Take Me
Two days ago my fifteen year old cousin threatened to stab me (and my sister) with a broken glass bottle.
A few years back I returned from England to realise that my Uncle had reestablished contact with some of our extended family, so every weekend, two of my new found cousins would spend the weekend with us. Initially it was so that my grandmother would have extra help around the house, but I became quite attached to them. As time passed, I learnt that their home life was less than perfect and we started to strategise how we could help. Since Covid put us in lock down at the beginning of 2020 anyway, the conclusion was that the kids would stay with us to relieve some of the burden from their parents.
Very early on we noticed some behavioural issues with the older of the siblings. She would cry a lot and feel homesick, but we just assumed this was normal for a teenager who had always been relatively close to her siblings. I advocated for her at every step and even got into altercations with my grandmother over the way she treated the kids. To me, their stay in our home wasn’t about her, I just wanted to give them a safe space where they could flourish and not have to ever think about where their next meal is coming from. Schools reopened and we had to unfortunately send the younger sibling back to his parents, due to my family being very unreasonable when it comes to adhering to my grandmother’s wishes. In any case, I was determined to come through for my cousin that was staying. We insisted that she be enrolled in my sister and I’s old school and when the adults couldn’t agree on who should foot the school fee bill, I did. Offlate my partner has started refering to her as my ‘daughter’ and I’m not really opposed to it, because I do lover her a lot and if I hadn’t had a miscarriage, my own daughter would only be 2–3years younger than her. I feel very responsible for her wellbeing, so my heart broke when we discovered she was suffering from clinical depression.
A few months ago I heard my cousin sobbing outside. I was battling nausea and fatigue but I got up to find her when she didn’t respond to me calling her. When I found her, she was coiled up in a ball, in our front yard. As I tried to get her to get up from the ground, I found a glass shard in her hand and struggled to pry it out of her hands as she in turn tried to stab herself with it. Luckily the shard was too blunt. I eventually brought her to my room, let her cry it out and then had a probing conversation about what is causing her to want to harm herself. Finally, the penny dropped; it was more than homesickness — she had an active wish to die and believed nobody loved her, including myself. It hurt to see her burst into tears when I asked her if she believed I love her, but I told myself it wasn’t about me. I just needed to do my best for her. In 2010 I experienced my worst depressive episode and attempted suicide twice. In 2018 relapsed into self harm and still have the scars on my thigh to show for it. During both relapses I wished there was someone who really understood what I was experiencing. If I didn’t get that support, I was going to work myself to the bone to make sure my cousin got it.
Since the first incident, my baby girl has had episodes about 1–2 a week. There was a two week period where my sister was in Nigeria, so the labor of making sure our cousin was safe, fell on me. What was sleep? I did not…do not know her. Besides being in pain from perpetually being on my period due to PCOS, I cannot sleep without cannabis use, because I am thinking about how to help my cousin. We are seeing a psychiatrist, I have bought her a journal, I’m letting her stay in school (although I’ve considered homeschooling) because I think friendships are important and school gives her some time away from being my grandmother’s errand person. The new meds she is on seemed to be helping, so when I realised she was seeking out conversation, I would let her hang out in my room even when I was in dire need of rest. In order to help her think less of her siblings and parents she has left behind, I am raising money for her mother and eldest sibling to better their lives, so that my Baby Girl doesn’t have to carry the guilt of ‘leaving the ghetto’.
This labor of love is exhausting. Besides this, I am responsible for my own life. I have to make money, I have to navigate the other difficult characters I live with, I have to try and be creative for the projects I have started and manage the people I work with and I have been doing it. If I can do a photo shoot while trying to recover from Covid, I can balance a few responsibilities, right? Except, no one ever told me that being threatened with a broken glass bottle, by a child you thoroughly love and have tried everything in your power for, was part of this adulting thing.
When does it end? When her violence triggered a massive anxiety attack in me and I locked myself up in my room, crying and hyperventilating, I became deeply ashamed. Why for fucks sake, did I still have to deal with this? When I first moved to Ghana, things were hard but I had gotten into a groove — I was content. Now it just felt like I was back at square on. Nothing I did was enough to make baby girl better and if things continue this way, they’ll probably take her away from me, since my sister has even less patience than me. Furthermore, the situation just reminds me that nothing I do, will ever make my own depression and anxiety go away permanently, so why am I still here? All I hear all the time is ‘You will be fine’ and ‘You are strong. You’ll get through this.’…for what? To what end? The person I have been dedicating myself to in an attempt to stay alive, is an active threat to her own life, so what exactly is the point??
Death isn’t cruel because it comes when you don’t expect it. It is cruel because it doesn’t come even if you want nothing more. I am tired. I am overwhelmed. I am begging like the coward that I am for not being able to off myself. Please, take me.
