Bonnie Henna - Eyebags & Dimples: An Autobiography

G REAT G OD AND FRIEND , thank you for all that you have opened my eyes to, as well as all I am yet to see. I can hardly wait. I love you.

Sisanda, your audacity pushed me out of the boat and dared me to walk while holding my hand through the darkest storms you always said I could do it. Thank you for fighting for me. You are a warrior. I love you.

Thabiso, my midwife, your faith in me helped me bring this baby into the world, youve been a comforter and friend.

Thando, you are a gem. Thank you for sharing your talent and wisdom, helping me to excavate my voice.

To Percy Mapercent Vilakazi, thank you for being you and making room for me in that big heart of yours.

To Mom, Ahile and Koketso, I love you so much. Some of these memories I share might be painful to look at for that, Im sorry. I celebrate you as part of my path, my destiny and my heart.

To all the people in this book, I cherish your memory; for all you gave, thank you.

This book is a letter to all the little girls living inside us big girls.

To Micaiah and Hanniel, no one can take our freedom unless we give it away.

F OR A LONG TIME I FELT misunderstood by the world. Now I realise that I was the one who misunderstood me. Ive had to forgive myself for being so hard on myself and others. I had misguided and unreasonable expectations, and wandered around aimlessly seeking fulfilment in all the wrong places.

Surrounded by books in my childhood, I marvelled at the power of storytelling and its power to nurture and inspire me. And I prayed to God that one day I, too, would be able to tell stories that would influence and inspire others. Yet when I started writing this chronicle, I didnt foresee that it would become a book. I knew only that I had to unpack my overstuffed bag, the weight of which dragged so painfully on my shoulders. I needed to unburden myself, unwrap the suppressed memories and lay out the events that had created them. And I knew writing was the way.

As time trailed on, the pages multiplied and I became afraid. Many times I walked away, shocked at my own audacity for thinking I could do this. But each time the story pursued me, demanding to be told. In taking the first step on this journey, I had awoken a sleeping giant that I couldnt put back to sleep; he began to chase me, to haunt my dreams. I had begun the telling, and the force of this story now refused to let me rest until all of it was told, right to the last full stop.

Ive shared parts of my life I never intended to share, parts Ive longed to forget. Realising that revealing aspects of the truth could make members of my family uncomfortable has plagued me with guilt. But to truly heal, I must tell my story not that of others.

African culture has always prized secrecy. We veil the truth in order to protect the group; we teach each other to value group safety above the safety of the individual; we cover our wounds for fear of what our neighbours and peers may say. But under such a veil wounds fester, and then we pass them on to the next generation. I cannot bear to see this cycle continue, so I have taken it upon myself to break the silence and let in the light.

What has emerged is the journey of my life the story of my battle with depression.

In no way is this an attempt to prescribe solutions; only to turn out my pockets and share with you what Ive picked up along my lifes journey, in the hopes that you may recognise pieces similar to your own, clues to the riddle of your own soul that may help lead you eventually to the oasis you seek. I havent yet arrived, nor can I even begin to imagine how it might look, but I have passed some important landmarks on this path.

In this chronicle I share what was stolen from me by depression that silent, ravenous enemy against which I remained powerless because I didnt recognise its existence. I spent many years in denial, trying to conceal the hole in my heart, evading the worlds gaze lest my eyes reveal the bareness of my soul, lest acknowledging it would empower it and give it a home. Consumed by self-imposed isolation and loneliness, I sought solace in all the wrong places, wounding my soul ever more deeply. Finally, I reached the end of my tether. And as I cried out for help, I found a God whod been awaiting my call, longing to embrace me and lead me to rest, inviting me to take my place in the greatest love story ever. And I said yes.

The path to recovery was perhaps even more painful, but necessary. I had to allow the God I didnt know or trust to touch the wounds Id covered up for so long, wounds Id grown so good at protecting from any bump or touch by anyone who got close. When salvation came in the form of a tiny daily pill, I didnt even recognise it as the salvation it was, amid all the criticism and indifference from the people I valued, and the loneliness I faced because of black societys dismissal of mental disorders as a Western phenomenon to which black Africans are immune.

In writing this book I have chosen to recognise the gift in my adversity, to dive off this board into the unknown, and open up my deepest secrets to scrutiny. The process was terrifying; every time I sat down to write, I wrote in fear. But this book is a love letter to all who have walked this same road, blind to the stealthy enemy that lurks among our families, churches, schools and workplaces. Its an invitation to have a conversation about what you may have refused to consider or been too fearful to explore; its an outstretched hand to hold on to as you open your eyes to the help around you; and its a reminder that youre not alone.

This book is not about religion; nor does it suggest religion as a solution. But if I didnt mention my relationship with God and how instrumental it was in my recovery, I would be robbing you of the core of who Ive become in this process. I fully respect whatever you believe or seek to understand. I ask only that as you read, you consider and open your heart to the gently nagging suspicion that help exists, that theres an experience that holds a truth bigger than your present knowledge. There are answers and resources that can overcome this oppression, and free you from the silent torment that steals the life not only from you but also from your marriage, your children, your friends and colleagues; and from future generations your lineage, your legacy.

My relationships have been some of the greatest casualties of this condition. But how could I recover them? How could I explain to all those Ive lost along the way that it had nothing to do with them, that Ive finally figured out what was wrong with me? How could I explain my harsh words, my silences, my cold indifference, the way I pushed them away?

I decided first to focus on getting well, to accept and surrender to the process. Part of my recovery has involved surveying how Ive handled my relationships, taking responsibility for the ways Ive hurt others and myself through these encounters, and apologising and owning my dysfunction in these relationships.