“And to be clear, I am the hell and high waters.”

I once told someone that I heard voices in my head and some of them would sing in a mellow baritone that soothed me into a place of comfort and peace. I liked these voices and I rejoiced in these voices. Some of the other voices would scream. Long and loud until I forgot what tune my heart was dancing to. They suffocated me in broad daylight and I’d have to try occupy myself with meaningless tasks that wasted away at my being.
I was told to pray. ‘Pray and God will make them go away, He’ll heal you.’
Crying myself into a ball in public once and struggling to catch my breath, I was held and shook, yet my body didn’t seize to tremble away until my vision was impaired and I had no control over my actions.
‘You need to talk to God, this sickness will move right out of you and you will be fine’ they said in an attempt to comfort me.
I failed subjects after the death of my father in the first term, I withered away at night and my eyes were always puffy. I howled depression in my simplest form and they still didn’t understand me at all.
“Depression is for white people, it doesn’t affect us. You require The Lord’s guidance right now and you will be able to mourn your father, just pray.”
Just pray, just pray black child and the voices will die out, you will feel warm and safe and you won’t feel a knife spear into your heart every time to look into the mirror and see your father.
Pray, black child, you’ll defeat this with the help of The Almighty, you’ll come out this stronger and better, just close your hands and eyes and pray.
Scream out in prayer and scream out in pain that you can’t physically feel, Christ.
Get on your knees and act as though you aren’t already at your lowest.
Speak in tongues that you don’t really understand because He doesn’t try to either.
Praise him for giving you this burden so he can fail at taking it away either fucking way.
Pray.
Pray, pray yourself into an earlier grave because every prayer felt as useless as the last. Pray yourself into a tight rope smothering your neck as the voices refused to die the fuck down. Pray yourself into a bloody bathtub and stainless steel blades slowly washing away from your fingers.
Pray… and that I did, yet I knew very well that God couldn’t help me.