrote the following:

National Geographic attracted me and its images of photography, conservation and travel. This is what I dream of doing. A first step would be to get a decent camera to play with. Over the past week the idea of doing photo-journalism has become more and more appealing. I'd like to tell stories with photos and bring in an environmental element.

I'd like to go to remote, beautiful places but not for long lonely periods. I'd like to travel with work and see new places and really experience them. I'd like to meet new and interesting people along the way. I also taking a new delight in gardening with the breaking forth of summer. All the colours and bird song inspire me. I hope to make our garden at home more textured and interesting, particularly with succulents to conserve water. I love the different hues of the jacarandas, the pride of India and the roses though, even if they are all exotics.

Last night's home group discussion challenged me. We started a series on making and becoming disciples and we are following the Multiply literature on this. http://www.multiplymovement.com/ It scared me a little and made me realise I just call myself a Christian, but I'm not sure if I really follow Christ and if His ways are my ways. I get depressed and when I do I turn from faith and become super critical. I haven't been reading my bible for a while and have been in a dry and semi-dark place. This place doesn't see the point to life and what I'm supposed to do. Hopefully with this new challenge of what it really means to be a Christian and a re-think on what God's plan is for me, I will find a new purpose and grow. It will show me there is more to me being here than I think, and create a role and objectives for me to achieve.

The fact that I'm supposed to not only be a disciple, but also make disciples is a scary thought though.

'Yet I still belong to You; You hold my right hand. You guide me with Your counsel, leading me to a glorious destiny.'

This was today's bible verse I was sent (Psalm 73:23-24) and I guess my faith is something that helps to give purpose to life. Without it there really would be no point to anything. It is not easy though and I still don't see the big picture (does anyone?) It does give a reason for why I'm here and I hope that there is something specific I'm supposed to achieve. Success has been something I've grappled with for a long time. From an early age I was compelled to succeed and do well. I managed to get good grades at school and do well in my extramural activities. I did well when I went to university and won scholarships and bursaries. My first major failure was when I crumbled under my work load from my PhD and had to quit. I had never failed like that before and I am still not 100% over it. My fellow student doing a PhD alongside mine has just graduated and it is a reminder that I too could have been graduating now with a PhD if I had not had my cataclysmic collapse. There is always in the back of my mind the "what if" and "why".

With a friend of mine who also has bipolar depression I often joke about being the "crazy" ones. It is now semi accepted that bipolar is a condition that more people than your realize have. What is not so easy is the acceptance of someone who also can experience psychosis, which is what I have had at times. Since my massive melt down in Switzerland and my first return to Zimbabwe, I haven't really had any further bouts of psychosis since my medication has changed. It still scares me though that there is a possibility it could happen again and I will be left without a grasp of reality once more and really be "mad". I joke about the bipolar but madness and being crazy is a slightly more sensitive area for me and is something I feel vulnerable to. I don't think people accept really "crazy" people as readily and I have not really told people about my psychotic states or that I experience them. I feel they would not know how to deal with that and might judge me if they thought I was really crazy.

My Mum often tries to down play my depression and I'm not sure she has fully accepted that I have bipolar depression and that it is a condition. She knew my Dad was a "manic" depressive but in my case she puts a lot of what happened in Switzerland down to stress from a skiing accident. The skiing accident whilst scary was not the main cause of what happened subsequently. I had had depression prior to that and had been suicidal even when in Cape Town but had never told anyone. I had seen a doctor in Cape Town who had intimated that perhaps I needed psychological help but that was as far as I had gone and had never been fully diagnosed. Although Switzerland was a nightmare it at least led me to finally being medicated and set me on the path towards a more "normal" life. I guess that is one success that did come out of what in other ways was a massive failure.

 

Musings

I am feeling a bit disenchanted with statistics and disillusioned at how easy it is to change them and yet science places so much stock in them. I am feeling a pull towards the arts at the moment and less of an affinity to science. Today with my therapist I talked about how I make decisions and what guides me. A friend in Switzerland asked me a week ago to describe what kind of boat or ship I see myself as. She said, "If you like, you can write a few sentence and the title of the story is "I am a boat". I can't explain you more for the moment, but will give you after that some keys which you will understand (and I probably not, because it is your story)."

In response I wrote: If I were a boat I think I would be a little rowing boat, not a new flashy one but an older weather beaten one with the pain peeling but still used. I would be used for rowing on a lake and can fit about 6 people in it. At times people like to just sit in it and enjoy the view.

My friend's interpretation of what I wrote was this:

Rowing boat, that means, that it is by your own strength that you make things move. (Sailing boat means to be moved by circumstances, influence from outside). You are a "just do it" person. You decide it, you do it.

You think, you are a little rowing boat... but 6 people can fit in it - that means not that little. 

Do this people help to row or what are they doing?

Seems you like to work / undertake things in groups of about 6 people. You are relational.

Important that you not only row, but take time to just sit and enjoy the view - and if possible with friends. 

That's a beautiful work life balance. :-)

You are not new flashy, but life has been left it's marks... BUT you are still useful for what it was made for :-)

And the boat is in the lake, which is appropriate to it's size. So it does well know it's limits. 

I think you are a very beautiful boat and I can see your heart in it.

Other questions could be:

- When is this boat the most happy?

- Whom does this boat fear?

- Who fears that boat?

and as a final question:

Do I need to change something on my boat? And if so what? - And what does this mean for my own life?

 

Can you see a little bit of you in this? And for work it is good for you to know, that you can work independently, even though you love being in a group of approx 6 people. You are useful (want to have a purpose, not just look good). Important to have the balance between roawing (work) and relaxing and enjoying the view. Lake might stand for national (? I don't know about that one)

 

It is funny that she sees that as a rowing boat I decide where I am going. A lot of the time it doesn't feel like I do but I guess I take a long time over decisions when the decision is in my hands and I like to feel that I'm in control. With my relationship with my Mum and living back home again I don't feel like I'm neccessarily the one making the decisions. Also with work I don't always feel I'm doing what I really want to be. However some of my life choices have led me to where I am currently. I am not sure if I can make that many changes to my circumstances. The biggest way to change would be to leave Zim again. This is an option I always play with but whether it will happen is the question and whether it will be my own decision and my own choice is the question. My support network is strong here but in some ways for different things it feels my choices and opportunities here are limited.

 

Deciding what I really really want to do is a big issue. I may try go see a life coach and see her insights into what I'm best suited to doing. The problem is finding the job that meets my expectations, passions, qualifications and which at the end of the day gives me a liveable income, fulfillment and that I can get up for everyday feeling motivated for. Guess I have high expectations and am fussy.

 

“Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.” ~A.A. Milne

My moods are greatly affected by the weather, this morning it was warm, bright and sunny and I felt an optimism and I felt alive with the spring time. I have just ventured out again and it has turned overcast and looks like it is building for a storm. Almost in reflection to this I am feeling unsettled from work and pressured from many sources. I wish my job could be more outdoors instead of sitting in front of a computer. I am lucky in that the various jobs I do are flexi and as I am not employed full time I am the master of how I use my time and when I take breaks. This is a blessing and a curse. In some ways I wish I had the structure of a full time single job. I would also like to have work colleagues I could interact with and bounce ideas off for challenges. Full time work though would not give me the liberty I have to go have coffee with someone if I want to or do some painting or writing when I feel the urge.

Work is hard to come by these days and I must be grateful I have some work. I do question at times though if it is really what I want to be doing. My Mum loves teaching and it is her life. It has been her life for as long as I remember and at times it takes over the rest of hers and my lives. When I was little she ran a preschool from home. At times I would get jealous as the other kids got so much of her attention and at the end of the day when I felt it was "my" time and her attention could finally be focused on me she was often tired and grumpy. Being the eldest child I think I was put out when my younger Sister came along and I had to share my Mum with her. My Dad once said to me that I was not a nice child until my Sister came along which has stuck and stung for many years and also increased my resentment towards my Sister.

I think the day my Sister was born is a memory that has also churned and burned within me for a very long time. I remember my Mum going off (to the hospital it turned out to have my Sister, but this was not explained to me). All the other kids in the play school were collected and it started to get dark but my Mum didn't come home. I went up to the room where the domestic help Mary stayed on our property. She didn't really say where my Mum was or what was going on. Eventually, very late in the evening my Dad came home and he too didn't really explain. My Parents' marriage at that point was already headed for disaster and so my whole world with my Mum felt threatened.

Part of me also is resentful that my Sister does not remember as much of my Parents' divorce and the fights and tension that went with it as I do. I always had to be the brave one, the one who didn't cry and the one who said it was all going to be alright. I had to be the one who had to pretend everything was normal and be there for my Mum. It was always me that my Mum would off burden to and it is always me who has to be the one who has to help contribute financially when we get into a predicament. I hate being the older sister and the one who is supposed to be grown up and deal with problems.

My Dad used to always push me to achieve in school and it used to feel like nothing I did was ever good enough. The ghost of my Dad still taunts me at times and drives me to be a perfectionist and feel what I have done is still not up to scratch. It is a ghost that is not laid to rest easily and I often feel I have to prove myself and go beyond what everyone else is doing. I think I inherited my Dad's tendency to be a workaholic and I definitely get my manic and depressive moods from him. There are traits I get from my Mum though too such as not addressing problems and covering them up.

“Life is the art of drawing without an eraser.” ~John W. Gardner

A friend of mine is experiencing a bout of depression having returned home to live in Zim from Johannesburg. I can fully empathise as it is hard coming back and living at home with one's parents again after leading an independent life abroad. You no longer have your own environment and you have to comply with your Parents' rules for the house which often includes coming home to a curfew and going to bed when they do. It feels like you are a teenager once more and the life you led outside of Zim feels like a life time ago. The problem is rent is very expensive in Harare and so a lot of young people cannot actually afford to live on their own and meet the costs of living here.

Another aspect that is depressing my friend of returning to Zim is that there are not that many young people here and it is hard to make new social contacts and friends. The friends one has are also all often in relationships and partnered up and so to be single is hard and there are not many young eligible young men around. It also makes for the social scene being predictable and at times boring with only so much you can do and only so many people you know and will potentially then meet. Possibly there are more young people around than one things but Hararians at times seem clickey and don't venture out to make new friends readily.

It can feel like what are supposed to be best years of one's life are slipping by fast without too many new and interesting things happening. Also, with many friends settling down and getting married you feel life has passed you by and you are going to remain a spinster forever. Time can go by in Harare with the same old, same old and it is hard to account for what you've done and make a difference with this.

Contemplations

Today we helped with the yard sale for an elderly couple who are downsizing and moving into an old age home. The yard was filled with their belongings collected over many years. It made me think about what the point of life is and how at the end we have worked towards aquiring things and made some sort of career but at the end we have to look back on what we've really achieved and we collect so much along the way that to others seems meaningless and of no value, but we invest so much into it all.

With work looking for work fulfillment and with trying to decide what I really want to do I keep pondering on why we work and how we are prepared to invest hours and hours of our life - more than the hours we have to spare for other things into what we are supposed to hopefully enjoy doing. But what if it's not what we want to be doing and whey does so much of it depend on the economic standing we already have, the starting capital we have and our education. For some people these three things don't matter but for many they are vital. Why? And what is the ultimate point? To just get by in life, to make a difference and if so in what way, or to just earn so you can buy more and perpetuate a cycle of never finding satisfaction?

I guess I'm just not completely happy in what I'm doing but I need something to earn money but also to stimulate me and to find rewarding to make the work worth it.

Memories

As part of my therapy I've been tasked with writing memories that are painful and getting down in words things I've kept inside. My Mum is a hoarder of note but there are artifacts from her life she won't go through and in order to create space in our home I have gone through boxes and boxes of loose papers, old bills, teaching materials, magazines, abandonned projects and much more. The back bedroom which was a junk hole was filled with things associated with my Parents' marriage. My Mum doesn't know that I had to go through piles and piles of documents relating to my Parents' divorce - painful affidavits detailing the abuse, unpredictability and damage my Father did. I haven't ever told my Mum I had to plough through all of this. It brought back painful memories reading through some of the material but in a way burning it on a bonfire was cathartic.

Another thing I find painful at times is looking at family photographs, especially those of my early childhood when my Parent's marriage was first disintegrating. From the facial expressions of my Parents I can detect strain in their marriage and some of the photos bring back memories of some of the last times my Parents were together and how I had to try and pretend things were normal and look happy and smile for the camera. I remember the period after those photos were taken when my Mum and I moved out and stayed with various friends and my Dad would suddenly show up where we were staying and things would become extremely tense and my Dad's presence would feel menacing. I remember moving from friend's house to friend's house and then occassionally staying with my paternal Grandparents, never knowing when my Dad might show up and hoping he wouldn't.

All of this is there in my memory but I only sometimes allow myself to think about it an it is usually photos which trigger me to think back.

Cracking open

I haven't been on here for a while but today I went to see my therapist Rona after quite a long gap. My session started out with me on what I thought was an even keel but some cutting questions brought to light things that simmer and pain me underneath the surface. The root cause is the unhealthy relationship I have between my Mother and Sister. Prodding and poking my therapist hit on raw nerves and some of the causes of resentments I have towards my Sister. At times my irritation and frustrations stem way way back to my childhood and my coping mechanisms from during my Parents' hostile divorce. I opened up to things I realise I have never talked about to anyone and have kept bottled within, poisoning me and my relations with my family today.


As a little girl my Mum used to always say whenever I had a problem or felt upset that I must always remember other people had worse problems than I did. Although this was supposed to make me feel better, it invariably made me feel that my Mum did not take what I had just said to heart and was making my problem seem insignificant and not worth talking about. To this day I still find it hard to share on my problems to others and tend to still keep them internalised.

My Parent's prolonged separation and eventual divorce was seared with violence and abuse and I was often caught in the crossfire and split loyalties. My Sister, due to her being three and a half years younger does not remember as much as I do and unlike me was not forced to try be an adult in an adults' cat fight. This is where some of my resentment starts and where there are wounds which have never healed.

I will be working through some of my past in the next coming weeks but I feel fragile as things that have never been spoken of or I have kept hidden deep down in the dark come to light after years of tight storage.