Several years ago - I think it would have been shortly after the death of Princess Diana in 1997 - I slowly slid into some kind of depression. I did not know what was wrong, only that an eerie emptiness would wash over me and then like a tide would pull me out to almost drown in it. I found life would at times entirely loose its colour. To protect myself, I began to weave with so much skill a golden cocoon to wrap around myself, so people still only saw my smiling face and the elaborate parties the de Souza’s were so known back then for throwing.
Towards the end of 2001 it became a regular occurrence for my Alan to find me sitting on the floor of our beautiful bedroom, staring blankly at all my elegantly tailored clothes and bottles of exquisite perfumes, my Annette Himstedt dolls – drowning in that condemning irrepressible tide, everything around me blurring into tears of oblivion. I felt like I was going mad with some kind of disease. I became addicted to a drug which gave me an instant high only to leave me crashing as soon as the deadening effects of the analgesic wore off. That bitter pill I took so frequently was called … shopping. I knew it did not work but I had gotten used to the high. Why? Why did I need the high? I did not need any of the things I bought.
I have always prayed, so I tried asking for relief … no, I begged for relief, over and over again. Then I tried faith … Lord, you know what I need even before I ask … so I won’t ask anymore and instead I thank you for knowing. I tried reading the Bible. I tried sitting in the Notre Dame Chapel desperately whispering the prayers of the rosary at lunch-time reflecting on my work and my day. But I realised that everyday I was witnessing powerful unspeakable and uncharitable undertakings around me. Why were rewards continually being given to those who went against Jesus’ message of love? I was angry with the hierarchy and maybe even the church for not looking after the sick and the ‘little people’ at the University. So I tried not going to church. And then I tried going back to church again.
Meanwhile, I tried distancing myself from others because I no longer had the energy to listen to them talk or complain or tell me that I wasn’t looking up to my usual standard of dress, make-up or hair.
Nadia was the only person – other than Alan and Donny, with whom I could let my guard down. They were the only 3 people in the world that I wanted to be with and loved by and that I could still give good counsel to. I believed they were the only ones who would never judge me or expect me to be anything other than what I was at the time. I believed this. I had to, it was what kept me going. They kept me going. I was seeking something bigger and they knew I just needed the space and time to do it.
And so I became a recluse in the times that we were not throwing those elaborate parties, just so I could build up my supply of happiness to keep up appearances.
To appear normal.
Towards the end of 2001 it became a regular occurrence for my Alan to find me sitting on the floor of our beautiful bedroom, staring blankly at all my elegantly tailored clothes and bottles of exquisite perfumes, my Annette Himstedt dolls – drowning in that condemning irrepressible tide, everything around me blurring into tears of oblivion. I felt like I was going mad with some kind of disease. I became addicted to a drug which gave me an instant high only to leave me crashing as soon as the deadening effects of the analgesic wore off. That bitter pill I took so frequently was called … shopping. I knew it did not work but I had gotten used to the high. Why? Why did I need the high? I did not need any of the things I bought.
I have always prayed, so I tried asking for relief … no, I begged for relief, over and over again. Then I tried faith … Lord, you know what I need even before I ask … so I won’t ask anymore and instead I thank you for knowing. I tried reading the Bible. I tried sitting in the Notre Dame Chapel desperately whispering the prayers of the rosary at lunch-time reflecting on my work and my day. But I realised that everyday I was witnessing powerful unspeakable and uncharitable undertakings around me. Why were rewards continually being given to those who went against Jesus’ message of love? I was angry with the hierarchy and maybe even the church for not looking after the sick and the ‘little people’ at the University. So I tried not going to church. And then I tried going back to church again.Meanwhile, I tried distancing myself from others because I no longer had the energy to listen to them talk or complain or tell me that I wasn’t looking up to my usual standard of dress, make-up or hair.
Nadia was the only person – other than Alan and Donny, with whom I could let my guard down. They were the only 3 people in the world that I wanted to be with and loved by and that I could still give good counsel to. I believed they were the only ones who would never judge me or expect me to be anything other than what I was at the time. I believed this. I had to, it was what kept me going. They kept me going. I was seeking something bigger and they knew I just needed the space and time to do it.
And so I became a recluse in the times that we were not throwing those elaborate parties, just so I could build up my supply of happiness to keep up appearances.
To appear normal.
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