Battling Depression — Relapse phase

In September 2015, Gabriel left AMREF for Eldoret to clear with the university in preparation for his graduation which was due in December. In Eldoret, he partnered with a friend and started a small business of selling affordable clothes to the locals. This business wasn’t doing very well. He would make a dollar or two a day. This broke my parents’ hearts as much as it broke his. They convinced him to go home. In November, he went to Mombasa where my dad was working.

It was during this time that my dad reported seeing a change in behavior. He was dull and retracted from the rest of the people around. He did not interact with my dad nor the peers around him. He would go to bed early and wake up very late. He spent a lot of time writing, scribbling and writing some more. Something was wrong. Something was amiss.

The Day of a Thousand Words

On November, 22nd he went to Port Reitz mental hospital to pick his depression medication. When he got there, he broke into a tirade about the way he was failing everyone, the fact that even his business did not prosper and the way he had failed his parents despite them educating him through to university.

From his primary school days, Gabriel always had red eyes due to an eye problem but now due to his crazy behaviour, the doctors felt that the eyes could be a sign of drug abuse.

“Are you high on weed?” One of the doctors asked him.

This made Gabriel very mad. He boiled with rage. He could not take it anymore. All along he had been the one advising the youth not to indulge in drug abuse and here was a doctor associating him with it!

Suddenly and without warning, he hurled his phone at the doctor. Seeing this, the doctor confirmed his suspicions that Gabriel was on drugs and instructed the nurses to administer Diazepam. He was wrong! Very wrong!

The nurses administered three Valium injections before Gabriel could calm down. My dad, who had been called arrived at the clinic and was told what happened. Everything had happened so fast. There was no time to comprehend what had happened. He paid the admission fee and alerted some close friends and relatives.

Back in school, I was trying to catch up with my colleagues after being home for the past week taking care of my mother who had been diagnosed with a blood clot on the neck. At around 10 am, I checked my phone. I had over 10 missed calls. This was strange. Instantly, I knew something bad had happened. Everyone at home had tried to reach me. I called my dad who narrated the events that had transpired and he asked me to get home ASAP. Have you ever been so happy that you have achieved something only to be pulled back into that dark deep well of sadness that you were in before? Think of breaking through the surface only to realize you are back where you started, in the middle of a vast deep ocean. This is what it felt as I hang up the phone.

A gazillion of questions criss crossed my mind as I booked the evening bus to Mombasa; God, what is this? What have I done to deserve this? Is this a punishment or a curse? I got home in the morning, took a shower and headed to the clinic. I sat at the visitors’ bay until midday, which was the recommended visitation hours.

The Journey to Recovery

When the clock hit midday, I asked the nurses to call me Gabriel. Moments later, I saw him staggering through the exit. The last time I saw him, he was healthy and well built but in front of me stood a thin and sickly Gabriel. His long afro hair was unkempt and had pieces of what seemed like an old matress. He was drooling all over the hospital clothes that made him look malnutritioned. I struggled to keep my eyes dry. I went to meet him and supported him to the visitors bay. I had carried him some milk and fruits. I tried to feed him but he was too drowsy to eat anything. He would open his eyes one minute and the next he would doze off. I struggled to give him the milk as advised by the nurses. He was able to drink half a litre, which was impressive. Visiting time was over so I handed him back to the nurses. This was the beginning of the longest two weeks of my life.

Gabriel was very weak for the next couple of days. He would sleep in between blinks. I would visit him over lunch hour and when I came back in the evening, he would think that it was the next day. His speech was slow and jumbled. It hurt me to see him in that state.

On the second week of his stay at Port Reitz Mental hospital, Gabriel started recovering. I would arrive at the hospital and he would spot me through his window and meet me halfway to the visitors bay. He would hug me and carry my backpack which had my laptop and some food.

“Siz, umeniletea nini leo? I hope ni pilau”(Sis, what have you brought me today? I hope it’s pilau) He would tell me with the excitement of a little brown puppy getting his favorite treat. We would spend a lot of time chatting over our childhood adventures. We would watch movies, his favorite being the Madea series. He would laugh so hard and so passionately. We would also listen to music and some spoken word. I would bring him inspirational books and read to him as he ate the fruit pudding — his best moment of the visits. I can still remember how reading him spoken word, poems, stories etc made him lighten up.

On 6th December, he was discharged and I went back to school. He had recovered, or so I thought…