Written by Nobuhle Nyoni
PART 2
Saturday came sooner than she wanted it to. It felt like she had only slept 5 minutes before waking up to prepare for her therapy session. The entire time, she felt like a zombie. She wore a pair of tights, a hoodie, and sneakers. The perfect fit, just in case she needed to run for her life or lie down, like they do in the movies. She could smell the bacon and eggs, so she chose not to wait for anyone to call her for breakfast.
Breakfast was as silent as the drive to the doctor’s office. Her mother stole glances at her as if she wanted to say something without knowing what to say. And as if to punish her, Siphesihle did not return any of her glances and sat as still as possible. Silent protest, a thing she was about to learn to be a form of abuse.
They walked into the waiting area and were greeted by the scent of lavender. Siphesihle’s mother spoke to the receptionist as she sat down, observing the space. The panic and anxiety she was carrying seemed to disappear as she took in the colours from the paintings on the wall. One of them stuck out to her. It was a tree growing underwater. The blooms on the tree were all very colourful and tangled into each other as though they were giving each other infinite hugs. She wished she was one of them, forever hugged and surrounded by colour.
Sphe was so mesmerised by the painting that she didn’t feel her mother take the seat next to her. What startled her from her daydream was the sound of her name being called out by the doctor. She looked up and met eyes with a beautiful black woman carrying a mane of locks, wearing big cat-eyed spectacles. Her smile was comforting. She gestured to let her know it was her turn to go in. She turned to look at her mother, firmly planted in her seat, who nodded her head as reassurance she was safe to go.
She followed the doctor. All she could think about was how perfect her face was. Her beauty made her feel uneasy, and she was not sure she would be able to speak at all. The office was nothing like the ones she saw in the movies. The walls weren’t bare, and there was no weird decor around. It still smelt like lavender, and she liked that. On the left was a desk and an office chair, an indication that the doctor did more than talk to people on the couch all day. On the right was a framed image of one black line in the middle of the white sheet of paper. In the middle of the room sat a cream couch and a coffee table that separated the couch from the two occasional chairs on the opposite end.
Siphesihle stood in the middle of the room, unsure where to sit. She heard the door behind her close gently, and all she could do was look at the framed black line.
“You can sit wherever you like, Siphesihle.”
Shuffling her feet, she chose the couch because it was closest to her. She thought if she aimed for the occasional chair, she would trip on her feet before getting there. The doctor grabbed a writing pad and a pen before sitting across from her on the occasional chair.
“My name is Dr. T. The T stands for Thobekile, which is my first name. I prefer Thobekile, but everyone insists on adding the Dr before my name. I want you to know that anything we talk about in this room stays between us unless I feel like there are things your parents need to address. Do you understand that?” she said sternly.
“N…nice to meet you, Dr. T, and I understand.”
“Let’s get you relaxed first because I can tell you are nervous.”
“So my lies don’t stand a chance if she can whiff my anxiety off me so easily. And why does she keep looking me in the eye? It is so uncomfortable. Omg.”
“Siphesihle, close your eyes with me, take a deep breath through the nose, and hold it. Release it through the mouth as slowly as you can. Good. Let’s do that again.”
“Why is this working? If I knew breathing was all it took, I would have saved my father so much money.”
“Now open your eyes. Feel better?”
“I do. Thank you.”
“Good, now let’s talk about you. Tell me about yourself. What do you enjoy doing? Favourite subjects. Your friends. Everything.”
“This is not what I was expecting. Why isn’t this doctor asking me about my feelings?”
“Uhhhhhmmmmm. I am Siphesihle. My friends call me Sihle or Sphe. I don’t know what I prefer. I think they both have beautiful meanings anyway. I enjoy spending time with my best friend, Ropa. We don’t do much together because my mother doesn’t believe in friendships. So I see her at school mostly, and we talk a lot. I enjoy talking to Ropa because she doesn’t judge me. Even though I choose what to share with her because I don’t think I can trust her with everything.
I enjoy listening to music and reading books. Subject-wise, I look forward to English class because it is a subject with less information to remember. And I also enjoy writing. I guess it checks out then.”
She stops herself. “I have shared way too much information!”
“You said your mother doesn’t believe in friendships?”
“Yeah, she says they are a waste of time and can be destructive. She doesn’t allow me to hang out with my friends outside school. I guess it’s because she has no control over what I do at school. I don’t bring up my relationship with Ropa to her either because I know she will feed me thoughts of doom in my friendship with her. I like my friendship with her.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I do not understand it. If my mother’s friendships failed, why does she think mine will? I wish I could meet up with my friends over the weekends and go to the mall for ice cream instead of being at home knitting with my mother. On Mondays, everyone has a cool story to tell about their weekend. What am I supposed to say? It’s horrible, and I hate it.”
She felt her head getting hot again, which caused her to panic because she thought that she had crossed a line.
“Hey, it is ok to be angry about things, especially when they hurt you. Ok?”
Siphesihle nods her head, fighting back the tears that accompany the anger.
“Have you expressed this to your mother?”
“No, I choose not to say much to her. I am not speaking to her now because she signed me up for therapy without letting me know or asking for my consent.”
“Why haven’t you expressed this?”
With hesitation in her voice, Siphesihle says, “I do not want to be the child who does not listen. So, I do as asked, even when I do not want to. I do not want to be the crybaby, so even when I am hurt emotionally, I do not speak to her. I do not talk to anyone.
She once said, ‘There is no point in crying and sharing your feelings with anyone. Figure them out on your own because they are yours. Not anyone else’s.’ If her words hold, why would she bring me here to talk to you about my feelings? Aren’t I meant to figure them out on my own?”
“What about your friend, Ropa? Do you tell her when she hurts your feelings?
“No, I do not want to ruin our friendship with my feelings. Outside of my parents, she is all that I have. I need to keep that safe. Although the other day, I yelled at her for no reason. She had not done anything to me. I just felt judged by her. I don’t think she did. Later, I panicked because I thought she would never want to be friends again. And the idea of not having her around also hurt my feelings.”
“Why did you feel judged by Ropa?”
“Uhhhhhhmmmmmm… She said the boy I liked would never look my way because I am hidden, and I don’t know what she meant by that. But I assumed she was saying I was not pretty enough for him and that she had a better chance of getting him than me. I know it’s silly, but I was tired of feeling smaller than her. I know I am not THAT girl, but I wish not to be reminded.”
This time, she said all that whilst looking at Dr. T and realised her face was emotionless. All she did was look at her with a neutral face before jotting down some notes. Her beauty was still there, but somehow, emotions hid behind her work face. She found it to be quite intriguing.
“Siphesihle, what are you angry about the most?”
“Everything and nothing at the same time. Lately, my emotions have been very confusing. I cried one morning, and there was no reason to. I felt like darkness surrounded me, and I could not shake it. One time, I thought about death, and it sounded heavenly.”
“Do you think about taking your own life?”
“I only thought about it this week,” her voice lower than before.
Shame clouded her, and she wished she had skipped that part. She could have sworn the room was laced with truth serum. Looking up at the clock, she realised it was 10:45 am.
“I have been speaking to Dr. T for almost an hour. Wow!”
“Siphesihle, it sounds like you have been burying your feelings for too long out of the need to please people. You have been hurt, but do not speak up because you want to be liked and to keep everyone else happy. The downside is that you are doing all this at your expense. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be liked, but it is not right to go to such lengths. You deserve the respect and love that you give your friends and family.
Tell me, what would you do if there was a dress you liked and it was the only one left in the store, but Ropa wanted it too?”
“I would let her have it.”
“Putting everyone else first before yourself. The reason behind your outbursts towards your best friend and giving your mom the silent treatment is that your tank is empty. There is nothing left to give because you have given it all. Do you understand?
How would you feel if you did something and your mother, father, or Ropa chose not to speak to you?”
“It would hurt.”
“Exactly. So, don’t you think you are hurting your mother by giving her the silent treatment? Silent treatment is a form of manipulation and emotional abuse, Sphe. It makes the other person feel unloved, unimportant, and sometimes unworthy. It is not fair to subject the people you love to it.
There is a difference between silence and silent treatment. Silence to figure things out means there has been communication about the timeout. And you will come back to the conversation. Silent treatment is simply leaving the person to wonder what is happening.”
“I…I am sorry.”
“Your mother needs to hear that. Not me, Sphe.”
Siphesihle nodded her head up and down in response and wondered how the doctor expected her to speak up and share her emotions.
“I know your mother said your feelings are yours and should not be shared with anyone. Your feelings are yours. That statement is true. But feelings affect everyone else if not handled correctly. There is nothing wrong with telling people when they have made you sad, happy, or angry. That is how we build real friendships and relationships.
I know that in the beginning, it will be hard to share your feelings with your loved ones, so here is what you will do when you get home. Your first assignment is to write letters to everyone you love and let them know how you feel, including past feelings. Bring the letters to our next session. Do you think you can do that?”
She nods her head as she wipes her tears away. Dr. T’s voice was soothing and reassuring—yet another thing foreign to her. She only heard that from her mother when she was trying to get information out of her.
“Have you gotten your period yet, Siphesihle?”
“No.”
“You are 13 and are expected to get your period at this age. Another thing that is quite common for us is depression and suicide ideation because our hormones play tricks on our brains. We are sad with no words to explain it, and some of us lean towards suicide because we want to escape the gloom we feel inside.
When those times come, don’t fight the tears. Let them be. It helps to release them. When suicide ideation begins, turn on the music you like and dance or take a walk. Remind yourself that it is part of your cycle and will pass. I have reason to believe you are nearing your first period because both of these things have happened.
However, if you fail to dance the suicidal thoughts away, call any of the numbers on the back of my card immediately, and you will get some help,” she said whilst handing Siphesihle a card with suicide hotlines.
“That is the end of our session today. Is there anything else you would like me to know, Siphesihle?”
“No, thank you, Dr. T. I will see you next time.”
“Alright then, I will see you next Saturday, same time. Don’t forget to write those letters. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
“You too,” she said as she tucked the card in her hoodie and headed for the door.
Her mother was still sitting there, her nose in a book as always. As soon as she was with her mother, she whispered, “I am sorry I gave you the silent treatment. I was wrong to do that to you. And you were right. Therapy is what I needed.”
Her mother smiled and said, “It’s alright, Sphe.”
The car ride home was silent, but Siphesihle was excited to write the letters. Therapy excited her. Maybe because it was the only place she could be herself and speak her mind. She felt like Hannah Montana without the fame. Not even Ropa gave her that safety. She smiled as she stared out the window. Her mother caught her smile, and peace settled inside her.
She had finally brought that smile back.
