Written by Nobuhle Nyoni
PART 1
“I didn’t have a reason for snapping at Ropa today, but somehow, she got on my nerves. We always tease each other about our crushes and laugh, but today it felt different. It felt like she was telling me I was ugly and could never get my crush. I know I am not as pretty as she is, but should she remind me? Isn’t that a form of gloating? Is that even the word? G-l-oa-t-ing? Aaaarrrgghhh, nobody cares if it is the right word, Siphesihle. Oh great, I am home.”
Siphesihle stood there for a while, staring at the gate as if wishing it away. She wondered if she could walk past it and make up a lie as to why, on this particular day, she came back home later than usual. She immediately imagined her father saying, “Is this who you have become? A liar? I didn’t raise a liar.”
She didn’t want to deal with any of his accusations because her mood comfortably sat in the funky category. Slowly, she opened the gate. As it swung open, she felt rage creeping up. And the rage brought tears to her eyes. Everything just felt heavy, and she could not explain herself.
“Shake it off, whatever this is. You can barely explain the tears. Last week, you were screaming at your mother for no reason. And the week before that, you snarled at your teacher. You can’t be found crying and have no reason, babes. Walk in there, greet them, and keep it moving. Your father probably isn’t home anyway. Tears are for under your pillow. Ready? Let’s go.”
She dragged herself into the house, greeted her mother, and headed straight to her bedroom. Her father was not home, as she had suspected. It had become his routine for six weeks, and she questioned it. She knew something had changed about him and his behaviour but could not place it. So she shrugged it off. It was none of her business, after all. Well, not entirely, but grown people’s business shouldn’t be meddled with, so she kept her mouth shut.
Everything in Siphesihle’s life was pretty routine. School, home, lunch, homework, alone time, helping her mother with supper, sneaking back into her room. Her mother didn’t believe in friends, and she had none herself. Siphesihle always wondered who had burnt her mother so terribly that she had chosen a life of loneliness. Her husband and sibling were her only friends, she would say. Yet both of these people had friends they went to hang out with. Additionally, she lived with her husband, so that did not count.
Closing the door to her bedroom felt like she had just stepped into heaven. She put her school bag on her study desk and plopped herself onto her bed face down. And as if a switch had been toggled, tears rolled out of her eyes. They felt hotter than usual, but she liked the feeling.
“Everybody hates me, and I hate them too. I think I hate them. I hate God because he didn’t make me a hot girl. I hate that I can’t hang out with my friends as I want to. I hate everything. Aaaaaaahhhhhhh.”
Siphesihle didn’t realise that she was screaming out loud. Before she knew it, her door flung open, and her mother rushed towards her.
“What is the problem?”
“Mom, what are you talking about? There is no problem.”
“You were just screaming, and you are crying, Siphesihle. What do you mean there is no problem?”
“I…I am?”
Her mother looked at her with so much concern in her eyes. She looked at Sphe’s face, searching for answers because her words gave her nothing to work with. She had picked up her moodiness and attributed it to being a teenager, but she was now worried. The situation felt different. She wasn’t sure her daughter knew how to be happy anymore. The spark had left her eyes, and she just wanted it back.
“Yes, you are Siphesihle.”
“I’m sorry.”
That is the most she could get out of her mouth. Denial had sifted her out of reality, it seemed. She didn’t want to believe she was crying in front of her mother. Big girls don’t cry, so why was she? She especially didn’t want to believe that her scream did not remain internal. What was happening to her? Disappointment immediately crept in because she had blown her cover. For quite a while, she had played off the craziness bubbling inside her and masked it with a smile. How could she break now? Today? Why?
There was heat in her head. She felt like steam was about to blow out of her ears, so all she did was sit there and stare at the wall. She was waiting for it to go away. She was waiting for normal to find her again.
“Siphesihle.”
“Hhhhhmmmmm.”
“What is going on?”
“Heat. There is heat. Can I take a nap?”
“Ok, uhhhhmmmm. Ok, take a nap then.”
Right there and then, her mother decided she wasn’t going to pretend she knew what to do with her daughter. She had no clue what to do with this situation. She knew her husband was impatient and would worsen the situation. So, her solution was to call a professional. She picked up her phone and immediately hesitated. She worried about what people in the neighbourhood would say. Would they dub her daughter crazy? Would she lose the friends she had? Would this ruin her daughter’s social life and cause her to hate her?
Siphesihle’s mother sat down, phone in hand, and stared out the window, trying to rationalise her decision. Siphesihle, on the other hand, lay in her bed crying and hoping the pain in her chest would disappear. When she closed her eyes, it felt like her bed was spinning. She needed everything to stop.
“Please just let me sleep. I want to sleep. Let me sleep.”
She kept saying that to herself until she fell asleep. Three hours later, hunger shook her out of sleep. She had not taken her lunch as usual, and all that crying must have used up the little breakfast left in her system. Now, she was sitting at the edge of her bed with shame weighing down her shoulders. How was she going to face her mother after what felt like an episode of insanity?
She was sure her father would be back home and updated about the episode she had in the afternoon. She still had no idea what was happening to her. She had no explanation for yelling at her best friend, crying, screaming, or the heat she felt in her head. She remembered that she had to apologise to her best friend too. The thought made her feel nauseous. She had to eat. Otherwise, death would creep in. Surprisingly, the idea of dying was attractive to her. She wouldn’t have to deal with any of her current problems.
“They say we feel nothing in death, and to my observation, when people die, all is forgiven. Ropa will let it go and mourn my death instead. So will Mom and Dad. And to be fair, the burden of figuring me out would be lifted from my parents’ shoulders. I like that idea. Death sounds peaceful.”
Just as she finished that thought, there was a knock at the door. She shrugged and said, ‘Yes’ to prompt whoever was behind the door to come in. There was her mother’s face, worry buried behind a smile.
“Supper is ready.”
She sighed internally, got off her bed, and headed to the dining room. Her father sat at the head of the table, looking rather impatient. Her mother had prepared oxtail, his favourite. That explained the impatience. She greeted her father before settling into a chair. She sat next to her father, opposite her mother.
“Finally! Pass me the rice, please.”
He always dished first, followed by her mother and lastly her. She always wondered why she needed to be at the table right away. It’s not like they prayed for the food beforehand. Halfway through the meal, her father cleared his throat. She knew he was about to say something.
He licked his fingers before turning to Siphesihle and saying, “Your mother has booked a therapy session for you. Your first session is on Saturday at 10 am. Be ready by 9 am. I don’t believe in this therapy business, but your mother thinks it will help you. I hope it does because it is expensive.”
As if he didn’t just drop a bomb, he chose the juiciest piece of oxtail from his plate and bit into it. Sphe looked at her mother, who only offered her a smile and a nod. Almost as if to say, “I am sorry.”
Sphe focused on quieting her mind as she finished her meal. She grabbed the casseroles one by one, refilling her plate. It was unlike her, but her mother assumed it was because she had not eaten earlier. However, the truth was that Siphesihle ate more when she was stressed out and could not find an outlet. She found comfort in food. She cleared her second plate, thanked her mother for the meal, and cleared the table.
“So she thinks I am crazy? Maybe I am, but am I? What happens in therapy? Do they put me in those jackets where I can’t move my hands? Sihle, it’s therapy, not rehab. Those can’t be the same. In the movies, the therapist sits quietly and scribbles stuff. But movies aren’t all that real, so what if there is more to it? Maybe it will help you, babes. Today was a bit crazy. You thought death was cute. I am sure nobody out there thinks death is cute except YOU! Yay, therapy! Meeeeh.”
After cleaning the kitchen, she grabbed some chocolate before heading to her bedroom. She now had to do her homework since she had traded that time for sleep. She sat by her desk, unloaded her bag, and turned on her laptop.
‘What happens at therapy?’ she typed into Google. She stared at the screen, expecting crazy results, only to learn that she would just be talking to someone about the things that happen in her brain.
“So if I don’t share about the craziness, then I do not have to go back. The therapist will report that I am fine, and everything will be as it was. I do not have to be the crazy girl who needs a shrink to bring her back to normal. Great!”
Two hours went by as she completed her homework. She took a shower and hopped into bed, excited and ready to win her way out of therapy on Saturday.
Morning came, and there began her routine once again. Only today, she was not looking forward to seeing Ropa. She wished she could find a way out of going to school, but being home would have been worse because she would have to look at the woman who signed her up for crazy class. Going to school was the better version of hell in this case.
Off she went, and just as she turned the corner where Ropa usually waited for her, her heart sank. Ropa was not there, and that had never happened before. That told her that she was in deeper trouble than she thought. The walk to school felt longer than usual because her gossip buddy was not with her. She walked into class, looking for her friend, but she was not in class either. She immediately turned around and headed to the school grounds to look for her. There she was, sitting by their favourite bench, by herself.
She walked over, trying to figure out how to start the conversation. When Ropa saw her, she quickly looked away.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Ropa…”
“You are sorry, I know.”
“Truly, I am. I wish I could explain, but I don’t have the answers. I just got into my head a little bit and lost it. I am sorry.”
Silence sat between them.
“I got my period yesterday, and you weren’t there to hug me through the confusion.”
“Aaaaaaah, you did! Omg, you are a grown woman now. I am so jealous.”
She was jealous. She felt left behind. Ropa was beautiful and had now made it into womanhood. She, on the other hand, was battling voices in her head. She felt like life was betraying her every step of the way, but at that moment, she chose to celebrate her friend’s new milestone. She asked question after question, and it was as though they had not fought the day before. Everything was back to normal except for her. Siphesihle could feel herself drift from herself.
Friday went by so quickly, and when she was in bed that evening, anxiety spoke to her. She had done some more googling, and it was enough to make her feel uneasy about being vulnerable with a stranger. She believed her plan would fail because therapists can catch lies. It scared her so much. Once again, she pleaded with the sleep gods to allow her to sleep. Eventually, she drifted off.
