TIDE OF ANXIETY PART 1: he battle within myself felt endless. My mind fought to control my body, my self-worth, and my perception of the world.”

panic-attack5“You educate a man; you educate an individual. You educate a woman; you educate a generation.” (Brigham Young)

Education has always been my lifeline. It has always taken precedence over everything else in my life because it determined my value. This premise is very fallacious because human beings are multi-faceted entities thus an individual’s value cannot be summed up by one facet. This may seem very obvious to some of you, but this is something that I’ve only come to understand recently. As you can imagine, the acknowledgment of this fact would have saved me a great deal of time, pain and energy, but then again what is life, if not a learning experience? 

July 2009 marked the beginning of my self-hatred and the gradual breakdown of my buoyancy. A Tet offensive had begun, and my spirit and soul were collateral damage. My quintessential being was crumbling by the minute.

Kenya has been described as the cradle of mankind but for me, it was the cradle of tokoloshes for many, many years.

My room was filled with darkness and tokoloshes. I tried to distract myself by watching some episodes of a TV show on my laptop, but it was barely making a dent in the darkness, let alone saving me from myself. I was so preoccupied with the release of my first semester results that I was working myself into a cycle of severe anxiety attacks. My chest was stiff, my heart was palpitating, my blood vessels were constricted, my vision was blurry, actually it was almost obsolete, my whole body was shaking and I was sweating profusely. The battle was between my mind and my mind. The winner would control my body, outer perception, self-worth and resilience.

Any depressed individual can tell you that depression and self-loathing are synonymous. You spend half the time alienating yourself from society and the other half, trying to run away from your mind. Your pride tells you not to infect others with your disease but your heart longs for someone’s loving embrace. Depression as you can imagine is an uphill battle, now couple it with severe anxiety, and you have the perfect death cocktail.

The battle had begun. Oxygen was on the offense and had congregated in my nasal cavity. The first military advancement was unsuccessful; to be honest it put the Bay of Pigs fiasco to shame. A new offensive had to be launched to save my body from utter annihilation. Oxygen launched a ballistic missile down my pharynx into my airways. My ribs held a steady line of defense, they remained constricted and heavy. As the missile worked its way down my respiratory system, a shadow of excruciating pain covered my body. At this point, any normal person would have passed out. As the missile reached its target, pits of fire ran down my trachea. My trachea was set ablaze and the inferno was so strong, it sent electric vibrations down my spine that resembled the exhaust pipe vibration of a McLaren Mp4-12C. Although my anxiety attack only lasted a couple of minutes, it felt like I was under attack for a day or two.

For those of you that have never had an anxiety attack, let’s try a little exercise. Take a very deep breathe, hold it and pinch your nose (Please do not do this for too long, as you’ll harm yourself). Now close your eyes and imagine you are being forced to fight Manny Pacquiao in a boxing arena filled with thousands of people. You’ve never fought anyone before, so you’re not only an amateur, you’re an amateur whose about to get your ass whooped. Adrenaline has your heart palpitating, your chest is tight and your mind is being suffocated with detestable and violent thoughts. The crowd starts hurling insults at you, the room goes dark and those insults start floating in front of your eyes. You start yelling back, trying to defend yourself but the harder you protest, the louder they get and the more breathless you become. Now Pacquiao represents your biggest fear and the crowd is your mind. Anxiety attacks are trigger by different things for different people, the severity and duration of the attack depends on how quickly you’re able to counter your negative thoughts and control your breathing. Individuals who’ve had anxiety attacks can tell you, it truly is mind over matter!

panic-thoughts

If you had or have been having anxiety attacks please seek medical attention.

As you can imagine, I barely slept the night before the release of the results. I only fell asleep at half past two am. I was infected by one nightmare until half past eight in the morning. I dream’t that I had to go to my department to obtain my results, which had been published on the notice board. As I stepped out of the elevator, I was immediately surrounded by every single UCT students and lecturer. They all heckled and laughed at me, as my transcript was full of DPR’s. They told me I was a failure; I would never amount to anything and my lack of intelligent was the reason I got raped. Now obviously, none of those students knew my grades, neither did they know I had been raped. In addition, I knew I had bombed that semester, but there was a huge delusional part of me, that was praying for a miracle. I hadn’t managed to write any of my assignments, let alone hand them in. This meant I wasn’t allowed to write my exams; but I was still holding onto the delusion that managed to pass all my exams.

As I said above, July 2009 marked the destruction of my self-worth, what I did not tell you is, it also distorted my perception of reality. The minute I saw my results in black and white, I began to think of myself as a failure, and therefore began to behave as one. I had been captured by the formidable tide of self-doubt and I was directing my own requiem.

 

 

©misbeloved/mwk

 

[Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

TOKOLOSHE CRADLE: From Trauma to Triumph: How I Overcame the Pain of Rape and Found Strength

tokoloshe

[1]

From the moment I landed at Jomo Kenyatta International airport (JKIA), I knew I was in my rapist’s home turf. Although Kenya was also my home turf, it did not hold the same level of protection for me as it did for my rapist. My rapist was safe here. He couldn’t be tried here; he had family and associates here, who probably knew about this. I am certain that the little prick, bragged about deflowering me. I’m sure in his sick, twisted head he values that act like he would an international award. I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking I also had the above support system. Some of my family and friends also lived here, but they only served as a metaphoric support system. In order for them to offer their support, they would need to know what happened to me, which they didn’t. So like Edmund Burke said: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men should do nothing.” In this case, the only thing necessary for him to triumph was for me to say nothing!

That said, six years down the line the irony present itself. Now when I land at JKIA and walk around my country, I strut around with the pride of a mother. I gave birth to my renaissance and expelled my pain. Now with every step I take and every move I make, I exude greatness and embrace the endless possibilities ahead of me. The irony is, the louder I roar, the smaller your influence becomes!

I’m no longer afraid of being the wretch of the earth; rather I choose to be the flame that enlightens the masses!

There’s a powerful serenity that is engraved in most people’s familial home; the serenity is not intertwined in the structure of the house but in the enchantment of familial warmth, protection and support. A home is a home because of the memories made in it, and my familial home was founded in all the above; and above all this house was structurally sound to withhold any attack from my rapist and his supporters.  Herein lies my safe place, my true safe haven.

As I walked around the day after my arrival, 10th June 2009, I felt debilitating grieve. It was the first time I really felt the loss of my father. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve felt that the loss from the moment he took his last breath on this earth, but I never, ever, let myself really grieve. I mean really grieve! But that moment as I stared at our old family portrait in the living room, I couldn’t help but wonder if my life would have been different if he was still alive. I couldn’t help but wonder if his presence would have prevented my rape. I mean maybe I’d have chosen a different path, a different and safer country to study in, or better yet, I’d have known better and therefore never trusted my rapist or let him into my dome room. For the very first time in my life, I really resented my father for leaving me and I really hated my Lord from taking him away from me. At that very moment I missed the warmth and protection of my father more than ever; that was the very moment that I understood what it meant to be surrounded by people and feel very alone. I cannot emphasize this enough, any traumatic event that is not dealt with gives the victim an unexplainable amount of pain that leads to irrational fears and isolation. The more you isolate yourself the further away you get from reality.

My reality had become one of irrational phobias, hyper tension and hibernation. My room and familial home was the only place where I sort of felt safe. Unfortunately, I’m using the word safe very loosely. The first night I spent in my own bed, right opposite my mum’s room and right next to my sister’s room, was the best night of my life. I may not have slept for eight hours or even six hours straight, but for the first time in months, I had, had real deep sleep. No nightmare, well one, but it wasn’t that scary; very mildly horrific. According to sleep specialist, deep sleep stage is the stage where the body repairs and regrows tissues, builds bone and muscle, and strengthens the immune system. So clearly, deep sleep is a very important part of sleep. The next few mornings I felt so fresh and energetic. Unfortunately, this was very short lived, as the next week; I started having night visit from tokoloshe, at least I thought it was tokoloshe[2].

Every night I went to my room, I watched any and all series that could cuddle me to sleep, but this time instead of being able to clear my head from everything and forget about my issues, all I could see were these dark, evil beings in my presence and I could feel them as they attempted to come closer towards me. It’s like being encircled by iniquity. A malevolent energy that surrounds you during your darkest time and ignites all your senses on fire.

My Tokoloshe resembled my rapist to a tee. He had his dark chocolate complexion, with dark black spots and pimples all over his forehead, and this perverted smug look in his eyes. People say that eyes are the window of the soul. Well this soul, was pure evil.  Peeking into his eyes was like looking into the soul of the devil itself. In addition, every time tokoloshe was around my sense of smell was heighten. The whole room was reeking of expensive cologne that was meant to epitomize wealth and intense masculinity, but instead it felt like tokoloshe was overcompensating for something. I no longer laid in the comfort of my laptop, I now cuddled with my own version of Tokoloshe.

I want you to close your eyes, and for a few seconds recollect the fear you used to feel when you were a child and you believed there monsters in your room. I want you to focus intently on the fear, don’t rationalize it, just let it engulf you completely. Now imagine your lying in bed, surrounded by all your favourite toys, your blankie and night light. Your bed is surrounded by these figures that only have an upper body and float around the room, like a white feather would float towards the sun. All these figures look like the person you fear most, and everywhere you turn you see them. The light night light that was left on for you to keep away evil becomes your worst enemy; because instead of scaring those evil figures away it illuminates their vice a million times over. It’s an evil that cannot be described accurately but you can definitely feel it, in core part of your being. Now, imagine feeling that way every day of your life. That’s how a rape victim feels. A rape victim has an innate fear that convinces them that they will never escape their rapist, or the shame they feel, or ever overcome their pain. A rape sees their rapists everywhere they go. He’s in their home, car, office, supermarket, and church; all because his image is tattooed into their mind’s eye. A place where you can neither physically get to, nor  erase. It’s like your stalker is using your own body against you.

Looking back now and looking how far I have come. I can only cite my recovery to my God, family, friends and an awesome medical team.

I will keep saying this to yah. If you know anyone that has been raped or if you yourself have been raped, please seek help and find the courage to speak out. Silence only protects him and creates a ridiculous amount of fear and shame in your soul; and you are not the one who should be ashamed it your rapist. THEY ARE THE ONES IN THE WRONG NOT YOU!!

Lastly, please follow my blog  and share my blog post. By following my blog, you get regular updates sent to you via email, and by sharing my posts we raise awareness and BREAK THE SILENCE!

[1] https://giordanopoloni.wordpress.com/- image of tokoloshe

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tikoloshe

 

 

©misbeloved/mwk

 

[Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Kenyan Turf. (read with caution, as content is intense, especially if your a rape victim or individual panic/anxiety)

 

 

We’ve all seen the posters or heard the catchphrases used to describe home. Some read home sweet home, or home is where the heart is, or a home is where hopes and dreams are built! In the past these phrases not only reflected my emotions towards my family home but they mirrored my feelings towards my motherland. Kenya was my cradle, my hope, safe place and my love. It was the place I’d learnt to walk, ride a bike, read and write, relate to nature and be whole. Kenya runs through my veins and is engraved in my heart! But in June 2009, it was the fountain of hell that my rapist ruled!

I arrived in my homeland at 7:30 pm on the 9th of June. Everything felt and looked different. There was a morose dusk that surrounded the Nairobi air. The morose dusk made my homeland foreign, the people seemed very friendly and happy, which made me very suspicious of them. I was certain these weren’t the same people I knew and loved, these were not my people, but my rapist’s people; this was a fact I had to digest and remember from now on. As I finished clearing immigration and walked out of the departure terminal, I saw all these bright faces staring at me. In reality they were there to meet their loved ones, but in my reality they were there to subdue me and complete my destruction. My heart started racing, my palms were sweating and my breaths were short and difficult to swallow. The panic attack was about to commence, if I couldn’t get my rationality in order. Oh Lord! Where is mum? Where is my protection? As my fears were raining terror on me, my mum was walking towards me. I spotted her and felt a sigh of relief. She hugged me and welcomed me home. There is something so precious and pure about a mother’s touch or rather any parent’s embrace. Her embrace felt like a soft touch over my heart, her voice was a calming force, my nerves were now as calm as a saint’s paradise. I was home! I was safe!

A few days had passed and home seemed to be a minor solace. On the forty winks frontier, home had added two extra hours, so rather than sleeping two hours a night, I was sleeping four hours. This was a grave improvement. Although, I still could not sleep without my laptop playing movies, and my night terrors were still severe, and I had very little bladder control; I still felt that my nights were better. In addition, rather than my nightmares being a replay of my rape, the nightmares were now about being attacked by my rapist in my childhood room, and this time my sister and mum were there to defend me and defeat him.

That said, I completely refused to leave the house and I had fits of tears. Most people believe and some therapists will tell you, that crying is healthy, as it acts as a form of release. I totally agree with this assertion, but for a patients suffering from untreated PTSD and depression, tears aren’t a form of release, but a smoldering branding of your anguish and torture. The harder you weep, the harder the pain beats you down! In all honestly, the only thing that could release me from my agony, was the death of my rapist. His death was not going to be short and painless; his demise was to be painful and very fulfilling. I imagined burning the hands he used to hold and stretch my legs apart with battery acid. Then I’d water board him until he explained to me why he raped me. I didn’t want an apology because I knew that wouldn’t mend my hymen, I wanted an explanation to prove to me that I wasn’t to blame. After getting my confession, I’d use a sharp and scorching tiny knife to cut off his boy parts, one ball at a time. As you can see, I wanted transference of my pain. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I wished evil thoughts on my rapist, the fact of the matter was he was living his life contentedly, and marinating in the affection of his EASOC followers. So for those of you who’ve been raped or experienced a traumatic event, your anger, pain, sorrow, and grieve are very justified. Anyone who tries to tell you any different has no right to define your emotions. However, VIOLENCE IS NOT THE ANSWER, VIOLENCE WILL NOT ERASE, NOR WILL IT ALLEVIATE YOUR PAIN! THE ONLY WAY TO BEAT YOUR TRAUMA IS TO WALK RIGHT THROUGH IT. ACKNOWLEDGE IT, FEEL IT AND BEAT IT! I really wish someone had reiterated this to me over and over again!

Anyway back to the story, like I said above, I completely refused to leave the house voluntarily. I was certain that anytime I tried to leave the house, my rapist would find me and rape me again. In Cape Town, I could walk out of my prison because I knew he had relocated to Nairobi, but in Nairobi, I could not risk such heroics. Unfortunately because my family did not know what was going on with me, I had to carry on like I was normal. Normal is a very subjective and expensive commodity, but rather than admit my shame, I chose to pay the price and sacrifice the little energy I had. This is how my mum and sister got me out of the house; and each time we went to the grocery store, or out for lunch, I was on high alert and my heart would thump like a repetitive alarm system. Going to church was the hardest thing because church was now a battlefield rather than I place where I found tranquility and truth. God’s presence was terrifying because I was convinced I would spontaneously combust. This irrational fear was supported by my catholic upbringing. Catholic’s, especially priests and nuns, have a very effective way of putting the fear of God in you, especially when you’re young. When I was catholic I thought God was angry and unforgiving, like he was in the Old Testament. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that the Old and New Testament form the entirety of the Christian doctrine, but God is not an angry divinity that delights in punishing his children, instead he is merciful and forgiving, and longs to know his children. Unfortunately in 2009 and a few years after, I was disinterested in his love or attention.  I was livid and ashamed, not to mention, positive God did not love me anymore. I mean how could he love me like he did before? I was soiled now.  I believed that God thought of me, the way I had been forced to think of myself. I hated myself and I was sure God did too. So without my spiritual father and a family in the dark, who was going to protect me from my rapists? Who was going to slay my monsters and unchain me from my suffering? These thoughts intensified my pain and tears. They kept me on my toes and took away any hope I had. So even though my family was near, I was still in the wilderness alone. This was emphasized the day that my uncle came to visit.

My Uncle has been one of my father figures since my dad died. Even though my mum excelled in being mum and dad, having my uncle and brothers around ensured I had brilliant male influences. My uncle was the first person to take me to Mombasa, he was the first Kenyan male to challenge and sharpen my political and social opinions. Basically he is not only a male figure in my life; he is also someone I can always lean on. So when I moved to the Cape it was agreed that I would meet him for lunch every time I was in Nairobi, which to be honest was most vacations; unfortunately June 2009 was going to be the hardest meet up with him. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was about 10 o’clock, I was in my room as usual watching a movie or TV series, when I started hearing voices. My first thought was that my mum was having a random guest, but the closer I listened, the more I recognized the voice. It was my beloved uncle. I was super excited for a few seconds, until my irrationality kicked in. Within 5- 15 seconds I had gone from happy to absolute fear. My first thoughts were:

“How I’m going to hide the truth from him? Can I trust him? Do I trust him enough to tell him the truth? What if I told him the true and he disowned me and blamed me?”

Before I had the chance to formulate an intelligent strategy I was being called to the living room. I hugged my uncle and tried my hardest to avoid eye contact. Eventually my nerves calmed down, my heart rate reduced and everything was fine. Unfortunately, mum needed to leave. My first question, was, is she seriously going to leave me alone with my him? Yes, I know what you’re thinking, of course she was, this was her brother who had done nothing but love and protect me since I was born. But believe me when fear rules your life, facts become friction and delusion becomes fact. Until today, I cannot remember if my uncle and I went out for lunch. All I remember is the utter trepidation I felt. The hammering that my heart did and the abundant stomach cramps I had. As I’m writing this, I can see how ridiculous my fears towards my uncle were but at that time no amount of fact could have overpower my fears. Looking back, I really wish I had, had the courage to tell my family sooner about my rape, as they’re support has been nothing but paramount to my recovery.

If you’ve been raped or experienced any form of trauma, I cannot emphasize the importance of support enough. You need to confide in someone. Leaning on the right people or person in your time of need, doesn’t make you weak; it only guarantees your recovery and lightens your load! Sometimes the only way to slay your darkness is by allow others to join your battlefield.

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©misbeloved/mwk

 

[Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Maryanne Kamunya] and [misbeloved] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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