HARD AND SOFT

LUNCH

As April turned into May, my life continued to be a tumultuous journey. The hope I had felt was fragile, often overshadowed by the weight of my past and the challenges of my present.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I found myself alone in my apartment. The silence was deafening, amplifying the chaos in my mind. I reached for my phone, scrolling aimlessly through messages from friends who were growing increasingly concerned.

"Hey, Sanele. We miss you. Let's catch up soon?" read a message from Amanda.

I wanted to respond, to reach out, but the words felt heavy, stuck in my throat. Instead, I turned to the one thing that seemed to offer an escape - drugs. What started as a way to numb the pain quickly spiraled into a dependency that consumed me.

Days blurred into nights, and my once vibrant world became a haze of substance abuse and fleeting moments of clarity. My friends noticed the change, their worry growing with each passing day.

"Man, you're scaring us. This isn't you," Steven's voice was filled with concern during one of our rare conversations.

I knew I was losing myself, but the grip of addiction was strong. It wasn't just the drugs; it was the memories they helped me escape. Memories of a childhood marred by violence, of a father who had been both a protector and a source of fear.

The trauma of gender-based violence (GBV) had left deep scars on my psyche. My father's anger, often directed at my mother, had been a constant shadow over my childhood. The echoes of those nights, filled with shouting and fear, haunted me even now.

In therapy, I began to unravel these layers of pain. My therapist, a compassionate woman named Dr. Mkhize, helped me navigate the labyrinth of my past.

"Sanele, healing is a journey. It's okay to take it one step at a time," she would remind me gently.

But the journey was far from easy. Each session brought new revelations, and new wounds to be tended to. My friends stood by me, with unwavering support even when I pushed them away.

"You're not alone in this," Amanda said one evening, her voice steady and reassuring.

Slowly, I began to find my footing. The road to recovery was long and fraught with challenges, but I was no longer walking it alone. My friends, my therapist, and my resilience became my anchors.

As the months passed, the green of growth began to flourish once more in my life. The black of depth transformed into a profound understanding of my own strength, and the beige of comfort wrapped around me like a warm embrace.

The struggle wasn't over, but for the first time in a long while, I felt a glimmer of hope. Hope that one day, the smile on my lips will be a true reflection of the joy in my heart.