1AM thoughts – insomniac.

i’ve been wanting to write for such a long time.

i’ve been depressed and low and down and you can tell by the sudden bulging of my waistline

i’ve been wanting to write on MY blog which I made with MY intentions, but a voice has been telling me that nothing about my life would make for an interesting storyline

…yet i felt so guilty… for not posting on MY blog which I made with MY intentions … as if i was working on a deadline

…i forgot that this was mine.

my name is Andile… and i feel so sad.

i’ve procrastinated my uni work, eating, cleaning, bathing and fun and i feel so bad…

life feels like a drag

i can barely stand

…i feel like or i am an insomniac

…i can only sleep for a minute with the help of tablets but i soon wake up because my dreams are painful throwbacks.

…im so tired of me.

…the good news is… i don’t want to die.


psychological burnout.

i’ve got psychological burnout…

the motivation that swam in my head this morning’s since drowned.

i’ve had a lot done today… but somehow i don’t feel proud.

i don’t know if the dark cloud that lives in my head is once again using my mind as its playground.

i woke up motivated. throughout the day i’ve been productive so this is just her again, dropping by unannounced..

i haven’t got the energy to urge the thoughts to reroute

…from this negative..no..hopeless.. way of thinking… so i guess i gotta hold out.

& the worst thing is that in your own head, theres no hideout

in your own head, you’re homebound…

its best to black out.

…maybe i just need to lay this day to rest…maybe tomorrow this ball of emptiness will be unwound.


thoughts at 1AM…dreams

the nature of dreams is bewildering to me.. too confound…

on one hand they’re what makes the human experience profound

on the other, they’re just fantasies running through your mind unbound ..

on one hand, life is what i make of it and on the other “yeah man its probably not gonna work out”…

….i dream of being happy. not rich …not bountifully lucky but just happy all round..

…but that voice ..(yes, again with the damn voice) reminds me that “in a universe brimming with the smarter …the prettier…the ‘better‘…the harder working and the more deserving and the less languorous and the go getters and the extra extra optimistic and the overall polished throughout who also dream to be happy, why the hell would you stand out?”

…as if ‘happy’ were a finite pie exclusively reserved for the V.I.P’s whom to get a sliver or crumb you must work to surmount before this finite pie of ‘happy’ can be handed out

…dreams…. sometimes i feel earthbound…

…like, if i’m not here to be happy and i’m not here be the V.I.P deserving of the ‘pie of happy, then i was born to die.. born to be endlessly disappointed and denied of my dream until the day of my ultimate time out.

… i really wanna be happy.

…i really wanna look in the mirror and see ME and be happy !

…it seems like that is just a fantasy …. way beyond my own ability

…my friend once told me that ‘happy’ is a trap in this society which is seemingly engulfed by social media depictions of perfect people and anxiety

…that ‘happy’ is a human emotion like sad and angry but to feel it sometimes and not feel it other times is part of reality

…that the ‘happy’ of others for seemingly long periods of time when i don’t feel my own happy does not mean i’m nobody

…that the fact that i don’t feel happy sometimes is just part of my humanity

…my friend implied that ‘happy’ isn’t a pie… that ‘happy’ isn’t a being who is separate from me, for i cannot become ‘happy’ because I am Andile and that is my identity

…that ‘happy’ is what i will feel sometimes and not feel other times because this is life’s trajectory.

…so what if i haven’t felt this ‘human emotion’ happy in a while?

…what if for too long now, life has been feeling hostile

…all my chores and responsibility are all in some sort of pile

…in the corner of my house and the centre or my mind

…so what then, if ‘happy’ doesn’t come to me as often as she goes to others?

…what then?

…so i have this dream …. and it’s that one day i will be happy.

…not rich…not bountifully lucky…just authentically and refreshingly happy.



so i’m back in uni again.

i’d been so bored… i longed for the summer, then the summer came then i longed for the ‘order‘ and the ‘systematicness‘ and the busyness and the anxiety that came with being in uni ..

my first day of lectures i was there an hour early… eager and excited …

i didn’t seem to mind that outside was basically a storm so inside was humid and wet and smelled of a concoction of scents and smells …. exasperation and cheap perfumes, egg sandwiches and coffee and bananas and everything else associated with student life…

i didn’t seem to mind… until the realisation sank into my head that i’d be running around each morning till 6PM, making sense of 6 hour lectures and 2 hour seminars and assignments and journals and deadlines after deadlines oh and parking and packed lunches for my daughter and her deadlines and her needs and making do with the fact that theres only one me so these two hands and this one body is all i have to get through it.

come back summer..


imagine …

imagine if i stopped second guessing myself for a second.

… if i insisted the way i express myself and dress myself and see myself be strengthened….

imagine… if i loved myself ALL the time… looking at my own reflection as a worthy dose of refreshment.

… or if the woes of the world and the woes of my soul and those that make me feel far from whole were abandoned …

…replaced by authentic … incandescent …undeniably confident enjoyment …

…or at least by blissful ignorance … true contentment…

…imagine if my own smile was my antidepressant.

…and failure wasn’t an embarrassment but a propellant

…imagine if life became pregnant with my existence and time was my silent parent… …begging me to just be patient… telling me i wasn’t an accident…assuring me that i do belong…and that i’m not quite so alone.

…imagine if the future didn’t make me unconsolably frightened…

…or i cracked the impossible code that is ‘living in the moment’

…imagine a present where my past doesn’t fill me with drowning resentment …

…if i forgave everyone who wronged me….even those that are not repentant …

…yes…even before i could give them my much awaited beratement !

…the wrongs that they did to me going unmentioned…

…smiling to their face and wishing them well as if they were innocent…

imagine …if the history… and the tribulations…and the core…and the identity…and the life and the overall concept of Andile filled me with ongoing pride and happiness…


expectations …

im exhausted.

i can’t be who i’m expected to be

i can’t feel what they expect me to feel…

sometimes i will resent this face that the world so ardently tells me i shouldn’t because its acceptable enough …

other times i will want to allow the mountain of pressure that is motherhood and maintaining friendships and maintaining relationships and mantaining grades to crush me to dust or longed-for irrelevance …

sometimes i will feel overwhelmed… i will be sitting on my floor in my house in my room in that corner i find so relevant to my emptiness … having no responsibilities and having no errands… having no demands and having no liabilities or answerabilities or mountains of pressure from motherhood and maintaining friendships and maintaining relationships not bringing me to my knees… and i will still feel overwhelmed…

the sun will be shining brightly outside and i would feel its rays trying to love me and to…yes…coerce a smile out of me but i will still shiver from the impossible storm that brews within me and curse the sun for interrupting this pain that i know i deserve or maybe it feels more like home to me…

i can’t be who they expect me to be…

i’m not a perfect mum a perfect friend a perfect partner a perfect sister a perfect student a perfect person….

i can’t feel the way they expect me to feel…

theres food in my fridge while others are starving… my child is fantastic while some people are infertile… i have my health while others are dying… i have a roof over my head while others are homeless… i have an education while others are deprived of it… i am free while others are enslaved…


i cannot feel how i am expected to feel. the misfortunes of others are not a reason for me to force myself to be happy or hate myself for feeling sadness.

i’m exhausted.



i find it so hard to forgive…

i don’t know what it is about resentment that fills my chest with a bittersweet coolness i find so uncomfortable, but miss when she dares fade …

i can’t understand how resentment is the water that nourishes the crimson weed that grows near my heart, rich in colour and vitality you could mistake it for a rose …

or the way she caresses me… the way she comforts me when my heart vainly attempts to persuade me towards forgiveness, resentment whispers softly and sweetly to my conscience hold on…just a little longer and they’ll come grovelling back again !

i realise that this resentment is warm water to a droughty mouth…. barely satisfying…

but i greedily chug away regardless … because i deserve it !i don’t care that they apologised, i deserve to be angry !

…resentment has made a friend with my pride and together they destroy my prospects for peace …

…a wise somebody once instructed me to “forgive…not because they deserve it…but because you deserve peace” and i believed them…

but resentment sings songs to me…they’re sweet and they make sense to me…she’s on my side and she always shows this to me…she reminds me how the world has always been so cruel to me…and it doesn’t matter if they grovel, they do not deserve to be, once more, close to me…



…so i’ve come to be at peace with the chaos inside my mind sometimes

…terrible and turbulent and treacherous and tumultuous and tempestuous and UPROARIOUS the chaos may be.

…i’ve confronted it and contested it and battled it and struggled with it and resisted it many times

…but i’ve failed many times.

so i’ve come to be at peace with the chaos inside my mind sometimes



…today i’ve been kind to myself, and patient …

…ignoring the powerful critical voice in my head’s been the hardest…

…but having done so, today i’ve been so efficient …

…of all the things i’ve achieved, this has been, by far, the bravest…

…to be honest, today’s been the greatest.


i feel ridicuous…

…help… i feel ridiculous..

I’m having an existential crisis.

i feel like life is passing me by yet everything is still timeless

i feel lifeless

…theres brightness in this world i know it and it mocks my blindness

taunting me and teasing me and ribbing me, its ruthless..

i don’t want to die but i want to temporarily disappear in a way that i also lose consciousness ..

(but not die, lest i go to hell)

i feel anonymous.

emphasis on the emptiness and hopelessness of truly being anonymous

…help me im useless…

a blank…. no….heavily vandalised canvas, but with nothing but blackness

i feel pointless…

depression is jealous of me because the way i do her job is so effortless

she stands up to me and attacks me and threatens to get inside me and show me how its done and i let her because lets face it i’m spineless –

…and i have no face… no soul so no base…and i told you im spineless so

help me… i’m becoming less.

spread your wings and fly Andile but i’m flightless…also groundless… also non existent also irrelevant also empty and also so very very useless …

shut up. shut up shut up shut up shut up if this were my chorus it would be endless STOP making a home for yourself in my head lest my own being becomes homeless !!!

…depression is poisonous and it’s venomous it’s ferocious and it’s malicious and so dangerous and in most cases it’s murderous.

….she’s obnoxious… and a liar and a liar and her lies are always obvious.

…..help me ….i’m being pinned down by something invisible trying to make me invisible…i feel ridiculous.


my only friend…

…my depression is my only friend

..because she’s all i have in this world …or at least thats what she tells me to seemingly no end…

…she gives me beautiful words to use as expression..

…but plays that joke she loves of not helping me get gratification..

…she bullies me so… she comes from nowhere after disappearing for so long…or a minute.. or a day , i can’t really tell anymore …

…she gives me a sense of purpose even if it is no purpose at all…

…plans, to one day master the art of disappearing but not die lest i go to hell.

…she gives me passion….to stare at the wall and long to be flat and splatted with the white bright paint of this rented house thats not even yours when your age mates have houses and husbands and they’re all doctors and lawyers and some of them have even been to space but look at youuu!

….they haven’t… but she tells me they have and i believe her… to be honest she gives me all my information about the world and myself and myself and myself and its usually 100% lies but her voice is so soothing well its not but its so familiar and rigid so i believe her…

…once upon a time….a long long time ago… when the dinosaurs roamed the earth and Jesus was spreading his word and the Beetles were still 25 and God was making the universe and Egypt was a black mans country and…once upon that time, i dared not believe what she said….

…come to think of it, that was a very good day.


9 AM thoughts…

…i woke up at 7 today and felt stuck in a minute till 8.

…today’s started off weird. Today started off with my 2AM thoughts and everything is weird.

…i decided to sleep on my floor last night because there is something therapeutic for me about sleeping on my thick fluffy rug with the fan facing me….reminding that i’m still alive but it doesn’t do it well….

…i also, as per, played the 4K rain sounds from youtube all night, so as to elucidate my mind from nothing in particular, and remind me that i’m still alive…. but all it does is remind me that life keeps moving…the clock keeps ticking…the rain keeps falling… the world keeps turning…the heart keeps beating ….

…all whether i feel it or not.


2AM thoughts…

God i’m bored. I feel so empty yet too full within.

I feel so bored yet too overwhelmed…

i feel so busy yet life feels so stationary !

my motherhood duties resumed today. the thought that everything has to go back to being systematic after a whole week’s break (on bedrest but still, rest) terrifies me.

…because i know that i spend a lot of my time as a mum and raising my child but feeling awful the whole time. Feeling like i’m just flopping and ruining everything.

…part of me feels like this deep depression that comes to me when i think about being a mum is because i can’t run off anywhere or avoid this feeling. I could do everything by the book but there comes a time in a day where i just think “thats it…. you’re definitely messing EVERYTHING up”

… i rely on my boyfriend for affirmations like the kardashians on black culture. like a flea on a dog… like gossip on twitter… i rely on him to remind me that i’m doing ok… and its a lot… i wanna lie to myself and talk about this journey to being a strong, independent black woman but… this hollowness that comes from feeling like i suck at everything isn’t one i can muster…

…i can’t even write about how wonderful of a child she is because i’ll cry and i just can’t.

…i have a migraine and a 7AM start to my day.

…i have trouble sleeping.


My Journey #2

It’s not domestic abuse if you refuse to be beaten, right? Its not domestic abuse if they spit on your face and you spit back they sit on your chest and you bite them they kick your head and you go at it with fists flying blindly tears streaming ferociously insults hurling continuously screams ringing piercingly whatever they threw pick it up and throw it back and spit back kick back and …

Its not domestic abuse – merely just a little bit of violence , no…. passion….and what couple doesn’t argue? What couple doesn’t call me a b*tch and burn me with “crazy just like your mother” and you’re damaged goods” and “even your daughter will see how crazy you are” and “what other man do you know who will accept a single mother” and “my family took you in because you have no one wait until I tell them what you are” and …

Every couple goes through it. Just harmless fighting and god I hope I don’t lose this baby ... “how did you come to bleed from below” I’m a bit clumsy nowadays nurse, I fellbecause I know he didn’t mean it and it was just fighting and you see, it’s passion and if you don’t have that then I feel sorry for you.

F***ing hell it hurts to breastfeed , you didn’t have to punch my breast you know, you silly goose, ha ha ha ha ha

Instagram post – ‘my little family. I thank god for his blessings’

It’s not domestic abuse when they push your head and push your head and push your head and push your head and you snap right back and you throw with all your might “I swear to God I’ll kill you if you touch me again” and they touch you again so you try (and fail) a drop kick but you don’t know what a drop kick is but it was worth it while the idea was fresh now fresh blood is running from your eye and they’re staring at you as you scream like a maniac… “you’re pathetic”. It’s not domestic abuse because remember that time you hit them first? Your adrenaline compelled you to dare to believe you can match male testosterone and you went for it (and failed) but I didn’t fail though because….

“You’re leaving us? How could you I’m the mother of your child…./ how could you, I am a good woman to you…/ how could you AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR YOU?”

It’s not domestic abuse because I love you. And you love me you know you love me. See? I’m not limping I’m fine. The breast will heal it’s fine. The baby is okay, we’re fine. This is just what happens in relationships, please stay.

I’m so weak and dependant for a ‘strong independent woman’.

But it’s not domestic abuse. It wasn’t. Because I’ve seen pictures of domestic abuse and she never fights back. He says he could never hit her or him or them, back. They’re black and blue and scratched to shreds and once I even saw a woman with an iron burn mark on her face and they never hit back or they tried to hit back and it got worse but it wasn’t domestic abuse for me because I failed and kept fighting and on some level I deserved it so they were only defending themselves and I ALWAYS HIT BACK even if it’s eventually. So it’s not domestic abuse, right?

Argos metal is weak ! A bathroom cabinet could not withstand my weight when I was thrashed atop it on that one night and really, it’s damaged. It’s all bent and broken and useless and I’m more angry about the £21 I spent on it but I can’t throw it away because of the courage it gave me to throw away this ‘not abusive relationship’.

“We can still be a family. I promise I won’t provoke you. Please don’t tell your family all I want is a family – my daughter deserves a family. She’s 5 She’ll remember you I don’t want her to lose a father figure what can I do I can be better if you promise you won’t hit me…. if you promise we will never fight again please ”

What do you mean you’re leaving me? AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR YOU?! I had this child for you and for 2 years I’ve endured your shit and now you’re going to leave me with thousands of debt and huge respons……hit me again and I swear I’ll kill you”

wrath. Is it domestic abuse when at last, absolute wrath runs and writhes through your veins and your body and you’re ready to end it…them. There’s a baseball bat in the wardrobe. There’s that knife in the kitchen……. you don’t remember the sound but everything is breaking and broken. “OPEN UP ITS THE POLICE”.

it’s not domestic abuse because they arrested you first. They arrived the day you finally became his match and probably more and it’s you that was in handcuffs and you’re being escorted off the premises in handcuffs and one shoe and I feel the eyes of the neighbours in the peep holes and oh my God I’m leaving my 2 year old child with that MANIAC.

If you’re a woman and you want to report domestic abuse….not abuse….. to male officers, you better not do it if you’ve hit them back because do you really think they’re gonna believe you?

Please let me go home I have to be with my child.You’re not going back until you admit what you’ve done I’m sorry officer I admit I was angry but I swear he assaulted me first and I lost my temper in a way I’d never done before because it wasn’t the first time officer please let me go that’s not what he’s saying I DONT CARE WHAT HES SAYING WHAT DO I NEED TO DO TO GET OUT we’re not letting you go until you admit what you’ve done.

15 hours in a cell feels like 8 centuries if you’re there for the first time. God works in mysterious ways because I hope you know that 15 hours and a record is nothing compared to 25 years and 6 by 8 confinement. Did they arrive late or did they save you from a lifetime of regret?

Its not domestic abuse because each time was the last time i swear. I’m so sorry it had to get to that Andile i love you so much i need you and our child in my life… each time was the last time.

Reader. Readers. This is different men but one experience. The outcome was the same the reasoning was the same and the more i become sure of myself the more i can see that this was one man in different stages of my life.

…but it wasn’t domestic abuse. I have no idea what ‘domestic abuse’ is. right?

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