Reaching You

By Author Zaheera Walker

It was the worst of times, and the best of times. Charles Dickens penned the byline for my life decades ago, and yet it was true. I’ve dealt with loss, my husband died, then Mum and Dad died, and in the midst of so much turmoil I decided to live life to the fullest, to dare to chase after love again.

Ray found me online, we connected, and in a very short period our emotions grew in intensity. We were in love, and then tragedy struck my life with two harsh death knells. I should have been grieving for my parents, but instead I’d fallen in love with a man who suffered with depression and anxiety, and I was driving across the country to be with him.

He was gentle and sweet, we made promises we wouldn’t keep, we fought through the limitations closing in on us, but in the darkest hours he shut me out. Depression closed the curtains and I couldn’t reach my Ray anymore.

This is my heartbreaking story of falling in love with someone who battles depression. It’s candid, I’m vulnerable, but the truth will set me free.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Zaheera Walker
• Release date: Mar 10, 2019

Book preview

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two lives collide with fateful chemistry

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by

Zaheera Walker

Published 2018

Copyright © 2018 Zaheera Walker

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales, or any other entity, is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Cover by Southern Stiles Design

DEDICATION

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Depression, anxiety, and darkness are all real. Let us not acknowledge it in South Africa only during October each year.

~ For those who lost the battle to depression and committed suicide, my heart bleeds for you. I wish I knew more about the pain you had buried behind those smiles. Please forgive me.

~ Those who are suffering in silence and are too scared to reach out for help, I implore you to break down those walls, and know that you are so loved.

~ The ones who have the love and support of family, please help another if you can.

1

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Everybody needs somebody…

Darkness will come and go. Like waves, it keeps coming, and somewhere in the middle of the ebb and flow there is a beautiful sense of calm. That is where I am right now. It is where I need to be.

I wasn’t always this way. You see, I wear my heart on my sleeve, and when I love, I love deeply. Well, for the first time I fell in love with a broken man – and in the process I became broken too. One moment, he wanted me – gave me an infinity ring to seal our love – the next moment he was scared and couldn’t be the man I needed him to be.

Those were his words, not mine. I was confused, devastated and pained. We don’t speak anymore. He does not take my calls, yet he reads the messages I send him. I think about him every day and sent him my last letter yesterday. He needs space because he does not know what to say, or do, anymore. He says he loves me, but everything seems uncertain. I cannot imagine what it must feel like to be depressed, overwhelmed and unworthy of love.

I am starting to love the journey and I am finding comfort in the quiet corners of my wildest dreams. They say people don’t change, but I did. I am the butterfly whose wings had been touched and yet I could still fly. I don’t know why he changed but I know he has a beautiful heart.

Each day I am accepting that whether something was meant to be, or whether someone was meant to leave, doesn’t matter anymore. What matters are the lessons. That for me is enough. We learn, we grow, we soak up the sun’s rays and fly, regardless of our broken wings.

Ray, how I miss saying his name. I don’t hate him. I’m not angry. Just hurt, a whole lot of it. But life teaches us that wounds heal and sometimes people have to go into dark places to find themselves. They cannot help it, it is just the way it is.

Many days have passed but I’m learning that there is nothing to fear when darkness consumes you, when it casts your world into chaos. You see, darkness is the catalyst we all need to find the light within ourselves.

So, who am I to tell my story? Well, I am Zee – living in Johannesburg, and who lost everything that held meaning in my life the day he told me his anxiety was coming back to haunt him. I remember him saying he didn’t want to lose me, but he also didn’t want to hold me back.

If there is a message here, then it is about learning acceptance, and understanding the complex nature of a depressed person, overcoming adversity. You see, I have reached a place in my life that taught me it is not what happens to us that is important, but how we deal with it that is.

I wished that I knew more about depression and anxiety before I met him. Maybe I would have been more patient, extra gentle and understanding. For that I am sorry. Now every second person I meet is fighting this darkness. Some are on medication, others have the support of their loved ones. I do not know if Ray has anyone. What I do know is that he did not want me to help him. Some men are too proud – he strikes me as one.

2018 was going to be my year, but it started off with sadness. Both my parents died within the space of five months. I try to make light of it and tell everyone that I am officially an orphan, but none of them laugh. Then, when I least expected it, he dropped me. Just. Like. That.

I will never forget that day, the eve of my birthday – 18th August 2018. After driving for more than three hours and covering a distance of almost 400 kilometres by car, he sent me a message to say he was scared.

He chose to break the news to me on WhatsApp. How heartless, how cruel to hurt me that way. My heart bled, it continues to bleed when I have time on my hands and my mind wanders. I am learning to live with this wounded, stupid heart of mine. The ache of not having him with me has become a part of me now; painful like a hangnail. And even though I am consumed with a surge of sorrow, I still believe in love, peace, and happiness in the beautiful world we live in.

What happened between Ray and myself has not altered my belief and trust in the essential goodness, the divine self which resides in each of us. I am a spiritual person and believe that we are never given more than we can handle. With all that has happened I am seeing depth in the words: ‘Even in the deepest darkness, there will always be a light to guide you. Believe in the light, and the darkness will never defeat you.’ Yes, I believe.

It feels strange not to hear his voice anymore. I miss that hoarse, sometimes gentle voice. But hidden among all the tears and longing, I know I have the choice to dwell on the pain of negative experience or to focus on the beauty of existence. I choose to flourish.

Loving Ray made me realise that there is suffering, but there is also joy. Where there is dark, there is also light. He made me feel whole at a time when he was breaking, broken.

Ray brought joy, love, and light into my life. In his own way he helped to heal the wounds of my earlier loneliness. He was not just my person, my partner – he was the best friend I ever had. Wherever you are Ray, I loved you and I always will.

This story is a tribute to those who are battling depression and anxiety. I am not an expert on the subject, but I would like to share what I have seen and learnt along this journey.

2

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Zee

3:15 a.m I was at the Ahmed Al-Kadi Hospital in Durban begging the matron to allow me time with her. My mum. It took me more than nine hours to drive from Johannesburg to Durban.

The N3 Freeway was cordoned off. The truckers were on strike for some reason. Tyres were burning, trucks were set alight. The uphill past Montrose panicked me. It was stop and start for about an hour. Handbrake take-offs were not my thing.

It was very late and the fat drizzles didn’t do me any good. Lord, please get me there safely. Without thinking I started riding the clutch, and the acrid smells of the outside coupled with my car’s exhaust fumes terrified me. What if my actions damaged the car, what if I needed to pull over for roadside assistance? I struggled to stay awake but I wanted to see her. My request was granted.

Mummy, it’s Zee, your favourite daughter. I have a younger sister and for all the days of our lives living with our parents, Mum never said she had her favourite. We were both loved in different ways – but the love was equal. Open your eyes now. I came all this way to see you.

I reached for her hand under the bedcovers. Cold, lifeless and puffy. Are you pretending, or are you really ill? I joked if she opened her eyes, I’d take her somewhere nice just to get away from the monotony of all the treatments she had to endure these last few years.

I expected her to twitch, maybe even wink at me.

Nothing. Mum was dying. I could just feel it, sense it.

To be honest, I knew she was living on borrowed time. I leaned in and whispered. It’s okay to go home. I can see you want to be here for everyone, but it is okay to leave us.

I kissed her forehead and stood around in that icy cubicle. I wasn’t sad, just very tired. There was no chair at her bedside. After forty-five minutes I couldn’t take it. I needed coffee, a bed, and my sanity too.

I dragged myself to the reception area. Everything was dead quiet. All I heard was the whirring of the air conditioner. The night security guard saw me. He asked if I was okay. How could I be okay at a time like this?

He was just doing his job and I had to be polite. He led me to a visitor’s chair and asked that I sit for a bit. It was too dark for me to be driving anywhere at this time – not in my state, he said. There was pity in his eyes when he heard I drove through the night. The matron too – I can’t remember her name, but she told me she lived in Tongaat, brought me a mug full of steaming, rich coffee.

When I heard Mum was in a semi-comatose state, I just grabbed clothes and got into my car. I didn’t know where I was going to stay.

While waiting for morning light I searched for the closest hotel and booked a room. I didn’t care if it was five-star or no-star, I just needed a place to lay my head down. My heart wanted me to go to my family, my head told me I was too much of a rebel to do that.

That night turned into several days – then into three weeks. Midday visits, night visits. To-ing and fro-ing. Not once did we get good news about her health. Toxins were spreading fast throughout her body. The medical staff did everything they could to comfort her.

Mum passed away on Saturday, 14th April 2018. She suffered renal failure for six years and hid the pain under the gentleness only mothers exude. She eventually succumbed to septic shock.

Three of her four children were around her bed praying when she slipped away. The fourth was racing to the hospital, but didn’t make it in time. Such is life. Mum was buried according to Muslim rites a few hours later – her body shrouded in calico and lowered into a simple grave. B480. That was the number of her grave. She was sixty-seven.

With Mum gone I wanted to live my life fully. I saw how death robbed her and I wanted to live large. Love, I was a sucker for it.

Growing up as a young girl in Durban, I remember how I lit up every time I read a love story with a beautiful ending. Weddings were magical. Everyone looked happy and I wanted that too. Brides and grooms had eyes only for each other. One day I will have this too.

I knew then that I wanted loyalty and commitment, real, deep and all-encompassing love. But no matter how hard I tried to visualise it, I always ended up with the wrong types. I gave my heart to the ones who deceived me, led me on with empty promises and then dumped me when I was at my weakest point.

There were also the ones who enjoyed the gifts I showered on them, another one was killed in a head-on collision. He was a beautiful young man and I remember how devastated I was when I heard that his life ended so painfully, so tragically.

I was always giving and giving, and never got anything back, not in the material sense – but love – that was all I craved. Heartbreak and loss had become my constant companions. I gave up on love and drowned myself in my studies. Then it was my stint as a news reporter at a daily newspaper. That took my mind off the relationships and love for a bit. But deep inside me I still craved it.

One day when I wasn’t looking, he came up to me in a coffee shop and introduced himself. Three weeks later Nigel Patrick embraced Islam.

He chose the name Mikhail and became my husband after a simple ceremony in Durban North. Yes it was sudden but it felt right. Just as we were settling into the routine of being husband and wife, death came and took him away too. I grieved and felt all the things I was meant to feel.

Mikhail’s death was similar to Mum’s. Diabetes, renal failure, septic shock. The end. Six years later, it was time to move on. And so on 29th April 2018 I stood at Mikhail’s grave and asked him to let me go.

Our holy month of Ramadaan followed shortly and for thirty days I prayed that love would enter my heart. I described my future partner and asked the universe to deliver. He had to be God-fearing, have strong family values, someone who would help an old lady cross the street. I didn’t care about looks so much,