Ek gee jou n donsveer omdat jy ou dinge en die dinge van jou jeug moet afskud. Ek gaan vir jou mooi vere gee waarmee jy kan vlieg as ‘n volwassene, ‘n grootmens.
Moenie bang wees nie. Al is die tyd by die huis verby – jou donsveertyd. Gaan ek jou vashou en jou oplig om self te kan vlieg.
My vrede is by jou en in jou. Sal jy my geskenk van vrede aanvaar?
My sus praat baie oor n sagte plek vir haarself. En ek dink oor sagte plekke vanoggend.
Ek leef in my sagte plek. Jare terug het n baie wyse vrou vir my gesê, die Here se liefde vir my is soos n marshmallow. Ek voel dit nou.
Sagte plekke op n vrug is gekneus, en ek wonder of mens net dai sagte plekkies regtig kan voel, sonder dat die lewe jou so n bietjie kneus. So bietjie druk tot die sap van jou hart uitgedruk word sodat die wêreld jou soetigheid kan proe.
Amari en Nylah – Ek wil julle sagte plekkie wees. Waar julle net kan wees. Julleself.
Calvin – My hoop is dat jy by my kan rus. Saggies.
Mag jy jou sagte plekkie vind – binne jouself.
Kan ek nog skryf?
Ek gebruik nie eens n pen nie en die proverbial paper is vertikaal.
En dis soos ek voel as ek kom sit om te skryf, totaal en al kaal.
Dis die een plek waar ek nie kan wegkruip agter goeie dade en distractions nie.
Dit raak so maklik met die maskers.
Jy begin dink dat die maskers deel is van jou.
Jou eie vel is ingewroegel met die maskers se splinters.
En dis seer, maar dis bekend.
Dis bekend vir myself maar dis meer bekend vir die wat dink hulle ken my.
Want eintlik ken hulle die masker.
Kan ek nog skryf?
Kan ek nog my siel ontbloot – vir myself eerste.
Myself, my eie self.
Nie vrou, ma, dogter, suster en so aan nie.
Net ekke.
Kan ek nog skryf ?
Kom ons probeer –
Soos n druppel wat verwyte sy tydelike rusplekkie verlaat, so seil ek van die blare van my verlede en ek hang in die lug vir n oomblik. Als is soms te vinnig.
Ek glinster in die son van n nuwe dag vol beloftes.
En dis okay as dit net mooi beloftes is – dis n droom.
Wanneer het die lewe so hard geword?
Soveel mure en lae van protection net om te kan leef elke dag.
Face life, Be strong, Hustle hard, Life is what you make of it.
Wat as ek niks wil maakie, wat as ek vir ure net wil slaap.
Net weer energise, op my blaartjie in die son.
Ek gaan weer spring, afgly tot in die ewigheid met beloftes en miracles vir padkos.
What do you do when your brain betrays you?
You keep going.
You keep going through the doubt and fear.
You know it’s still you, if not you then who is this imposter?
But you have never experienced this before.
You don’t recognize the things that gave you life and introduced you to love.
You don’t breathe the same, your body doesn’t move the same.
It feels as if one half of your body is in the soothing, warm sun and the other half is in icebath.
You keep going
You keep going through the hills and valleys of thought.
You hope and pray that on the outside, there is a familiar face or feeling.
Because truly you are stuck in a house within your mind where the walls are caving in and the windows have cracked open.
So you are forced to go outside of the familiar because an earthquake has swallowed it.
There is no going back inside, there is no place to hide, from the strange.
Because your undeniable truth has become stranger than fiction.
What do you do?
Do you run into someone else’s house and hope there is a far-off memory that belongs to you?
Do you run in the fields and the fog and resist the urge to rest?
Because when you rest you remember.
What did I do when my brain betrayed me.
It happened more than once and probably still will.
All I can say is… my house is not built on sand any longer.
It is rooted and established in love.
I have physical representations of love, living and breathing.
My house is now a home where others live.
And although it sometimes shakes, I know how to keep the walls up and the windows open when the winds of change blow.
I am no longer exposed.
I am covered by love.
I have heard many testify about their healing.
And I have sat at the fireplace of my inner world, and wonder.
I wonder if this day will come for me and stay.
The crackling of the fire reminds me of the things tossed in it.
Some I have thrown in that fire with vigour and determination – a new beginning.
And some so reluctant, not wanting to let go.
Sometimes I even go back and scrape out the scraps that weren’t incinerated.
Wanting to hold on to the warmth of familiarity.
Maybe this is why I don’t find this illusive healing.
I am healed! I don’t suffer any longer! You must have faith.
Faith?
Faith is all I have left.
When I circumvent my hurdles and triggers.
Fear is not your future, they say.
Fear is the opposite of love.
Fear – False Evidence Appearing Real.
Then why does it come so naturally??
Why is it my norm?
Why do I have to recalibrate every day, moment to moment, and let go of the thing that has accompanied me since childhood?
It is a toxic relationship.
It breaks me down to the bone and drills deep into it with lies.
I know they are all lies yet I succumb to it day by day.
So weereens sit ek by die vuur van my binnewereld en ek wonder.
Gaan ek ooit die seeninge botallig vind?
Gaan ek die nerwe van my lewe optel en aanmekaar las en liefde as die garing gebruik?
Gaan ek dit wat deur my are vloei buitentoe druk sodat dit wat my afdruk weer kan deurdruk met lig.
Gaan ek skuld gevoelens in die vuur gooi en dit daar los.
Mag ek maar gelukkig wees?
Dis die diepste vraag wat die kind hierbinne vra.
Ek wens ek kon jou vertel van my drome.
Die drome wat ek moes laat wegvaar met die gety.
Meegesleur met die rollende skulpies.
Ek wens ek kon een skulpie vul met my opgevoude droom.
Maar ek sou dit seker opfrommel en tevergeefs sien gaan.
Ek het tog drome gehad my kind.
En toe pluk die lewe hul vanuit my takke.
Hul het skaars begin bloeisels maak.
Skaars geweet wat hul kon wees.
‘n Bloeisel – geurig vir die wat drome kan ruik.
‘n Vrug – voedsaam vir die wat drome kon proe.
Dis onklaar en weggestoor in die kaste waar hulle al begin uitpeul.
Die deure kan hul nie meer binne hou nie.
Hulle wil weet hul was daar.
Hul het geleef in die gange van my wese.
Jy sien my kind, drome is deel van ons menswees.
Dit maak ons wie ons is.
Geheime drome wat wegstap op die melodie van n kitaar se snare.
My gunsteling droom was jy my kind.
Jy in al jou beloftes van lewe.
Jy was en is my herinnering van ‘n tyd van my ek-wees,
Waar die wind waai nes dit in Worcester waai.
Onklaar – Onstuimig – Deurmekaar
Mooi – Reddend – Daar
En tog moet ek jou keer op keer laat gaan, soos die wind.
Laat gaan om weer te waai in my gange.
Jy los klein stukkies van jouself daar.
Geurige bloeisels in ‘n hopie voor ‘n deur waardeur ek moet stap.
JY WAS!
Ek eet die vrug van my drome vandag.
Dit lyk anders en presies wat dit moet wees.
Boorde vol drome met vlinders van beloftes en reëndruppels van hoop.
It hits like a sudden wave.
Sticks to the walls of my mind.
Blue and grey
It crashes into my regular rainbows.
Engulfs my promises.
New life.
New beginnings submerged by fear and reluctance.
The unseen build-up bubbles with doubt and questions.
The answer is always the same.
Unworthiness
It spreads like that crashing wave over the beaches of my lucidity.
Sane and sober, normal and functioning
Promise and abundance, overflowing cups…
Distant memories.
Gryp in.
Vang my, red my, omhels my
Vou my toe en fluister beloftes toegevou in liefde.
Herhaal weer die mengsels van oorgawe en genot.
Ek sal die keer glo,
ek het nodig om elke keer te hoor.
ek word telke male gestroop van my eie beeld.
Sê my weer wie ek is.
Skree sagkuns tot my weerkaatsing, in die warboel van denke.
Die oorsprong roep na die skepper.
En die skepper… antwoord.
I started writing as an outlet for something and it became a ‘me too’ offering for people who have the same experiences in life. I needed and still need such a voice so that I know I am not alone in my struggles in life. And yes some may say, “Don’t call them struggles, be more positive and call them do-betters or challenges”. But the truth is – most times it is a struggle. A struggle to see the reason in a current situation, a struggle to get out of bed, and a struggle to experience life to the fullest.
Once upon a time, Bipolar Disorder ruled my life. I saw everything through that lens and lived with my emotions at the steering wheel. It was truly a tumultuous time, everything was extreme. The highs and the lows.
Lately, I have been thinking about that time and wondering where I was. Yes physically I was there but inside I was swinging in between the valleys and the mountains. I was either groveling in the sand, pushing my head down and hiding from the world or I was living on a stage where I was the star. Silly when I think of it now. But through all of that… I knew I was loved. It just took a few more years to realise that how I was made, is perfect.
I have found my way back to the valley, not my thought valley but the town I was born in. Surrounded by beautiful mountains. One can see them from every angle.
I choose to live my life like this now, seeing the mountaintops from every angle of my life. Even when I am in the valley I know that nothing lasts forever and this too shall pass.
My hande gryp na drade wat nat is met my trane.
Geniepsig is die windjie wat my herinner van my verlede.
Tragies is die begin van nog n dag – met gister se gewete.
Sewentig maal sewe, vergewe my dorstigheid na die lewe,
Dis ingebou in my reedsbestaande beendere van geboorte liedere.
Dis daai wind wat my lieg en bedrieg – sodat ek kaal staan – voor n leuen.
En dan beklee dit my met woorde wat belaai is met onwaarhede – oor myself.
Myself wat soveel keer strewe na n lewe – waar daar lewe is.
Waar dit wemel met tolbosse soos visse wat n tornado vorm.
Onder water – waters waar rus is.
Rus vir my siel, rus vir my gees wat bars om oor te wil neem.
Neem oor Heil’ge gees. Mag ek dans in die wind van verlange na n liefde wat die dood skaam maak.
‘n Ander wind, ‘n dieper wind, ‘n koesterende wind wat my wange spelend knyp en ontfermend my rokpante waai.
Heen en weer waai die nuwe wind, waai dit die lewende water.
Maak dit branders wat my verlede wegspoel en al wat oorbly op my strande is mooi herinneringe.
Die Mooiheid van n Vader wat sy kind liefhet.
Sy sonskyn tap met sinne vol geloof.
Soos heuning – taai van beloftes wat aan my vassit.
Lovesongs that are as old as time, all speak the same, deep message
I will love you forever.
I will protect you from the storms
I will respect your walk
I will celebrate your victories…
And this one is no different, but my love let’s dance in the storm
Let’s praise in the presence of a love born to be loved and to be love in essence.
I was born to love. We were born to sway in the innocence of a memory crafted to be so organic in its creation.
My walk was a separate one until I could not go around you any longer – and we collided in a fury of words. The word – left behind in a person and a presence.
Vergete is my dae van daai tergende wind wat my verlede in neuropathways inwaai.
Ek slaag nie altyd nie,
Ek oorkom nie altyd nie
Ek oorreed nie altyd myself dat dit nie die ware ek is nie – maar – ek probeer.
I try to forgive my own mind for betraying my spirit. But the spirit is never overpowered.
It is never tainted and it can never be stopped.
Tap into it, dig deep into the caverns of mystery.
Dis soos n fyn wierook wat soos parfuum altyd onderliggend smeul in die gange van my gedagtes.
Mag die reuk altyd dwaal in my onderbewussyn.
Mag dit my party dae oorrompel met diep gesprekke tussen ons.
Ons….
Nie meer net ek.
Mental illness is a raging, silent killer. It is not a construct of a failed life, yet we – people who live with mental illness – so often deem our lives as unfit for living. Unfit for living. Unfit for dreaming again. Unfit for taking it day by day.
Mental illness is taking each moment and saying, “I will fight for this moment, I will fight for me and I will fight to live.” Every single moment is a fight against your own mind. It’s a fight against don’t be encompassed by the darkness that is so familiar.
Imagine looking for your keys in the dark, in a pile of other people’s keys. Your keys to life is in a pile of randomness – in the dark. And on the way to finding your keys to life are heaps and heaps of distraction and reminders of previous failure.
Why the emphasis on failure? Because you are always second guessing your decisions and utterances. You are always wondering if your brain betrayed you in those moments.
Imagine such a thing… Your brain constantly betraying you. Making decisions on your behalf. Imagine listening to yourself saying things and inside your wondering, “Why are those words coming out of my mouth, make it stop!”
And then the whirlwind of thoughts come. “What are they thinking of me? Did I make a fool of myself? No, your fine. Nope, they are definitely thinking you are totally nuts.”
How do you recover from that? And these are not isolated moments, this is every single moment, each conversation. “Ooooohkay, let’s put on the mask… whoop here we go… Oh hi, how are you!” Yet internally, there is a scared human being, being… terrified.
Ilze Gopal | My Denke 