"Hold my hand, I'm tired"

"Hold my hand, I'm tired. My head is just as heavy as my heart."

These Mann Friday lyrics swirl around my head as I stare out the Land Rover window. We hit a pothole and I'm suddenly airborne, landing with a jolt - a jolt that snaps me out of my melancholic daze. We are on our way back to Mozambique after ten days in Zimbabwe - having satisfied our monthly visa regulations and our simultaneous need to be around the comforts of family. We are about to hit the border. Technically we are on our way home - but as per every other time we have visited Zim in the past ten years it feels more like we are leaving home. If home is where the heart is, then I am sure as hell leaving half my heart behind on Binder Farm.

It has been a perfect ten day escape from reality and the crushing spell of depression I have felt creeping up on me over these past months. The smiling faces of my cousins - the older ones I know well and love and the little ones I love and am just getting to know. The warmth of my grandparents - their joyous pride that we were all together, in the castle they had built. The conversations with my aunts and uncles - some serious, some not - always interrupted by trills of laughter either way. The generosity of them all. The beacon - the highest point on the farm with its sculpted rocks and lush Mazhanje-treed valley under orange African sunsets. The Flame Lilies popping up in bright blooms throughout the lands. The farm road - its gravel harsh and jarring but every twist and turn more familiar than the back of my hand. These people and places reminded me with nothing more than a glance at or from, that I would always feel welcome here.

That helped me to forget for a while the feeling of being untethered. Unfortunately, as we drive further and further away, I can't seem to force my brain to avoid the stark reality that I have been feeling more uprooted than usual, and ultimately very lost. What I have come to learn (although knowing it hasn't helped all that much) is that we humans have a hard time managing our expectations and a harder time settling into our realities. We seem to be constantly caught between unavoidable change and a restlessness that could be put down to anything from ambition, the "grass is always greener" attitude or even straight up ungratefulness. We are, without even realizing it, always either reaching, striving for different, more, better or we are running - from our circumstances, hard work, the past or ourselves.

When I left university, I was in a bad way. Although I was equipped, "Cummed" and qualified to begin my adult life (a privilege I knew few had to their names) I felt completely drained by life - tired of all the bad things happening in the world, tired of always having to do something and then just plain tired. I thought it was the result of tough times and academic stress. I thought it was a consequence of my environment and a combination of pressure, anxiety and depression.

So, naturally, I could see the appeal of moving to Mozam, still under the wings of my parents - to slow things down, plant a veggie garden, write my book and recover in nature. There, I thought, it should be easy enough to reflect and decide on the future and my future happiness. Romantic isn't it? I was right about it in a way. Things do move slowly here in terms of work and my previously constrictive routine fell away. I didn't "have" to do anything - at least not right away - and I was now completely removed from the fear and violence of South Africa. The knots in my shoulders eased and I started to sleep deeply.

But I still woke up tired. The external cogs slowed steadily, but my mind still raced - confusion reigned king - and dark thoughts, followed by black days, battered me - shattering the romantic illusion I had created. Lost, unmotivated and angry - I withdrew from everything. I no longer cared about planting my veggie garden or revising the Chinese I had worked so hard to grasp. I no longer felt certain of my own capabilities and I became self-conscious, scared and unwilling to take any steps to fight the depression that I had thought my meds had under control. There's no easy fix.

"Hold my hand, I'm tired. My head is just as heavy as my heart."

Okay, the border is now looming ahead and I have to steel my nerves - it's never fun and it's never easy but we have to do it - this is our life now. Surprisingly, we are stamped, signed and cleared by customs in minutes and so with renewed energy we jump into the car and drive out towards what is know as No-mans-land - the stretch of road between the two border posts. Abruptly we are met with three solid lanes of front-facing trucks, all stationary (some drivers having actually abandoned their vehicles) and no gaps for us to slip through. A blip in the system (lol just kidding there is no system) - unnecessary, infuriating and inescapable. Hot anger grips us all and we mutter and curse, knowing there is nothing to do but wait it out. Sitting here now, in No-mans-land, I am suddenly struck with the irony of it all. I practically keel over laughing.

This situation is a physical representation of my life at the moment. Heart in different countries, head in turmoil, anger and hysteria alternating. I'm in No-mans-land in more ways than one. And with that, comes the knowledge that the only way to get through it, just like right now, is to have patience. Patience for others who may not understand, patience for unexpected blips and patience for myself. Sometimes it's hard to remind yourself that healing isn't linear - past trauma and wounds I thought closed, very possibly still need my attention. Important questions that I expected easy and immediate answers to are hard to answer ANYWHERE. Just because I am lost and sad doesn't mean that I have failed.

The hours tick by and I think and think on this. Suddenly, the trucks start moving and I can finally see a gap! We make a break for it and as we reach the other side, I smile and breathe more easily. Because I am deserving of my own patience, my heart and my head won't always be heavy and I have so many loved ones willing to hold my hand through it all. I'm going to start planting my veggie garden on Monday - sow the seeds so to speak - and if that isn't another completely apt metaphor, then I don't know what is.

By Georgia Rae