Seasons Greetings, everybody.
If you remember well, I said the main aim of this new venture is for us (me and you) to get to know each other better and maybe reach a better understanding of each other’s worlds. Well, my world has been upside down and I will be completely honest with you. Yes, I miss you everyday. I miss sharing things with you, I miss writing to you, a lot. The truth is, I have been struggling to accept things that I can not change. You would remember me sharing my misery about Gopolang’s death, and how it ripped my spirit apart. I’m sure you are wondering how I’ve been coping since that happened. Well, I haven’t been coping, at all.For weeks now, he has been all I’ve been thinking about. He has been all I’ve been talking about. I realized it was starting to affect me negatively when other aspects of my life started losing their value and importance. I realized that it stood to destroy me when I lost my drive. All of a sudden, I became too lazy to write. Too lazy to even read, guys. Me, lazy to read and write. Imagine. I am a Word artist, how do I then disconnect with my words? What would be my purpose in life if I lose touch with my identity?
I then tried thinking of ways to deal with my loss, without destroying my life and an idea of visiting Gopolang’s family popped up in my head. I know it all sounds cute, and maybe it is cute that I want to visit his family and maybe even visit his grave. The little problem that I have now is that I am not in communication with anyone in his family. I tried sending his sister Facebook inboxes, begging her to help me get to her home and explaining to her how important this is to me, but she never replied. I don’t know how to get to his home, because I’ve never been there before and I have nobody to help me find my way there. I’m stuck. Just when an idea to get closure presented itself, I am now struggling to make it practical because I don’t know how to get there. I really don’t know what to do now.Will I ever move on from this? A friend of mine suggested that I speak to a professional, with the hope that it might help me learn to deal with everything, before I lose myself. I don’t know hey. I really don’t know.
Guys, I am coming to you now,to say “I am weak. I am not coping. I am depressed. I am miserable”. I need help. Anything. Anyone. I am at my lowest point, a point where the road ahead seems blurry. I’ve lost my excitement about everything, I’m now losing myself.This is a point where I really need to see who is folllowing me out of love for the artist that I am, not the art that I produce. This is the time to be weak in your arms, requesting any sort of advice, suggestion- anything to rescue me from the claws of depression. I lost someone I held dearly to my heart, I don’t know the cause of his death, I don’t know how he passed away, I don’t know how to get to his home to find closure, I am now losing myself- please help!
Me, finally gathering strength to sit in front of this computer and write you this little piece, is my first step to healing- admitting that I have a problem. After the opening line, it felt easy to write more and pour my heart out, so that means I still have it in me to write for you guys. I still have it me to share my soul with you, if only I could find ways to deal with this issue. After this post, I am hoping to write more, until I connect with my words again. Until I connect with you again. I know this may come as a disappointment to many, because I am always the first person that some of you think of, when they need to talk. As I write this, I have tons of messages on both my pages, “Pieces of my heart by Cinga” and “Ibali lika Sihle”, from people with serious problems that they are sharing with me. I am really sorry to fail you guys, I am really sorry for not being strong enough to even read some of your messages (because I know I will just cry and not find the right words to reply). I am really sorry. I know you chose to speak to me for various reasons, and here I am, falling apart right before your eyes. May this not make you lose hope of ever finding solutions to your problems, and may this not be the last time you reach out for help. I am on the same path too, seeking help. Instead of losing hope of ever getting help, let’s rather hold hands and look for help together.
What I want to ask of you now, is for you to be a little considerate. Please stop putting pressure on me to write anything you wish to read.Please help me heal, so I can be able to produce quality for you guys.I don’t want to stop being a writer- that doesn’t make sense as I write it. How does one stop being a writer? I want my inspiration back. I want my drive back.I want my passion back. Gosh, I want my life back!!
I have artists interviews ready to be published, but I haven’t posted any, since Busisiwe Kani’s interview. I am really sorry to the artists that took time off their busy schedules to answer my questions, for me to only keep their answers on my emails. I am really sorry. It was not out of disrespect or me taking you guys for granted.I promise I will do better.
I think I should stop here. I have typed “I am sorry” so many times in one post, its actually very sad. I am apologizing for being depressed. I am apologizing for being human and feeling pain. In fact, I am apologizing for everything, Gopolang’s death included. I am just sorry, so sorry, world.I will be waiting for you guys to share anything that you think might help me deal with this. Thank you so much, I hope this is only the begining of many heart-to-heart conversations between you and I. I’ll camp on the comment section, reading your comments on what I should do, or where I should go. Thank you for taking time to read this. I hope this changes the way you were starting to feel about me. Trust me, I never wake up in the morning with the intentions of disappointing you and letting you down. You have been an amazing audience to me, and I would hate to lose you. You matter to me, and I hope the feeling is mutual. Art aside, this is Cinga the human being, pouring her heart out. Thanks, see you in the comment section.