Like many people, I've said 'this is it'. At the time I thought this thought, I really felt that I definitely could not get past what I was facing.
All through my childhood, my family and I were running from one catastrophe or another. I grew up with so much paranoia in my household and uncertainty from the religious confusion that permeated my household, mostly brought about by the Nigerian charismatic circles that held my father's attention. That is a story for another day though. I also had happy days as rain cannot fall all the time, moments of bliss where we seemed to be doing well and felt safe. I was great at school and imagined a bright future.
Everything fell apart quickly when my mum died. It's been eleven years since the event but everyday I feel the effect of the series of events that led to her demise. There's nothing as encapsulating as permanent loss, at least not in this lifetime and in this realm of reality. Grief for us here is the most definitive end until the afterlife, for those who believe in one, it's a loss that's unrepairable. If you could just breathe into the nostrils and maybe wake them up, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. But a lifeless body is not a piece of machinery. You can't get spare parts. You can't buy oxygen that would work, even though life seems to be about being able to breathe in the oxygen. You can't get an extra life and there's always a reminder of what life could have been.
I really thought it would end for me then. My life felt chaotic as an only child left in such a mess. Nothing made sense. I'd just gotten admission to study medicine and my mother was yet to be buried. I had no vices to run to as I'd always been the classic good girl so my coping mechanisms were falling short. I could not concentrate and I really wanted to end it but did not have the courage to. I left the country after dropping out three months later because I would spend my days in the hostel crying while lectures were taking place. It was hard to care about other cadavers when I'd just lost the most precious person to me. I didn't care who got sick and why and far less about how to make them well.
For four years, I lived with palpable depression. It was such a strong force. I was home all day in Ukraine trying to get admission to study anything. I became a citizen as some law allowed me at that time to lay claims to my late Ukrainian mother's passport and right of citizenship as an orphan at 17. But it was not so much an advantage as it meant I could no longer get easy admission as an English speaking person. I did not have a tutor to teach me the language so I learnt every day from a dictionary. I don't speak the language as often now because I hate it and I am far from fluent since I barely speak with anyone now except my family in this language, but I learnt what was enough to enable me take their entrance tests as a Ukrainian student to study English philology. At least some courses were in English and I was a part time student, so that was my saving grace. I made it and graduated in 2018.
But those years were hard. The long wait in the gaps years, all the time wishing I was dead and ideating of suicide changed my brain. I'm not fully recovered as I know I recoil from social interactions. The friends I have now are only here because they care to remain but I'm not good with holding on to people and I know it's a psychological response to trauma.
These are just a few of those times. I like to think about them when I'm facing something challenging. When I feel all is dark and hopeless, I remember this is not an unfamiliar feeling. I have felt it before and my mind remembers it did not end me, so this too shall pass.