Dodu Nims

The world as seen by Nimo!

IT IS OK NOT TO BE OKAY

Hi πŸ™‚.It’s been a minute, when your crush calls you to ask where your art disappeared to …..and your the first reaction is the shock πŸ™ƒ. You have to deliver the next week. Here we are again!

Thank you for stopping by πŸ™‚πŸ˜. Enjoy πŸ˜‰.

Tong’i

I keep telling myself I didn’t need it, that it would all go away if I didn’t have to think about it or if I tried harder I would get out of it and it did work for a little while until it didn’t.


I know people are genetically, socially, morally or whatever you wanna call it inclined to ask other people if they are okay every so often, but in the real sense some really don’t want to know what’s not OK and sometimes you already assume they don’t care.

You may be socially adjusted and used to saying. “Yeah, I am fine.” So much so, that you don’t even stop to think about it. And you start living in bliss. Or crafted bliss. We choose our struggles.

I have participated in this social injustice by either being the …I don’t really wanna hear what’s wrong type…..I just wanna look like I care’ type or the ‘am fine with a big smile that can’t quite reach my eyes’ type at some point in my life. Because being needed is also a burden 😬.


My best strategy so far had been to anchor down until the battle was won until a stranger noticed something was up with my smile (I love smiling againπŸ™‚) and did something about it.

That’s how I was diagnosed with clinical depression, and yes it is a thing but i didn’t quite know that then.


Now I have an hour session every other week with a therapist and when things are really bad I get two hours a week and my drug regime being monitored closely to limit the episodes.


It’s quite difficult to talk about it with any of my people, because it makes little to no sense to them that I would be so overburdened to need help from someone who ain’t them and the fact that I have to pay for it, makes it even more difficult to understand. They occasionally make fun of it and even once in a while ask me to redirect the funds to them and they can sit and listen as that’s all the therapists do according to them.


What hurts the most is when men say, “dude, men don’t talk about their problems, not to anyone, not our wives or girlfriends, not even our buddies and certainly not  to a stranger that we have to pay.” Then women come along with “mwanaume ni kukanyagilia shida,” or something like “haiya! sio wamama tu wanaona therapists”.

It’s like both men and women are oblivious to the fact even men do need occasional check-ins, we may seem okay, we may not cry out loud like women are likely to but it doesn’t mean it hurts  any less or the inside cries are less important than the outward ones.


What they don’t get is there is some relief in speaking to a stranger who happens to be proffesionaly trained and is bound by professional ethics. There is comfort and confidence that if something seems off the person in front of me will catch it before it’s too late to avoid something like a failed suicide attempt.


What I can tell you now without any doubt is that, acknowledging that you need help especially as a man is wounding, sitting on a couch trying to explain your feelings to a stranger you pay sucks, atleast for the first few sessions anyway, having the people you love the most see you seem weak makes you wonder if suicide would be an easy way out.

Then you don’t have to see their faces anymore or feel them tip-toeing around you and the meds are something else entirely. Sometimes they make you soo  crogue, sometimes they make you feel like you walking on water and other times they truly make you feel too slow to catchup with anyone and it may take a few twists and turns for the proffesionals to get your regime right and you getting used to them but all I want you to remember through all that…..

is you need it all and you also need to get better for yourself and if not for yourself then for the people who care about you.❀❀


After about 8 months of therapy and being under medication I had realized that, there is more to life and you can only die if lived. Because life is beautiful.


I was lucky unlike most people with mental illness, call it fate or destiny but if I had met my now wife two weeks later it would have been too late by then. I had not been a lucky man in life until the day I met her. Not only did I find true love but she also saved my life .

But so did God save mine. And in Him I find perfect peace. Because love is the binding factor β€πŸ™‚πŸ™ƒ.

In all that I had known I needed help for a very long time but I didn’t know who I could ask and no one noticed I needed it or was kind enough to offer.

So when that ‘stranger’ suggested it, I was offended not because of the help she was offering which I already knew I needed but at the fact that she barely knew me but she saw through all my bullshit and was not afraid to call me out while the people I had know since I was a boy either didn’t see it or didn’t want to see it, that’s why all this is for her.

Life πŸ™‚.

Written by Tong’i Edited by Sellah.

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