I was so self-righteous when I went into my first bootcamp. In fact, I personally didn’t think it was gonna do anything for me. I genuinely thought it was just gonna be yet another church conference-type thing where you go, get hyped up, cry the whole time and STILL get walloped by your problems when you get back. Praying we would pray. Jesus, we knew. But we were still seeing the Egyptians pursuing us.
If you knew me from Bulawayo, you knew that no normal person lived the way I lived. I remember walking down the street, and my first prayer, Mentor Mama, stopped me in the road and said to me, “Can’t you see that you’re mentally unwell?” She said it in vernac and it sounded way worse. But she was right. I blogged about it before about how I was a troubled teen and only two people tried to help the rest thought it was funny and judged me for it. No harm done.
Anyways, I moved to Harare. You all know how that went. There’s a whole blog post about the girl who put her blesser in my bed. See? I’ve seen things, guys. Horrific things. Things that made me leave my father’s city and go away from my kindred to a place God showed me. Literally moved to Harare with $20 in my pocket. But I had to leave Bulawayo; there were too many “scenes of the crime”, and I was triggered at every corner. It’s a small city.
I’m now in Harare, I’m back on the same suicidal track I was on in Bulawayo. You can take Sophia out of the village, but can you take the village out of Sophia? The same mommy and daddy issues I had didn’t just disappear just because I moved. Nah, the baggage came with it. I started doing my stunts again. And no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t make the change stick.
I got married. Most of my drama stopped. If you read my #SheHeals series, you’ll see the rehab God put me through. At the time I didn’t know. He was preparing me for marriage. I was unemployed and a squatter with my Gumede aunt. I cried day and night. The Lord was like, “Right, let’s deal with your issues.” Everything came up. Why didn’t I get the Esther preparation of perfumes and baths? He wrung me through emotionally. It was not fun.
Five years into marriage, no baby. Hawu Thixo? (Refer to the blog about the ultrasound that nearly made me run mad.) And we kept being prophesied kuti “by this time next year”. I went mad some more. Mind you, I already have mental illness issues from the foundations of my father’s house. So ngathi azithi mzala at any given Sunday. We decided for peace and progress we would stop actively trying because I was one bloody tissue away from a psychotic break. (Also a previous blog post).
Let’s make this a series and stop here for today because no one wants a lengthy read.
