My mother could never understand why people would want to appear on TV to air their personal problems on shows like Oprah Winfrey, Vanessa, Tricia and Dr Phil. I would often reply by staring blankly at her as she asked this obviously rhetorical question for the umpteenth time because I knew she wasn’t really expecting an answer from me. I was puzzled though because she often chipped in with comments and answers directly at the unresponding telly which used to amuse me no end.

Dr Joy Lilian Blankson-Hemans aka Mummy

I on the other hand and for some inexplicable reason have had no such inhibitions and wear my heart boldly on my sleeve. I know this isn’t always a good thing as the old adage goes… ‘wear your heart on your sleeve and you will bleed to death…’ ha ha – I say ‘wear it inside and no one will know you are bleeding internally…’. My mother bore her cancer and quietly faced her death with the same stoic attitude. That is pretty brave. Me? I’ll probably yell the place down with ‘mi ri wu o’ (I am dying) until everyone tells me to ‘ye fun na wu -aba!’  – shut up and die quietly.

Well here I go again; these last few weeks I have been engulfed by a very  dark mist that has greatly affected my ability to function in pretty much the same way that a straight jacket restricts you. It is not a pleasant place to be and as the mist rises from the dark pit under my feet I hold on to the edge of the abyss completely white knuckled and doing my best not to succumb and fall  praying until the moment which can be several days long passes. (Just by the by what colour would the knuckles of black people be?  ha ha just clenched my fists to see if they change colour and the answer is inconclusive.)

I do function, I mean I get up and go to work (more about this later) and I speak with people and do my job adequately and I try to paint and strangely enough at the end of such an episode I produce some of my most creative paintings but goodness what a price to pay!

There is a name for this rising mist; it’s called depressive illness and some experts believe depression tests the strongest amongst us as in the main we do battle with pressures and stresses that most people would normally run away from until our bodies can take no more.

I think I understand my mother’s position on the subject; bless her she was a medical doctor and one would have expected her to know more but her expertise was in obstetrics and gynaecology so in a sense dealing with the bottom end of the human anatomy (sorry no pun intended) rather than the cerebral end. I do however think there is more to her attitude and something that further inhibits me. Stoics endure pain or hardship without showing their feelings or complaining.

You see as Africans we have been brought to to be quiet on most issues that cause us mental trauma. ‘Fa ma Nyame‘ (Give it to God – literal translation), and keep it quietly to yourself and carry on with your life as best as you can and if you want to go the whole hog, turn down the corners of your mouth and look as miserable as you can but don’t talk about it in public. If you make the mistake of breaking down, God help you because ‘wo a bo dam‘, (you’ve gone mad) and the stigma never leaves you.  My further inhibition is my faith – in a sense my own fa ma Nyame so why should I speak about it as speaking about it shows a lack of faith?

Depressive illness is a physical illness and people can recover from it. When my business went bust and my mind with it, I was offered 12 weeks of cogntive behaviour therapy CBT which helped me to rationalise my situation. In addition anti anxiey (ok anti-depressive) pills helped me feel better. So when subsequent to that I lost my home I was able to take a more philosophical view. It is not to say I am no longer under pressure and going to Tesco these days is not always safe; a creditor can appear out of the blue as one did one evening at around 10pm and demand payment. (Yes that happened recently) but now I operate on this simple premiss – I can only do what I can do. An encounter with Northampton Borough Council this week brought me dangerously close to the edge again so I stumbled but thankfully I did not fall.

I am not a victim and creditors have a right to be pissed off but the Bible teaches forgiveness and debt wipeout, I long ago wrote off my own debtors debts and I am living peacefully with them however I am dealing with the fallout of some actions I took. When you dance with the crocodile, you must be prepared for when the music stops. But life is full of risks and when this music stopped I had been out tangoed by the crocodile.

No one should be blamed or feel guilt for succumbing to depressive illness though treatment is important. I do not look forward to the episodes and in my positive and optimistic way as I hang on with tight knuckles I look forward to the wonderful painting that surely follows.

Te Deum Laudamus