I’m convinced there is something seriously wrong with the underbelly of this place.
I can’t put my finger on it, obviously, but I have my suspicions. Many, many suspicions.
Such as the fact that I tried for the first time last week to secure an appointment with a local clinical psychologist. I have never shied away from the truth that I live with a mental disorder. Most people would rather lick the floor of a dirty bathroom than admit that their mental and emotional states are less than sparkly. Why? Maybe it’s because when people hear the words “mental disorder” they conjure up images of straitjackets, padded rooms and exorcism.
The truth of course, is not as glamorous as that. Stress is a mental disorder. Depression is a mental disorder. Anxiety is a mental disorder. Not being able to sleep at night is a mental disorder. I realised long ago that most people are more interested in looking okay, than actually being okay. And that’s fine. Everyone is on their own journey. But my journey demands honesty.
As such, I had hit the six-month mark without any meds, and as well as I’ve been doing, I know enough about who I am to know it’s time to start therapy again.
Great.
Except I can only see the doc in a month’s time. He’s fully booked. How strange. I thought everyone here were as happy as pigs in mud.
Apparently not.
Then there’s the fact that we’re on Lockdown Part Two.
The rest of the country paid their corona dues, learned their corona lessons and are allowed to resume their normal post-corona lives . . . but not Erongo.
Nope, we’re still registering new cases daily. The governor says Arandis is apparently the most “behaved” of the lot, and Swakop . . . well, we’re crazy, but well mannered.
He doesn’t speak about Walvis a lot though. My female reporter friend, who does a lot of field work there, says for Walvis Bay, the zula continues, and that smell – that awful fishy smell – is the smell of money, baby.
Lord. How do you even reason with that?!
Oh and then there’s the lovely white racist lady who recently made headlines. She apologised, but it still left a really bad taste in everyone’s mouths. You don’t expect such ugly in a place of such beauty. It caught all of us off guard, and I don’t need a degree to know that scar is going to take a while to heal.
But perhaps the most suspicious part of this place is that, regardless of that which we talk about and that which we omit, you still can’t help but be so damn happy.
I can’t remember the last time I really cried, couldn’t get out of bed or had a serious fight with the boys.
It’s the ocean. It’s the magic in the mist. It’s the beach weather in the middle of winter.
It’s Father’s Day this weekend, and the Trolls and I really, truly couldn’t be bothered. There are kids who have dads, and there are kids who don’t.
And there are kids who go to the beach on a Tuesday afternoon and kids who don’t.
It’s not that we hate him, it’s just that we’re too busy counting our blessings to care.
