My name is Kunle, a thirty two years old man living in Ibadan. I work as a clerk in a small private school, the kind of school that pays salary late and apologizes with promises.
Every morning I wake up before the cock crows because my landlord does not like excuses when it comes to rent. My phone alarm rings, and before I even open my eyes, my mind has already started racing saying different kinds of things to my ears like
“Kunle, you are late"
“Kunle, your mates are building houses” “Kunle, your mother is praying, but are you trying?”
These thoughts talk to me as if they are real people sitting in my head, sometimes I answer them out loud before I remember that I am alone.
One Monday morning, while tying my faded tie, my younger sister Sade looked at me from the doorway and said
“Brother Kunle, you were talking to yourself again last night". I forced a laugh and replied “Is it now a crime to rehearse my future speech as a rich man?”
She did not laugh, she only nodded slowly the way people nod when they do not believe you but do not want to argue.
That was when fear entered my chest, not fear of poverty because I was already used to that. It was the fear that people were beginning to see me differently.
At work, things were not better. The school proprietor, Mr. Ajayi loves to shout, his voice alone could scatter your thoughts.
“Kunle!” he shouted one afternoon. “Where is the file I asked for?”. I had already submitted it, I knew I had because when I checked my table, it was not there. My head started to spin.
“I submitted it on Friday, sir,” I said.
He looked at me as if I had grown horns. “Are you telling me I am lying?”
Before I could answer I heard it again, that calm and steady voice inside me saying
"They are all against you" so I shook my head slightly, trying to silence it,
“I’m not crazy,” I whispered to myself.
Unfortunately, I whispered it loud enough.
My colleague Funke stared at me saying “Kunle, are you okay?”
“Yes” I replied quickly “Very okay, just thinking.”
However, the truth was that I was tired. Tired of pretending, tired of smiling when my chest felt heavy, tired of explaining myself to people who had already concluded that something was wrong with me.
Things became worse after my mother came from the village. Mothers have a special way of seeing beyond words.
One night, as we ate eba and okra soup, she watched me closely.
“My son, your eyes are not resting”
I laughed again, that laugh had become my shield, I replied “Mama, is it my eyes or the NEPA light that is stressing them?”
but she did not smile
“Kunle” she said touching my hand “have you been sleeping?”
That was when everything broke, tears rushed out before I could stop them, I cried like a child who had been strong for too long.
“I’m not crazy Mama,” I said between sobs. “I’m just tired, everybody expects me to become something and I am trying, I swear I am trying.”
She pulled me into her wrapper and rocked me gently, humming an old church song. In that moment, I felt safe but safety did not stop the thoughts from returning the next day.
Soon, the whispers became louder, sometimes while walking on the street, I felt people were watching me. Sometimes, joy would come suddenly, too much joy and I would laugh alone. Other times, sadness would fall on me without warning.
One evening, everything reached its peak. I was on my way home when a man bumped into me.
“Watch where you are going” he snapped.
Something inside me snapped too and I shouted “Why is everyone disturbing me?, leave me alone!”
People stopped to look, someone whispered “This one is not okay”
That word "not okay" felt heavier than a slap that I ran home, locked myself in my room and sat on the floor. My heart was beating like a talking drum, I pressed my hands to my ears “I am not crazy” I said again and again.
That night, I made a decision. The next morning, I followed my mother to the health center, my legs felt heavy with shame. In our society, going to talk about your mind is almost the same as admitting madness.
The doctor was a calm woman. She listened without interrupting as I poured everything out like my fears, my thoughts, my tiredness. After a long silence, she smiled gently and said
“Kunle, you are not crazy. You are just overwhelmed, you are burnt out and your mind is asking for help”. Those words lifted something off my chest.
She explained things in simple terms like stress, anxiety and depression, these were words I had heard but never owned. She talked about rest, support and therapy, just like one would treat malaria or high blood pressure.
Although, healing did not come immediately, some days are still hard. Some nights, the thoughts try to return but now I know their names, I know when to rest and I know when to ask for help.
Note: All pictures were generated on Meta AI
Kunle is not just fighting with his inner thoughts but also with the way people see and label him as someone crazy. This story shows how pressure can slowly wear someone down without them noticing it.
Yes oo
Pressure and depression is real oo and people face it a lot
Wow, this is beautiful ❤️❤️❤️...
I feel your story is one everyone can relate with, especially Nigerians. We are the type who loves to live with and adapt to just anything while keeping mute..
Everyone felt he was crazy when he finally bursted out, not knowing it was due to the accumulated stress and all....
It's always best to speakup and to ask for help so as not to burnout as Kunle did...
Thanks for sharing.
❤️
Yes that's very true
Kunle seeking help was the best choice he made
I'm glad you enjoyed the story ☺️
Exactly...
Very much welcome 🤗
❤️
Thank you so much @theinkwell
Depression is not good, it can make some people behave crazily without being mad in real life. Well done job friend 👍 @pretemi