Pilgrimage To Grace - TEXT198x129 FINAL

Pilgrimage
to Grace
Pilgrimage
to Grace
The Road of Recovery
Hannelie Viviers
All rights reserved solely by the author. The author guarantees all
contents are original and do not infringe upon the legal rights of any
other person or work. No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form without the permission of the author. The views expressed in
this book are not necessarily those of the publisher.
Copyright © Hannelie Viviers 2015
ISBN 978-194327720-9
Published by Porcupine Press in 2015

PO Box 2756
Pinegowrie, 123
Gauteng, South Africa
Tel: +27 (0)11 7914561
Email: [email protected]
www.porcupinepress.co.za
Translation by Jenny Eksteen

With recognition to Marietjie Pretorius
Cover design: Chantelle Venter and Wim Rheeder
Cover image: Greatstock/Masterfile
Text design by [email protected]
Set in 11 on 15 pt Minion Pro
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from The

Bible in Today’s Version. Bible Society of South Africa 1976.
Contents
Introduction 9
Chapter One – The Genesis 11
Chapter Two – Weskoppies 24
Chapter Three – Employment 33
Chapter Four – Return to Weskoppies 40
Chapter Five – A dream starts to realise 44
Chapter Six – Depression 52
Chapter Seven – Breaking point 66
Chapter Eight – Turning point 84
Chapter Nine – The Comrades 110
Chapter Ten – Assurance 117
Chapter Eleven – Reflection 126
Introduction
Bipolar Depression. Two words in a dictionary. Quite
meaningless unless you have to deal with it. Add to this
recipe borderline personality disorder and you are ready
for a wild roller coaster ride. A life with remarkable
phases of depression and manic, and the harsh black and
white world which is the result of borderline personality
disorder.
Is there a recipe for surviving and conquering this
uphill battle? You are about to join my pilgrimage
journey with me to find the answer to this question. I
am warning you to keep you safety belt fastened, because
this is no ordinary journey. A journey that is sown with
grace and love from what I call my ‘water cans’ in a
very large desert. Miracles are not excluded from this
extraordinary journey.
This books is my truth, remembrance and my
personal message of hope from the bottom of my heart.
9
Chapter one
The genesis
The beginning of all beginnings is a tot riding a red
tricycle with a yellow saddle; who would suddenly
stop and stare surprised at the apparent invisible.
Family members were rendered speechless at the child’s
uncommon reaction and would still be discussing it in
years to come.
I am the second eldest of four children, three
daughters and then *Boeta who was the youngest. From
the beginning I was a dreamer. Night and day. I lived
in my own small world and the fact that we grew up in
isolation from other kids, probably contributed to the
situation. It was also in my early school years that we
eventually obtained a black and white television.
Animals especially were my friends. Hedgehogs I
picked up in the fields, my bull terrier with the black spot
on the one eye. My eldest sister with her red hair was a
real spitfire. Due to the big gap in our ages, she deemed
it beneath her to play with us ‘little ones’. Boeta and my
younger sister were best buddies which left me feeling
somewhat isolated at home.
As a little girl, my parents decided to send me to school
at age six and not seven. What a disaster! I wasn’t ready for
school and we had not attended any nursery schools. I was
just not coping at school and the teacher and headmaster
decided that I should try the following year.
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Pilgrimage to Grace
Heartbroken that I had to bid my friends farewell

and carrying the big brown cardboard suitcase, we were
summoned to the principal’s office.
I could sense my mother’s heartache and
disappointment. Things improved somewhat the
following year, although I landed in the weakest class.
The teacher struggled constantly with me as I was left-
handed. Cutting paper and drawing straight lines were
practically impossible for me. But she was a patient and
loving teacher who obligingly did more than her duty.
Above expectations, the next year I landed in the
strongest class. But with an exceptionally strict teacher.
My mother knitted us thick, grey coats for school but
during that winter I became ill with bronchitis. My vocal
chords couldn’t brave all the talking but I was forced to
shakily recite the rhyme: ‘the cock crows, the wind howls,
the goat stands on its toes and steals the farmer’s fowls.’ I
hated the sessions when we had to read and work out the
clock times chronologically.
Dreams were a plaster for my heart and helped me
to master my fear of the strict teacher. It was the mask
behind which the hurtful words of the teacher, who
didn’t understand the circumstances, were hidden. We
lived on a plot a few kilometres out of town, without
any electricity. We were dependent on the coal stove for
ironing and cooking. One morning everything was in a
muddle at home. I couldn’t locate my blue school dress
and an iron couldn’t quickly be switched on. ‘Hannelie,
did you crawl out of the washing basket this morning?’
I was ashamed of my appearance and still remember the
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Chapter One – The Genesis
disdain in the strict teacher’s voice. To top it all, I had

borrowed my friend’s pencil that day which wilfully broke
every time I tried to sharpen it. My hands were soon
smeared by the lead. She stood behind me and pushed
her long, false nail into my back. ‘Put your hands in the
air so that the class can see that they look like, those of a
pig!’ Dreams were my escape route. Sometimes I found
it weird that I could return to school the following day
without that constant fear for the teacher, but that I could
seize it with the courage of a lion. One dream that I still
remember is that my friends and I lived in a farmhouse
and continually pranked the teacher.
Eventually the exhausting second school year passed
and, miracle of miracles, I was promoted to the best class
the following year. For the remainder of my primary
school years, I stayed in the best class. This was like rain
on a burnt down field, allowing me to forget about my
humiliating experience as a six-year-old. Later I realised
and appreciated the principal’s sensible decision.
I was regarded as the class clown up until my last
primary school year. But at home I was the quiet one who
preferred the company of animals. I also felt very close
to God as a child. As a five-year-old, I once dreamt that
my cousins and I stood in a field and, wearing beautiful
party dresses, sang praises to God. Later I often took
a psalm book, climbed into a tree, and sang praises to
God at the top of my voice. I trusted God in my tests and
always believed it was He who helped me through them
so wonderfully.
The December holiday before tackling my last year in
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Pilgrimage to Grace
primary school, I unknowingly underwent a personality

change. My name was not on the list of names for
children to be voted for prefects. So many friends told
me that they would have voted for me. This dampened
my enthusiasm and influenced my transition into a teen.
My friends noticed this after I swallowed back my tears
with difficulty because the world felt so unfair. ‘Hannelie,
what’s wrong with you? You’re not joking around like you
used to anymore, you’ve changed.’
Another person who underwent a dramatic change,
was my father. This happened when my sister and
brother-in-law came to live with us, overturning the
whole family. This deteriorated the relationship between
my parents so much that we left the plot in my first year
in high school to live with my aunt. After a while we
returned to the plot. I still remember mom’s words when
she fetched us from school one day – we could choose to
stay with my aunt or return to the plot. The temptation
was great to stay with my aunt, but for my mom’s sake
we all returned. At first all went well, but my parents
eventually decided to get divorced.
To my little sister, Boeta and I this was truly a change
we had to adapt to. Boeta and my Mom shared a room,
while my little sister and I shared the other one. My space
and animal friends were gone. There was no tree for me
to hide in. I didn’t say anything to my school friends but
one of them, who lived opposite the flat we moved into,
saw us and to my embarrassment, broadcast the fact.
Boeta and my little sister soon found me impossible
to live with and I with them. I worked very hard at my
14
schoolwork and it drove me crazy when they played their

pop music while I preferred the classics. It soon became
my habit to sleep every afternoon in order to escape the
two-bedroomed flat. I then got up in the early hours of
the morning to study while playing my classical music.
This was particularly challenging during the winter
months. I would then switch on a heater and snugly feel
the heat penetrating my cold body. One morning my
feet felt particularly warm in my shoes until a strange
rubbery smell penetrated my thoughts. The soles of my
shoes were busy melting!
I deteriorated into a very shy person, labelled by
others as a pale soul. Three of my friends stuck by me
through good and bad times. But I experienced a threat
to my academics – my vision was growing weaker. Even
moving to the front of the classroom – to the amusement
of the school bullies who had labelled me a pale soul
– didn’t help. The white chalk on green chalkboards
became a mixture of lines. Later I forced myself to listen
carefully to everything the teacher said and made my
own notes. But the tests were a problem – I lost many
marks especially when they were given to us on a
projector. Then I couldn’t see anything at all. As a single
mom, my mother couldn’t afford spectacles for my sister
and me. Eventually the school diagnosed my problem
and we were sent to a government optometrist for eye
tests. He found that we both needed spectacles. However,
we could only choose frames from a limited number.
My friends asked me to show them my spectacles. I will
never forget the intense sympathy I saw in the blue-green
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Pilgrimage to Grace
eyes of my best friend. It took courage to wear them in

class. I was a fragile sixteen-year-old. One of the school
bullies mentioned that my spectacles would be able to fit
onto seven faces. Then and there I decided to only wear
them when absolutely necessary – when writing tests. I
was extremely thankful that I could see properly again
but the mockery continued.
During my second-to-last school year I couldn’t
handle the situation in the small flat any longer. A
desert-like emptiness filled my soul which progressively
increased until I could see no escape. My best friend
suggested I live with them. But my mother soon fetched
me and put me in the hostel for a term. Academically this
was definitely a wrong move, as adapting to the hostel
at this critical stage, was very difficult. As a result, my
schoolwork deteriorated. I just couldn’t concentrate. The
rejection of my father grated at my heart.
After that term I returned to the two-bedroom flat. In
my matric year I swore I would rectify the mess I made. I
passed matric with a number of distinctions.
However, the future didn’t look so bright. My poor
grade eleven marks cost me a bursary. As a result I couldn’t
go to university to study political sciences. I cried many
crocodile tears over this. However, my mother found a
job for me at a printing company where she was working.
I prayed a lot for a change in our circumstances.
There was no news from my father. My cousin offered
to help pay for my studies and gave us a thousand rand
which, at that stage, felt like a great treasure to us. But
I soon realised that it would be insufficient to cover all
16
the expenses and that I would have to study through

UNISA. Up until that time I had never been involved
in a serious relationship. Like a prayer being answered,
I met my future husband, Cobus, who lived in a block
of flats opposite ours. He was my partner at the wedding
of a cousin of mine. His warm, brown doe-eyes soon
overwhelmed my shy personality. For a long time I felt
that my existence meant something to someone. The
empty, bottomless pit of my heart was now filled with
a true, first love. He encouraged me and contributed
financially so that I could afford to rent a flat from my
grandmother and so my prayers were answered. I saw
him during weekends and on Wednesdays, as he was a
foreman in the construction industry. Days in between
were typified by a deep, black feeling. Probably symbolic
of all lovers, I thought. If only I knew...
Our love blossomed like sweet smelling peach
blossoms in early spring and we were married within a
year. How did my past influence our relationship? Every
minute away from him was like a prickly pear thorn in
my flesh, invisible but probing and painful. I ventured the
road to work every day on a pink bicycle but after moving
to a townhouse in another part of town, this method of
transport was unsuitable. ‘Resign and stay home.’ I didn’t
mind giving up my career to offer everything to my new
love.
The role of housewife was great at first, but days when
he wasn’t home, were empty and lonely. Radio council
and Sagrys, our African Grey parrot, kept me occupied
and became my company. I lost contact with my school
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Pilgrimage to Grace
friends. Some of my colleagues popped in now and then

for a while. Without realising it, religion became an
obsession with me. Gospel music filled the air. Especially
‘Don’t pass me by, oh Lord,’ was my favourite. Pots and
pans were transformed into musical instruments and the
empty pit syndrome was once again (temporarily?) gone.
My sister-in-law booked a spot for us at a conference
for women where approximately a thousand women from
across South Africa lived their religious convictions. Oh
God, don’t pass me by this time! My heart calls out to
You to once again satisfy my barren areas with quenching
rain! I knock and seek continuously. Are You at the door
this time to open it for me? I literally pined for God and
His Fatherly acceptance and love. Pined for the dark and
rotten part of my heart, left empty by a father, to be filled
once again with fertile soil.
To prepare for this conference I resolved to carve
away at myself so that I could meet with God. It would
be holy if I did. I wanted to give myself over to God
unconditionally. The Bible became my text book and the
conference was like an exam I was preparing myself for.
While faithfully playing my own orchestra every day,
I was convinced that the Holy Spirit was my educator
and mentor during my preparation for my holy meeting
with God. Where everything used to circle around my
husband, religion now filled the empty hours. This
condition unobtrusively began to dominate my life. But
I was gripped with the obsession to really know God and
to meet Him at the conference. I felt like a small worm
before the omnipotence of God. I feared that I would be
18
unprepared at the conference and that God would reject

me because I wasn’t hot nor cold, but lukewarm.
To avert this fear we attended all the church services,
all the prayer meetings – I even forced my husband to
attend when he was ill. ‘It is Satan who wants to prevent
us from attending the services. Don’t give in to him.’
Eventually the time to attend the conference arrived.
Eagerly I packed my case and my sister-in-law and I took
to the road in their old Ford. I was very quiet. I prayed. I
begged. Don’t pass me by, oh Lord!
Not now – I have placed my whole heart, all my time,
my love, my hope in this conference. Don’t pass me by!
Please notice this small worm!
I was speechless to see so many women together in
one place. All the fasting also caused me to have lost a lot
of weight and I was too thin. Once there, I only ate fruit
– I was too excited about the wonderful meeting with
God that would take place. That day of my encounter is
etched into my brain forever. We were sitting towards
the back of the hall. The preacher invited people to come
forward but because of my bashfulness, I just couldn’t
bring myself to respond. But the people in our row all got
up and pushed and pushed so that I eventually landed up
right in front of the preacher.
‘Today God is going to perform three miracles.’ The
first is lost in time, but the second miracle was that a
woman whose one leg was significantly shorter than the
other, and that the leg would grow back to the same size
as the other. And the third... ‘God is now performing an
eye operation on someone’. Suddenly the world around
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Pilgrimage to Grace
me turned dark and I was ‘lost in the Holy Ghost’. An

uncontrollable laugh bubbled from my mouth. God has
not passed me by! I have not been rejected – I am not a
small worm anymore, but the child of our King as from
today. I threw my spectacles aside. I will never need you
again! Never, ever again! God knows about the suffering I
endured at school because of the spectacles that could fit
seven faces! He knows about all the marks I was denied
because I couldn’t see! I am also important to God! The
feeling that I was then a someone, a person with identity,
gave birth to stars in my eyes.
After that our experiences were crowned with a
baptism in a pool. The next day I got up where I was
sitting at the back of the hall and testified about what God
had done for me. ‘God has performed an operation on
my eyes. I cannot see very well yet but it was an operation
and the bandages haven’t been removed yet.’ That was my
testimony in front of a thousand women! I, bashful and
withdrawn, could do it! I couldn’t contain the bubbles
flowing from my soul. It reminded me of the gospel song,
‘It bubbles in me’. A person also came to me and spoke in
tongues. I could understand it. God made me wonderful
promises that day.
On our return, people couldn’t believe I was the same
person. They couldn’t believe that I was able to testify
before so many people! To me, they hardly existed – I
was in seventh heaven because God had done so much
more for me than I expected – it was just a question of
time. Time and, yes, faith and a holy life.
My husband was very happy to have me home again.
20
Overcome with bliss he folded me in his arms and

together we cried tears of joy over the eye operation I
had undergone. Things had changed irrevocably. I had to
testify! I had to share the joy in my heart with everyone!
And I literally did just that. Without a licence, without
transport, on my pink bicycle, I made it my mission
to testify day after day. Although my eyes were not
completely healed, I believed that they would be and I
testified that God had healed them because I believed
it with all my heart. That was exactly what I testified.
The pastor couldn’t speak about the miracle enough
– especially when he saw how thick my spectacles
were. During services in church I would take musical
instruments from him and joyfully sing to God. God was
all I needed. My heart felt so swollen in my chest that the
space needed for it felt too small.
On a certain day I was on my pink bike again and
starting riding. I prayed to God to show me where people
were who needed to hear my testimony. Suddenly it felt
as if the front wheel of my bike turned and stopped. Aha,
this house needs to hear my testimony. I knocked and an
elderly lady opened the door. I testified to her but while
I was still speaking, a man with just one arm suddenly
appeared. Pray for him! Pray for a miracle! ‘Your arm
will grow again. God has seen your heart’. ‘No, his arm
will never grow again.’ ‘One must only have faith. What
happened to your arm?’ ‘I lost it in a train accident.’
Then they invited me into their home. I prayed and fell
down, filled with the Holy Spirit. Sustained, I left the
house, thankful that I had been able to fulfil my mission
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Pilgrimage to Grace
– I had testified and now a miracle was going to take

place. I believed it. With all four chambers of my heart.
It was afternoon. The friendly sun started to set. I sang
with joy on my bike. But suddenly I realised that I was
lost. I realised I was far from home. I asked someone for
directions. Along the way I came across a man who asked
me to testify in their home. I eagerly agreed but still felt
lost. We moved further and further away from my house.
Suddenly I got scared, but thought immediately that it
was Satan trying to prevent me from testifying. Suddenly
the man disappeared. Tired and thirsty I decided to ask
for help at a homestead on a farm. ‘What are you doing
here?’ I showed the man the cards with Bible verses on
that I deposited into mailboxes. ‘I testify but have lost my
way.’ The man then offered to take me home.
When I reached our home, my husband was crazy with
worry. The veil of night had already closed over the sun
and heaven was enlivened by the lights of God’s angels.
Speechless about the day, I didn’t relate to my husband
what really happened. The only important thing was my
testimony and the miracle that was busy happening to
me. Every morning I waited for the Voice of God. Then
He would answer me from His holy dwelling. I literally
heard His voice. ‘Hannelie, I love you. You are going to
do very important work for me.’ The most wonderful
moment was when I heard angel choirs singing. ‘If your
feet are imbedded in an eternal rock, you will never fall.’
It was a beautiful song. When my ears started buzzing
with the presence of God, I knew He was about to speak
to me. Every spiritual book I could lay my hands on, I
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devoured. Every second of the clock I tried to devote to

Him and was upset by people who were concerned with
insignificant daily things while they should be preparing
themselves for God’s Kingdom.
Our window and door frames were all anointed with
oil. No evil spirit would enter our home! One of the
spiritual books advised this. I continued to testify. One
day I decided to testify to our preacher about the miracle
that had befallen me. When I left through the garden
gate, I couldn’t see properly to close the gate and could
feel his concern. Still the message was engraved in my
brain that I should remember it was an operation – not
an immediate process.
23
Chapter two
*Weskoppies
The seasons quickly superseded one another like the
sands of an hourglass filtering irretrievably through
its narrow little tunnel. The light was replaced by the
darkness of a deep, dark well – a well of guilt because
I had ‘lied’ about my eyes being healed. Did I not have
enough faith? Was I not holy enough? Did I not spend
enough time with God? The questions were legion but
rhetorical.
After a year our little girl, Charmaine, was born.
Perfect, with blonde hair. She was one and a half years
old when we decided to complete our family and we
were blessed with a son, Kosie. With the support of my
husband, we even looked up my father. He was surprised
but ignored the situation and chatted about irrelevant
things. Although afterwards he often visited us for meals
and also attended church services with us. It felt as if the
sores of the past had eventually stopped festering and
that healing scabs were starting to form over the previous
gaping wounds.
Meanwhile I managed to get my driver’s licence but,
while I could previously testify freely, everything was
now a web of guilt as well as untreated post-partum
depression. I progressively but unconsciously began to
isolate myself from reality. The web was growing around
me as I unknowingly became the prey of depression.
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Chapter Two – Weskoppies
Our pastor’s interpretation at a Wednesday prayer

evening was that I was a tree with leaves. A fruitless tree,
with only leaves, none of the Holy Spirit’s fruits? How
could that be? I love God, believe with all my heart that
I have found Him. I also possess love. How can a person
then say that I don’t bear any fruit? It made no sense and
I fell even deeper into the well of depression.
Our son was by then a year and a few months old and
his sister nearly three. We decided to join some friends
for a fishing trip on that coming Saturday. I couldn’t sleep
at all that night while making notes in my diary. ‘Every
member of the church is important. Some are like Vicks
for painful ears, others like the little cotton swabs.’ I linked
everything to religion – even everyday events. I woke my
husband up very early that morning. ‘Listen to the songs
of the birds.’ It was early spring and the butterfly had
finally wrestled its way out of its cocoon of depression.
‘Please, just stay in bed a little longer!’ But my husband’s
words were like oil on fire and I jumped out of bed so as
not to waste any part of the day. Eventually the people
we were going with arrived. Today, today was the day I
was going to be a fisher of men for God again. At the
dam I felt lightheaded but paid it no attention. At times it
actually felt as if a cement block was resting on my head
but my vision for the day had to be accomplished.
I stood at the dam and called all the children. ‘See
how God is going to catch all the big fish today – lawyers,
doctors and all the learned.’ With that I continually cast
my rod and then reeled in. On our way home I had some
water in my mouth and on spitting it out through the
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Pilgrimage to Grace
*bakkie’s open window, I said: ‘God has declared that

a person must not be lukewarm otherwise we will be
cast out.’ The expensive sunscreen was also thrown out
through the window. God is our protector. He created
the sun.
Time did not exist, only my mission. At home I
refused to get out of the bakkie. Perplexed, my husband
took me to my mother. It was our time, God’s and mine.
People didn’t exist anymore. It was only God and I and
my eyes that were going to get better.
‘Look, the streets have turned to gold – the new
Jerusalem!’ On reaching my mother I once again refused
to get out of the bakkie and locked all the doors. ‘My
Father alone will fetch me from the bakkie.’ I heard
pleasant laughter – you see, God didn’t disappoint me.
And I opened the door. I was taken up in His arms
and oh, it felt so good! Everything one would expect
from a real father! True love for his children. All my
dreams were then reality. I was lain down on a bed and
afterwards realised it was my stepfather! I had a very
good relationship with him. He always came up for me
and was a wonderful grandfather to his grandchildren.
But it bothered me that it wasn’t really God. The answer
my brain came up with, was that He really had His
chosen ones who really supported one another. Only
genuine chosen ones, ones without worldly ‘plastic’ that
pollute their hearts and don’t possess hypocritical love
like other people.
My family worried about what to do with me. That
day I left the children to do what they wanted to. They
26
tore my photographs out of my photo album and flushed

them down the toilet. The cushions from the settee were
strewn around. Round and round the settee I walked.
Restless. Then I lay down again with a weird feeling
in my head. Only to jump up again and continue the
routine. My husband came home at lunchtime, finding
everything in a mess. That afternoon I went to the pastor
and asked him for money for diesel for the bakkie! He
looked at the gauge in the bakkie and said: ‘No, there’s
enough diesel in.’ I took off my shoes and walked around
in the church. Back home I took a brick and smashed my
glasses into pieces. I sat in front of the television to see
Jesus. It IS true! My eyes ARE healed and I am not going
to be unfaithful by wearing my glasses.
The next day my stepfather took me to see a
psychologist. The ‘new Jerusalem’ had descended from
heaven for me. Everything looked wonderful and new
and golden in the new Jerusalem. I read the certificates
of the psychologist out loud, but they didn’t seem like
ordinary certificates to me. They were codes of honour in
the new Jerusalem. He had to be one of God’s important
ministers.
The psychologist referred me to a psychiatrist. In the
psychiatrist’s room, ‘God’ told me that the vertical line
I have between ‘Him’ and me is great but that I need
to work on the horizontal line that represents human
relationships. This I explained furiously with my
arms. I was very thirsty and drank a lot of water. The
psychiatrist referred me to Weskoppies of which I was
totally unaware.
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Of the long trip to Weskoppies I was blissfully

unaware, the psychiatrist’s medication saw to that. On
arrival, I can remember all the people with white coats
asking me questions. I took on ‘God’s’ identity and told
them I was thousands of years old. Afterwards Boeta was
very cross when he told me how they had laughed loudly
at me.
A Professor who had a gold-capped tooth, which
shone every time he smiled, also pelted me with
questions. Meanwhile my family had left but, caught up
in the moment, I wasn’t sorrowful – I had a ‘calling’ I had
to complete.
I was admitted to the well-known and dreaded ward
42. My new name was Susan – formulated from my birth
names. Like Abram’s wife, Sarah, changed. A new name
for a new-born person. That evening I turned the place
upside down. I could not sleep at all. There was a very
kind sister who took me under her wing.
The next day I was given three tablets to drink – one
for the ‘Father’, one for the ‘Son’ and one for the ‘Holy
Ghost’, I explained to myself. Meanwhile the Professor
phoned my mother and informed her that I was showing
symptoms of Bipolar Depression I. The symptoms of the
manic phase are: extreme religious reactions, insufficient
sleep, extreme energy. My mother was relieved to be able
to put a name to my symptoms and that I wasn’t crazy
but could be cured with medication.
The Professor visited me regularly. He executed test
upon test and again asked question upon question. I can
remember the thick files he brought with him every time.
28
But I knew that my ‘Dad’ would fetch me. They

have thrown me in a jail and ‘He’ will bring them to
book personally. In such a manic state, time had no
meaning, I lost interest in people, all that mattered
was for me to complete my mission. To be God’s
favourite child here on earth for a short while – as He
had promised to fetch me!
My family visited as often as they could, but our
hometown was hundreds of kilometres from Weskoppies.
As my mother travelled with two small children the
whole way, then again my husband. They brought me
bags and bags of foodstuffs. But we weren’t allowed to
keep anything with us. When I sometimes asked for some
of it, I was told it was finished. I remember especially
my stiflingly small room with its urine-soaked mattress
in ward 42. ‘Difficult’ patients were locked up in there.
I sang ‘Amazing Grace’ just to make it habitable. The
sisters fetched me, saying: ‘Come on out you tall, scraggy
entrail!’ I threatened them with the only things that I
could relate to: my pair of ‘Jesus’ sandals. ‘My Dad will
punish you!’ I screamed at them.
During the afternoons we sat outside in a small, open
rectangular area. When the sun shone down on me I felt
like the chosen one. One could already feel the cold of
the coming winter.
There, in the open arena, one of the patients began
doing beautiful ballet. She had a scar across her throat.
Suddenly she stopped and another patient encouraged
her to continue. We found it beautiful. ‘I am not your
bloody circus animal!’ she answered angrily and sat to
29
Pilgrimage to Grace
one side. The sisters told me I look like princess Diana

(I still don’t know why). That was the year she died.
However, I looked terrible. The reflection of my face in
the mirror showed dark circles around sunken eyes, a
pale complexion and matt brown eyes. I think they lied.
Maybe it was their way to make me feel better, but it
had the opposite effect on me. Once again I didn’t feel
attractive enough.
Eventually, after about two weeks, the manic
depression diminished. I was furious with and
disappointed in God and definitely in me. How could I
imagine I was God!
I was transferred to a new ward. One patient quoted
the following words of a song: ‘Don’t fly too high, little
bird’. That is the first thing I remember about the new
ward. That was after she heard my story which I told to
everyone.
One afternoon during the rest hour, a patient was
very restless. Still in my manic land, I gave a lecture
about sleeping techniques. Start with your feet. Feel how
your feet relax. Continue up your body until you reach
your head. The patient was very impressed which really
boosted my manic ego. I am still practicing my mission –
I am helping people! During the rest periods, my longing
for my family and the uncertain knowledge about the
length of my stay there, became unbearable. This is surely
what it feels like to be a prisoner. It was far worse than the
two-bedroomed flat where we used to live. There is no
freedom here. You cannot decide when to sleep or what
to eat. To try and fill the empty hours meaningfully, I
30
deliberately mixed with the other patients, thinking it

would shorten the long hours. To help pass the time,
I turned to my favourite pastime, reading. But it was
an impossible task. The letters drowned in long, black
gyrating rivers that carried no meaning.
In this ‘better’ ward, medical students also visited
me. One of the questions they asked was, if I received a
letter not addressed to me, would I open it? Even today I
wonder why this question! One student mentioned that
I wasn’t as violent as the others. Immediately false hope
flared in my heart – maybe I was incorrectly diagnosed
as Bipolar I!
I improved slowly. I had many and regular sessions
with the Professor. He continually assured me that
everything would turn out well. He strongly advised me
against staying a housewife as I would only stagnate. He
also advised me to return to a traditional church.
Eventually, after a whole month, I could return home.
My stepdad asked me what I wanted to do. ‘Have a
*braai!’ So my family held a braai for me to celebrate. We
all cried tears of joy. My mother assured me that even if
I had to stay there forever, they would not forget me. I
felt like a prisoner set free. I could sleep when I wanted
to, eat what I wanted to and the best of everything was
to have my husband and children back again. But things
had changed irrevocably. I had lost my status of being
my mother’s clever girl, or that was what it felt like to me.
My religious issues had not been resolved yet. Everything
required an effort to fulfil –from the simplest movement
to great concentration. But I had one single, prominent
31
Pilgrimage to Grace
aim: I was going to find a job! But who in the world

would give a person who looks like a zombie and suffers
from this illness, a job?
32
Chapter three
Employment
In spite of my lack of enthusiasm and faith, I sent my
CV that didn’t contain much – my fairly good matric
results and less than a year’s experience – to various
agents without much hope. I remember the time that
I sat leaning against the garage door, even wishing that
I could be someone’s housekeeper. All that mattered
was that I had a job. It definitely felt as if I wasn’t able
to manage anything better than that while suffering
from this dreadful disease. My mother tried her best to
relieve the burden of the illness at that time, and find me
a domestic housekeeper. That caused me to feel more
worthless than ever – I couldn’t manage my own home!
Even my family asked me how I could ever manage a
job while looking and speaking like a zombie. That was
like a punch in the gut – aimed to hurt, causing my
hope to shrink even further. But when I stared at my
alter ego in the mirror, I realised this was the truth –
pallid eyes staring into space causing me to look fuzzy
and dumb. I felt stupid, stupid! My husband tried his
best to make me believe otherwise but my reflection in
the mirror didn’t lie.
Shortly afterwards, an agency unexpectedly phoned
me for an interview. A company was looking for a
secretary. Nervously I prepared myself for the interview.
Would they be able to see I was ill? What should I do
33
Pilgrimage to Grace
– I looked so dim-witted! Above all expectations, the

interview was successful and I thought I had proved all
the prophets of doom wrong! I could hardly sleep from
nervousness and excitement – what if they find out?
Nobody would employ a mentally ill person!
Early on Monday morning I arrived at work wearing
my best white church outfit with my most hating high-
heeled shoes. A secretary needs to be dressed neatly.
The owner said that everybody needed to start at the
bottom and asked if I had a problem with that. I thought
it strange but realised it made sense. That same morning
we were all transported to a town about 150km away. We
were dropped in a street and instructed to sell pens! That,
wearing my hateful shoes! I walked up and down each
street. Well, I was not capable of doing anything better
so I should be satisfied and I enthusiastically started
selling pens. If that was what I had to do (at least it’s
better than being a housekeeper), then I’d do it to the
best of my ability. We arrived home late that night and
my tears of disappointment were very close. My husband
was furious and immediately drove to the company to
get a hold of the owner. His cool answer was that that
was what he’d meant by starting at the bottom. Then
and there my husband forbade me to return to the firm.
At first I resented him for this decision because where
would I find another job, who else would see their way
clear to appoint me?
The days passed slowly and it became an obsession
with me to find another job. Meanwhile we had to drive
hundreds of kilometres for my weekly appointments at
34
Chapter Three – Employment
Weskoppies. The Professor continually assured me that

things would improve. I rejected this. I would never find
another job but on the off chance that I did, I’d never be
able to keep up – just look at my appearance. Everybody,
including my family, promised they would help me find
something, but I didn’t trust that. They would keep me
from finding a job on purpose to keep my stress levels
low, I summarised the situation. The actual truth was
that they were only trying to protect me but at that stage
I couldn’t appreciate that.
One day a phone call brought good news: I had
another interview! I arrived, filled with hope. The job
was that of a receptionist at a garage. What made it a
successful interview were my good matric results. Later
one of the partners said that I looked thick but on paper
I was perfect! I had found a job – although it was at a
garage amongst car parts and oil cans, it was better
than trudging the streets selling pens! I was in seventh
heaven. I had also decided never to tell them about my
illness. Later it proved to be the correct decision. I was
enthusiastic about my work. When there was a call for
someone I would run to fetch them! My illness became
less of a problem, and I was only taking Lithium at that
stage. But my family remained somewhat of a problem.
Other people as well. They continuously told me not to
stress, not to work so hard, did I want to get ill again?
They were words well meant, but left me feeling restricted
and worried about when the next incident would occur.
But actually, these were only the watering cans that stood
at the ready like soldiers, waiting to attack when the
35
Pilgrimage to Grace
droughts or floods occurred again. I quickly advanced

into a dependable person through devoted, hard work.
Sometimes my workday started before seven o’clock and
I hardly ever took a lunch break. I did general office work
but also played postman and banker and often fetched
car parts. As time went by, I learnt a lot about cars and
used to provide the mechanics with the correct parts,
ready to use. To me it was a challenge to always order the
parts accurately, fetch them and put them at the ready for
each mechanic.
Religion was still important to me. I kept hoping
for a miracle, but it wasn’t an obsession anymore. We
had returned to my traditional church as recommended
by the Professor. He advised me not to attend any
disorderly services as this could activate the manic
component of my illness again. My medication was
reduced to a mere 250mg Lithium a day! I definitely
didn’t feel like a zombie any longer and also received
wonderful compliments from clients. One client even
told one of the partners that she hadn’t seen such a
willing worker in a long time. My family was also
satisfied that I wasn’t overdoing it and that keeping busy
at a job was definitely a good thing for me.
Three years at the garage passed quickly. The
symptoms of my illness were under control and I took my
daily pill conscientiously. One afternoon I fetched some
car parts from a large spares shop. There I experienced
a personal miracle. A person, whom I later discovered
was the manager, summoned me to his office. I don’t
know where he had heard about me. Perhaps he saw me
36
fetching some spare parts – sometimes even with oil-

soiled hands. Perhaps some of the salesmen mentioned
this to him. Unexpectedly an important door opened
for me and in my mind’s eye I saw the Professor’s shiny,
gleaming crown – ‘I told you everything would turn out
well!’ These are words and an image that are etched into
my brain. An image that encourages when one stands on
the summit of a mountain only to realise a bigger and
steeper mountain lies ahead. He is a great Professor who
had a great influence on my life.
In the manager’s office I was offered a job on the spot.
My duties would be to enter stock, man the switchboard
and take turns as a cashier. It was a very difficult decision
to make the move. I was once again worried about what
would happen if they found out about my illness. But
eventually I accepted.
The new job provided its own distinctive stress and
many challenges, the biggest of which was to move from
a small firm to a large chain store. After a few days my
old job phoned and subtly asked if I would consider
returning to them. I decided to keep to my decision. The
one partner said with dry humour that a cockroach can
adapt to any environment!
As the manager had appointed me personally, he was
perhaps rather merciless towards me. I was looking for
the code of a specific part and, at my wits’ end, asked
the storeman’s help. He advised me that I could type it
in under any code if it is the same kind of item. As this
person had been working at the job for many years, I did
not doubt his word. Unfortunately it was the incorrect
37
Pilgrimage to Grace
code. The manager was very upset with me and told me

in no uncertain terms that I would be dismissed if I was
going to do such a bad job.
I felt myself shrinking with embarrassment and fear
– fear that I would once again feel useless and futile if I
lost my job. I was convinced that was what was going to
happen. It must have been the wrong decision to accept
this job – I was definitely not fit for this task. ‘Not good
enough’ thought terrorizing my toughts. However, I
became so busy that I didn’t have time to dwell on these
thoughts and it soon blew over – reduced to a molehill,
that which I had at first thought was a Mount Everest.
One day a colleague mentioned that he wished I
would be a sharp worker every day. There were days that
I felt very, very ill. Especially when the black night subtly
spread its net for me and I had to fight to escape being
its prey. I struggled and floundered and for a long time,
managed to escape in time. The words of my colleague
immediately drew a parallel to my illness and I decided
to discontinue my medication. Then some days I would
not appear ‘fresh’, while other days ‘dull’! I informed my
doctor and he undertook to inject me immediately if
necessary. It therefore didn’t seem as if I was taking any
risks – it just took one injection. I was released from the
label of medication and from looking dense and dull.
Initially all went well. I was quick and very good at
my job. The same manager told me I should never bury
my talents. I ascribed his words to the fact that I was off
my medication. I was convinced that I had made the
correct decision. But eventually the manic factor gained
38
the upper hand. I incessantly started speaking faster and

faster. Everything went too slowly for me. Religion once
again became an obsession. My job started suffering
because of it – I would for example inform clients over
the phone that the large iron gates of heaven were closing
and soon it would be too late to enter. The safe’s keys
became the keys of heaven to me and David himself was
the guard.
I was taken home where the consequences became
very bad. I climbed onto the roof of our garage. I spoke
in the name of God. I was the general and my soldiers
stood around me on the grass. After what seemed like
an eternity, my husband coaxed me into climbing down
from the roof only to climb into the barbed-wire fence!
‘Must I fight my way back again?’ I was Jesus returned
to earth to walk the path to Golgotha again. No incident
was too insignificant to be transformed into religious
occurrences. Everything I uttered originated from the
Bible which was my manual and guide.
39
Chapter four
Return to Weskoppies
Our doctor was called upon immediately to inject me.
But unfortunately it had no effect on me. I was once again
stationed in the Second Coming of Christ. I climbed
right to the top of my mother’s gymnasium apparatus.
Jesus and I were riding on the back of Pegasus. Nobody
could restrain my energy.
Every simple, daily incident was transformed into the
Second Coming. I did not eat or sleep at all. The radio
station was radio Jerusalem broadcasting the coming of
Jesus. I took off my wedding ring, gave it to my husband
and told him I was the bride of Jesus. I re-programmed
my mother’s computer according to the Second Coming.
In desperation my mother let me be. Outside in the sun
I felt even better – I was with Jesus in Jim Reeve’s ‘Secret
Garden’. One of my aunts followed me everywhere to
ensure that I would not hurt myself.
Eventually my family reached the decision to take
me to see a psychiatrist who immediately referred me to
Weskoppies once again. I know they tried their best to
protect me from it, but unfortunately there was no other
alternative. I was restless all the way and I, who hardly
ever used foul language, started swearing like a sailor! I
climbed over the seat, trying to attract the attention of
my brother, who was driving. It was only through the
grace of God that we reached Pretoria safely.
40
Chapter Four – Return to Weskoppies
On reaching the hospital, I jumped out of the car,

grabbed a stick and started hitting my husband! He was
shocked and despondently tried to settle me. I sat down
on the ground like a stubborn donkey, refusing to get up.
I wildly and ferociously fought against returning to ‘jail’.
I even bit him when he tried to defend himself. Later I
could relive that antic but at that moment it was definitely
not funny! Perhaps it was the result of the releasing of
my anger because I have realized that they have dared to
bring me to that place. Even in my manic state of mind
I recognised the place and the tension increased to a
breaking point in me. After that initial anger I calmed
down somewhat and was admitted. My mother couldn’t
believe that I had suddenly calmed down so much and
told the sister that they might have made a mistake in
returning me to hospital. But once again I was admitted.
Once again ward 42! Before admitting to the institution
I was crossing all my personal borders. I had dyed my
hair post box red and I had changed from an introvert to
the centre of attention and that during my office end-of-
year-function!
I remained in Weskoppies for two weeks. This
time without the assistance of the Professor and was
diagnosed mistakenly as a schizophrenic. Years later
this haunted me still but was absolutely rejected by the
diagnosis of many professional people. There were still
patients in Weskoppies who had been there during my
first episode. I really sympathised with one patient in
particular. Nobody ever visited her. Every day she asked
the sister whether it was Tuesday, the day when her
41
Pilgrimage to Grace
mother was meant to visit. It was never a Tuesday for

her – the sisters always answered that it was Wednesday.
Even the ballerina was still there, but this time she didn’t
dance.
I was back on Lithium once again and I promised
my family that I would not try to fight the fight without
my medication again. Everything was in reverse. My
thoughts and movements were slow again. It was
especially terrible to face the doctor and minister again.
Also to learn about everything I had done, without being
conscious of it. Singing is definitely not one of my strong
points, but I learnt that I had performed my own ‘concert’
at the church! This was told to me by my doctor at a later
stage. I was terribly embarrassed.
With all my sick leave used up, things were rather
complicated at work. It felt as if I had to win everyone’s
trust again and my illness was a secret no longer. I
convinced myself that I couldn’t stay there and that I had
to find another job. Maybe my shameful actions would
then be forgotten. The most difficult part of all was to
overcome the feeling of being a complete failure as
employee, mother and wife. My family tried to protect me
against everything that might have a negative influence
on my emotional welfare.
Religion especially was a very complicated and
delicate matter. I struggled with questions to which
nobody could give me satisfactory answers. Everybody
always declared that religion was a personal matter. Had
God forsaken me? Why? What was I doing wrong? Why
did I need to take daily medication that had a negative
42
Chapter Four – Return to Weskoppies
effect on me? Why? Why? I became terribly despondent.

People even said I should accept the fact that I had reached
the summit of my abilities! Perhaps the reason was to
fire up my fighting spirit again. In my own judgement,
I would never describe myself as a quitter. However, it
felt as if the burden of my illness and the fact that I had
to accept taking chronic medication, were disrupting my
whole life once again. My little ones also felt the burden
of an ‘absent’ and sick mother. My family was very
compassionate and did not reproach me for having failed
without medication. But it could not restrain the dense
feelings within me – nor fill the emptiness of the barren
desert of my heart where my Father and God were meant
to reside. Once again I experienced the feeling of having
been cast out of heaven and forced to live a humdrum
existence on earth. Every day I looked right past my
two little ones. I pitied myself when I saw the worried
look in my husband’s brown eyes. My firm declared that
I was welcome to return to my job but they would be
getting someone from head office for me who was adept
in human resources.
Owing to my emotional state of mind I was forever
in tears about the most insignificant things. The person
from head office told me I looked great when I wasn’t in
tears! However, nobody could find fault with my work.
Not even the manager of human resources. But he did
say that my personality would have to adapt to my job. I
reflected upon this and came to the conclusion that I was
still the same person.
43
Chapter five
A dream starts
to realise
While in the service of the chain store, I had a very
meaningful dream. I dreamt I was at a ceremony where
there was a red carpet. Many people were present,
including my family. It was something like a graduation
ceremony. I was guest of honour at the ceremony and
somebody placed a medal around my neck. The next
morning I told my husband about the dream, but he
laughed and said I would never be able to achieve
something like that and I should forget about it. What
would I, a receptionist, be able to study for anyway?
Besides, I had reached the limit of my abilities, hadn’t
I? People even doubted that I would find employment
and now this dream? Should I believe that God has other
objectives for me? No, it was asking too much to believe
in such a dream. I laughed like Abraham’s Sarah from the
Bible. I’d been out of school for eleven years already. I’d
been admitted to Weskoppies twice, of all places! I was
probably a dolt by now. Blunted. But the dream must
have been stored somewhere deep in the secret place of
my heart.
Meanwhile, the lady who was working at my previous
job – the motor garage – had resigned. The owner asked
me whether I would consider returning to them, as he’d
heard that I was unhappy in my present situation. I
44
Chapter Five – A dream starts to realise
accepted his offer.

At first things went very well. I took over some of
the accountant’s duties and really enjoyed it. I wasn’t
responsible for motorcar parts as I was before. One day
while I was busy on the computer, it was as if someone
was asking me how I would like to do that type of work
all the time. I realised, if possible, it would be wonderful.
But I also classified it as ludicrous. What would I do the
rest of the day? I would never become so important as to
be able to do this all day long.
The idea crossed my mind to register for a diploma
at a correspondence school. The dream did inspire me!
But it was a wild idea. I would then be able to complete
books as far as the trial balance stage. I had already paid
the deposit before realising that such a diploma wasn’t
worth much. After a big struggle, I managed to cancel
my registration and have my deposit refunded.
My employer however, was against the idea of me
furthering my studies. He made it quite clear that I was
only pursuing money and would put my family through
a very difficult time. But the die was cast. From Unisa
I found out that I would have to register for BCompt
for my aims. Nobody except my husband supported
this idea of mine. Everybody kept my illness in mind
and the stress it would cause me (and at that stage I
also thought that I wouldn’t make it). But the seed had
germinated under my husband’s support and the water
from my dream which was nourishment for a very
delicate plant.
One Friday afternoon events caused a turning point at
45
Pilgrimage to Grace
work. A vehicle that was being worked on, fell off its lift.
On Fridays we all received a small bonus if everything
went well that week. Suddenly it was my fault that the
accident had occurred and I had to forfeit my bonus!
That was the last straw. Quite ‘incidentally’ a newspaper
was lying on my desk. I immediately turned to the job
advertisement section. There was an accounting firm
looking for a clerk! But the clerk had to be at least
a second year student. I was going to take a chance, I
decided – although I didn’t have much hope. At that
stage I hadn’t even registered at Unisa.
Miraculously, an accountant contacted me early
the following week and arranged an interview. At the
interview I pulled out all the stops to impress them. The
manager characterised me as a definite extrovert! Once
again, my good school marks were the decisive factor,
even though I had all the wrong subjects!
My employer heard about this and was furious! He
summoned me to his office and accused me of being
dishonest and that he would never be able to trust me
again. He also dismissed me on the spot. I will never
forget the feeling of desperation I experienced. I didn’t
yet know whether I would be appointed as an accountant
clerk and now I had no job at all! That’s the result of
trusting a dream!
That day I had the five thousand rand deposit for
Unisa in my jeans’ pocket. I left the workshop in blinding
disappointment and took to the streets. I eventually
ended up at my mother’s and she fetched my car from
the shop. I went to Unisa and registered as a BCompt
46
student. Then I went to the accounting firm and told

them what had happened. I could not believe my ears!
They asked me if I wanted to start immediately! I will
forever be thankful to them for affording me that chance
in life. But everything went wrong on that first day.
Through sheer nervousness I couldn’t even add numbers
on a calculator! I was sent to an audit, but got completely
lost. That evening everyone told me I was heading for a
catastrophe. The work was too difficult for me and I’d get
ill again. I had never been so uncertain of myself. But I
decided to stick it out and start over again.
The next day I did manage to find the audit. It was
a book shop that the people were managing from their
garage which was probably the main reason why I got
lost. I put my all into it and when the owner came to see
if things were progressing, he was satisfied.
I was very impetuous when I registered at Unisa. I
decided to take seven first year modules in the first
semester. That feeling I got when I received my first
study material! Was I doing the right thing? Maybe I was
trying to ride a bucking horse that would shove me off
mercilessly! That December holiday I put all my effort
into my studies and completed two modules before the
firm reopened. The owner couldn’t believe his ears when
I told him!
Gradually my confidence increased. I was definitely
the most willing clerk they had ever employed and
they praised me for it. In the beginning it was difficult
to convince the owner that I would manage after the
mistakes I had made, but even that gradually changed
47
Pilgrimage to Grace
when I started showing progress. I studied extremely

hard. It was a challenge to study again, eleven years
after writing matric and that without any help at all! I
got up every morning at three o’clock. When we visited
somewhere during weekends, I took my books with me.
My husband had to play cook. I cannot deny that it was
difficult with the children. But the door to my study was
always open and I tried to keep to my studies after they
had gone to bed. Sometimes we pretended that they were
my little students and I was teaching them.
However, I could not manage the volume of
my studies while working full-time and decided
to postpone one module to the second semester. It
was soon time for my first examinations. I was very,
very nervous but resigned myself to the fact that my
assignment marks were very good. It was torture
waiting for the results. My excitement was too great to
jot down the marks telephonically so I drove to Unisa
to fetch them personally. I had passed all six modules
with distinctions in five of them! And suddenly I was
the hero of the day. Things went exceptionally well at
work and I think everyone was surprised by my good
results. Boeta surprised me by having a large bouquet
of roses delivered to my job, especially for me – seeing
that I had studied through the many braaivleis evenings
and visits we shared.
With renewed courage, I immediately registered
for the rest of my first-year modules. But it was a great
challenge to start studying again. I had only taken maths
up to the end of grade nine, so I was forced to take and
48
pass an extra module before carrying on with my second

year studies. I had no idea how to bridge the enormous
gap, so I found some matric text books and struggled
through them.
But once again, Lady Luck was smiling down on me.
Our neighbours heard about my studies and introduced
me to a maths teacher who was living across the road
from us! She was really a good Samaritan who didn’t even
charge me for the lessons I received every Wednesday
evening. It helped me tremendously although it stayed a
struggle because of my backlog and the limited time we
had at our disposal. Besides that module, I also registered
for another four for the second half of the year.
My personal motto was: ‘Work as if everything
depends on you. Pray as if everything depends on God!’
I wrote this down in every year’s diary. I remember the
happy day when I received my own office at work! I
invited God to move in with me and to support me in
everything I did. But I found that some of my colleagues
were like vultures just waiting for the day I would make a
mistake. I was happy and popular with my clients.
Sometimes it felt as if I was progressing at a snail’s pace
in spite of my hard work. Frustrated, because I could not
attend any lectures, I would often tear pages out of my
exam pad, crumple them up and throw them against the
wall. Then I would get up, look at my children’s smiling
faces and could carry on with a thankful heart. I received
exactly fifty percent (pass mark) for my maths module
and good marks for the rest of the modules.
So my first year as a student and a clerk ended on
49
Pilgrimage to Grace
a high note. The highlight was when I received the

award as the best first year student in Limpopo from
the Certified Financial Accountants organisation. That
was the crown that spanned all my hard work. Nobody
at work knew about my illness and that was by far my
best year ever. I had good working relationships with
my colleagues but that was where it ended – I never
visited after hours and was very busy during the day.
Therefore I never conversed much. I faithfully took my
medication which then stayed at a constant dosage. My
children were also doing very well. I was truly blessed
with two beautiful, obedient children. But in the long
nights when the house was so quiet, it was also my
time with God. Then my heart sang with joy because
everything was going so well. It really seemed as if the
terrible spell of the illness in my life was broken. It was
indeed very hard work but I was definitely not afraid of
it. Without my little watering cans who believed in me
unconditionally, I would never have been able to do it.
My dream is starting to realize in every aspect, and the
cloudiness of my illness has disappeared– or so I hoped.
It was a personal mission to prove my former
employer wrong – I can be mother, wife, student and
employee simultaneously with the grace of God. Grace
and support. Up until that time I had not received any
therapy/treatment. According to me, it was unnecessary
because I was doing so exceptionally well. I visited the
psychiatrist every three months and he would ask: ‘Good
grief ma’am, have we met?’ That was the attention my
illness got – a pill every day and a three-monthly visit. So
50
I did not worry about it anymore and because people at

work were unaware of my condition, it was hardly ever
mentioned at home.
51
Chapter six
Depression
Another two years flew by. My daughter was in grade two
and my son grade nil.
Extracts from my diary painted the true events –
difficult sacrifices of being ill with growing work pressure.
20 February 2005 – Sometimes I feel my soul is tearing
through longing for You – longing to experience and see
again what I feel. And I realise once more – what am I
without You? You know how much I love You. My love
pours out in every breath and step I take. May You protect
us Jesus, be with us because You are everything to us.
My monthly budget increased by R350. Accounting
clerks definitely do not earn exorbitant salaries. To
balance my budget between two small children, studies
and car debt, required very careful planning.
4 March 2005 – It was a terrible week. Overtime,
work, work, work. I feel like giving up, giving in. But then
– how can I – then I would betray everything I believe
in. I know I just have to hold on, endure, believe, work
and work and believe and believe... The end of this has
already been determined. I just have to live it. I love You
with all my heart, Jesus. Even though this incline is so
steep – I have to climb it bit by bit – every step is closer,
closer, closer and closer.
16 March 2005 – My health is poorly – my neck, head,
stomach, sinus and weariness nearly overwhelms me. My
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Chapter Six – Depression
interaction with people at work is also deteriorating. I hold

fast to Your solemn promise, God – You will not disappoint
me. Father, help me to serve You better. Even if the price
I have to pay is heavier than it is now. I know my reward
awaits me – not like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow
– but with reality that will be realised day after day. Help
me to focus, God. Keep me close to You because then I have
nothing to fear.
10 May 2005 – On the threshold of my exams. I know
You are waiting for me, God – when I enter that hall You
will take my hand and lead me. I worked hard – but look
I trust in You and not in myself. I know You are waiting
there for me – the moment I walk in there You will be
with me.
21 May 2005 – I feel tired, yet I know... I feel despondent,
yet I know... I feel helpless, yet I know... You will help me,
Father, because I love You and You know me – You know
how I feel but that doesn’t count, only the knowledge that
I HAVE to!
10 June 2005 – Did I make it, Father? If it weren’t
for my selfishness and feeble-mindedness things probably
would have turned out better. But still – I know that You
love me. To me You are a reality, God, like the need to
breathe, to rely on oxygen and if You promised, who am
I to doubt? Help me focus in these times, God, to focus on
You, focus on the final reward.
4 July 2005 – I received my results today. The worst yet.
But at least I passed everything. Instead of being hard on
myself, I thank You, Lord. Thank You that You helped me
through these terrible times. As long as You are my Helper,
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Lord, everything will be as You intended.

15 October 2005 – I had another experience. I dreamt
that I was in a study hall amongst many students, busy
writing. I feel insignificant, as if nobody notices me. Then
my accounting teacher approaches me. She looks ‘heavenly’.
She strokes my left cheek and says, ‘My daughter’. Suddenly
she brightens – a godly light. The feeling when she touches
me! And I know it is God bringing me a message of hope
in a human, familiar form. Hope in a really difficult time.
The experience comforted me, fired my hope, strengthened
my weak knees, quenched my thirst. I know You are there
for me, God, as I know that this dream came from You
– Your way to strengthen me and to raise me up. Help
me to bear up, to keep believing and to work, God. Help
me to keep my eyes focused on the winning post and the
temporary suffering to fade away in the light of Your Godly
hope and love.
4 November 2005 – I share 3rd year prize as ambassador
of Limpopo for the year. Father, how inexhaustibly good
You are to me. The more I think, ‘This is it, I have failed,’
the more You bless and help me. My heart hammers with
gratitude – God – gratitude towards You, my Lord. You are
Holy. You are my everything, Lord. I know for certain that
You will make everything worth my while – all my tears,
rising early every morning. The stifling feeling that I am
not capable – everything fades to tears of gratitude and my
heart is on fire. What am I without You? What will remain
of me if You withdraw from me? If You should stop helping
me? Nothing, absolutely nothing – but You answer me in
this wonderful rain falling outside – You love me. You will
54
carry me and not leave me to myself, even when I don’t

deserve it. I love You, oh Lord – over and over You confirm
Your love for me, Your unselfish help, Your presence.
12 December 2005 – I have really failed one module
by 3%. There can be many excuses – but nothing changes
that fact. No excuse is good enough. I could have chosen to
be bitter and to blame You for not helping me. Or I could
choose to decline into excuses. But this is what I choose –
to try harder. Oh Lord, it hurts – where I am writing here,
I cannot stop the tears of disappointment. Is this the end
for me or is it just a test, Lord? Only You know, Lord. You
know everything about me.
That was the only module of the 34 that I ever failed.
My illness was still under control and I only had four
modules left for the final year. It was at this time that
I finally had the courage to communicate with my
employer concerning my illness. His first reaction was
what impact it would have on my work. To me, this
was ridiculous as I had been aware of the fact that I was
suffering from Bipolar Depression for the last five years
and I had already proved myself worthy at work. Secondly
he declared that this was the reason why I could work so
very hard (which was also ridiculous).
I benefited financially from the promotion. Basically
we only went to a restaurant when I passed an exam! But
I stuck to it and decided to send in my CV to seek more
financial freedom. I quickly found another job and nearly
doubled my salary. My employer was very disappointed
but did encourage me by saying that I would succeed in
my goals.
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Pilgrimage to Grace
I was sad to take leave of the people who had opened

doors for me and were prepared to take me on without
having any experience. I will definitely never forget that.
It was a great adjustment to start at a new firm.
Suddenly I wasn’t the best anymore and had to prove
myself worthy once again. Thinking back, I don’t think
I was ready for the stress of a new job but was compelled
to make the move for financial reasons.
For the first time in years, I unknowingly began
getting depressive. Combined with work stress, it
became uncontrollable. With the final year’s pressing
studies, I simply didn’t see my way clear to handle the
worries of paying the monthly fees and see to the daily
duties at home. One afternoon I got into my car and,
with tears in my eyes, decided to escape these problems
permanently. I just wanted to escape everything,
because in the dark well I even felt abandoned by God.
In the fathomless, everything fades. People wonder
how selfish that is. I don’t deny that at all – it is selfish.
But, and it is a big BUT, it is a prey caught in a very
sticky web who flounders and struggles and eventually
becomes exhausted spiritually and physically. I was
drained after all the studies of fully four years. I had
given my EVERYTHING. The other side of the coin
showed my sense of guilt toward my family. Was that
employer correct? Was I not crucifying my family in
my need to satisfy my own requirements? It can be
justified by admitting that we would never have made it
financially on one salary. What about the dream?
But it felt as if I had failed miserably because of the one
56
module I did not pass. I drove very carelessly and even

ended up on a wet, slippery, tarred road. I kept on going
until I reached a garage about three hundred kilometres
from home. There I phoned my mother from a telephone
booth and told her that they should forget about me. She
immediately phoned the café and asked them to keep me
there. I lay down on the red bench feeling as if my whole
world, everything that I had achieved, had come to an
end. Everything had been sucked into the whirlpool of
the dark well. My family was so relieved to see me. I
was back home at daybreak. My mother took me to our
doctor who prescribed sleep therapy.
The well of depression only became darker and
deeper. I went to another psychiatrist who put me on five
different kinds of medication. It made me feel as if I had
changed into a complete zombie. There was cotton wool
instead of brain cells between my ears. My movements
were similar to when I was starting to recover in
Weskoppies. Meanwhile I had to study. Things were very
difficult back at work. My work had accumulated and
was waiting for me. The exam was also just around the
corner. My self-confidence had waned and my family
hid their anxiety from me behind masks. Every step was
wearisome. The floundering in the web exhausted me. It
felt as if the enemy was on its way to its nest in the web
and I had limited time to escape.
But I wore my own mask very well. Every day I
concentrated on escaping from the web bit by bit. It felt
as if I had to seek God all over again – as if I had failed
Him.
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Pilgrimage to Grace
22 May 2007 – The day is especially cold and grey –

Winter’s icy cold breath is already blowing in my neck early
this morning. The examination time has arrived. Today
I’m writing my second last module of accounting. I have
worked hard in spite of many hardships and medication
which had to be adjusted again and again. During
everything I was able to come across a psychiatrist who
could find the correct balance between the various types
of medication. I eventually feel as if I am able to spread
my wings and escape the web of depression. I quickly drop
my two children at their primary school and drive to my
mother’s house where I try to convince myself for the last
time that I know my work and am ready for the challenge.
My energy drink is ready. Just another exam morning like
all the previous 31 exam mornings! I drive along the one-
way street towards my mom’s house. As usual the traffic is
like ants on their way to their daily missions. The radio is
tuned to a station popular amongst people. I still prefer the
softer notes of classical music but unfortunately nobody in
the house appreciates it. But a particular song catches my
attention. Black’s ‘It’s a wonderful world’. The words get a
foothold inside my Golgotha.
At my mom’s place, I nervously unpack my case. I must
try to compensate for the study times that were surely
insufficient with all the overtime and days of illness, for
the last time. The phone rings – Mom enters the kitchen,
her face as white as a sheet. I already have my exam bag
in my hand. But as usual, my mother thinks of my feelings,
not to trouble me, she mentions casually that Boeta has
been involved in an accident. But I shouldn’t worry as it is
58
surely not serious. There is still some time left and I decide
to wait for news. Then the knock on the door. A driver who
half inarticulately says that Boeta was in a collision. Mom
says she knows. The next moment my little sister and her
boyfriend enter the room. Everything is so confusing. We
still don’t know whether it’s serious. Mom thinks only of
me. ‘Go and write, Hannie. We will wait, there’s nothing
you can do at the moment.’ I start arguing but mom insists
and I decide to sit for my exam.
I enter the hall. My heart, together with all my insides,
has dropped right down to my shoes. It feels as if everyone
is staring at me because I am nearly late. Oh God, please
keep Boeta safe! Take me instead! Mom and everyone need
him much more than me who can be such a burden! Help
me God, help me to concentrate.
The question papers are handed out. It is like watching
a film. As if it’s not me sitting here, writing. My soul is
somewhere outside searching for Boeta’s soul. I rush
through the exam and hand it in as soon as possible.
It feels as if iron skittles have been chained to my feet.
But I must – I must be strong and believe that Boeta is only
slightly injured. I weave through the traffic and without
realising it, I am actually at my mom’s gate.
There are hordes and hordes of cars and I know that
Boeta is not only slightly injured. Something is TERRIBLY
wrong. The garden path feels like a marathon I have to
cover. Run away, escape, says my mind, but the impulse
doesn’t reach my legs that stumble on. Oh God, what is
waiting here for me today? When I see my cousin’s face
and see everybody crying, I know for certain. NO! God,
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Pilgrimage to Grace
it cannot be. I want to doubt, I want to convince myself

I’ve got it all wrong but I cannot escape the truth – Boeta
is dead!
Everything flows around me. Feelings of guilt. How
could I have decided to take that exam? Once again
placed myself above my family? It’s my fault that this has
happened! Oh God, how can it be true? How can You
take him instead of me? And my soul tears open and all
the heartache pours from the abscesses that haven’t quite
healed yet. My only little brother! How can this be possible?
I see him in my mind’s eye where he spoils me with flowers,
gives the children some pocket money when we couldn’t
afford it, unselfishly buys lunch for the workers at his work
again and again. And that with his meagre salary! Dear,
soft-hearted Boeta!
The sand in the hourglass has stopped for me – at that
moment. And the black veil of the night has a deadly
strangle hold around my neck. A stranglehold that is
throttling me with iron hands. No oxygen reaches my
lungs and the spider has once again caught my delicate
wings in its web. We were inconsolable. At the funeral
my little sister placed a large photograph of Boeta with
a burning candle on each side, in the church. My father
was there as well. A mixture of guilt and hurt was visible
in his eyes. I remember nothing of the sermon, aware
only of the painful thoughts torturing me. I tried to hide
in the secret place of my heart where I sometimes found
solace against the cruelty of the world. It was hopeless.
The hammering reproaches had made a boxing ring of
my secret place. A boxing ring where I was a gnat against
60
the depression giant. My little sister was very, very quiet.

We were very worried about her as her soul mate was not
there anymore.
At the grave my father stood to one side. My little
girl stood next to him, dazed, but he didn’t afford her
any comfort. He just stood there, not taking her little
hand in a comforting gesture. Mom thanked God for the
time that He had lent Boeta to us. I see the hard clods of
earth falling on the coffin. Here lies Boeta – his neck was
broken in the collision. A truck was travelling in front of
him and it lost some of its cargo. Boeta swerved to avoid
it, right into an oncoming truck. The crash caused him to
impact against the rails of a bridge. I wished it could have
been me, lying cold in that coffin. But it wasn’t me – and
I was forced to carry on with life. It is what Boeta would
have wanted.
One night I dreamt of Boeta. He was wearing a
pair of old, scuffed shoes and explained to me that he
had completed his journey on earth. This brought me
comfort. After a few days I had to return to work wearing
my mask and hiding my sorrow deep inside my secret
place. I had to continue with my duties while the dusk
was filling every conceivable cell of my body. Everybody
was worried about me – that I would experience another
relapse. To me, it was heart-rending to see my family so
defenceless and sorrowful. Defenceless because what
could bring our Boeta back? Our blonde Boeta with his
sunny personality?
It is not true that time brings a healing of the heart. To
this day the grief has a scab but deep inside the abscess
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Pilgrimage to Grace
is still festering. An abscess of longing and self-reproach.

Boeta would have understood this feeling – I know he
would have. He always wanted the best for everyone. But
that morning I had put myself before my brother...
One day everything reached breaking point and my
little sister was at the receiving end. After that we were
hostile towards each other in a time that we bitterly
needed to support each other. After a while I apologised,
but I had hurt her too deeply.
Miraculously, I received sixty percent for my question
paper. I thought it was nothing to be proud of. I hated
myself for taking the exam instead of being there for
my family. I moved the other question paper to the last
semester of the year – I therefore had another three
modules to complete.
The year was very difficult. I was used to being
manic, but the depression was impossible to handle. All
the medication I took every day also took its toll and,
combined with the hollow feeling of Boeta’s absence, the
bottom of the pit of depression was nowhere in sight. I
struggled through the year and realised my graduation
day image I had cherished in my heart for five years
already, was going to spatter into pieces. Boeta and my
little sister would not be present in the photo! I was
always worried that *Ouma wouldn’t be there – Ouma
who had already crossed the ninety-year milestone.
My last exam paper was the science of auditing.
Deep inside me the excitement wanted to take root, but
unfortunately the weeds of depression wouldn’t allow me
to take pride in the fact that I had eventually reached my
62
goal after all the years of struggle and hardship. While

I was writing, my mind’s eye recalled visions and their
echoes screamed painfully in my ears.
During my studies we never went on holiday. We
couldn’t afford it financially and I always used my
December holidays to study. For five long, difficult years.
Five years in which I painted sea, sun and sand as my
reward for hard work. Eventually the time had come!
I passed my last modules and my degree was
completed. But it wasn’t what I had dreamed it would be.
My grey world at that stage had tarnished the colour that
used to be in my life, faded it to the stage where I was
only surviving instead of living. Where I felt unworthy.
It felt as if God’s solace was not present in my heart
anymore, but that He was knocking and knocking at my
door. In every tick-tock of the clock, it was a tremendous
struggle to carry on with the fight and not to give in to
the black veil. It tore at my soul when I saw the sea. It
was also my children’s first seaside holiday. My holiday
mask managed to disguise a lot. I was fused between so
many restless souls who also might be hoping that the
large waves would inhale the misery of that past deep,
deep into the depths of the sea where it would be washed
clean away from a person’s brain cells.
We were at the coast for two weeks. The children
enjoyed it immensely. Back home, the new year had
started and the accounting firm reopened for another
year of service to clients.
Boeta’s birthday arrived. Mother’s house was
filled with flowers from so many people who were
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Pilgrimage to Grace
sympathising and who had supported us. At work

the mask was not strong enough to disguise my tears.
However, my husband stood by me faithfully. In this
well – they were the light that always managed to peep
through the scansions of the black veil.
Meanwhile one of my important clients, who had
moved with me to the new firm, offered me a job as
accountant.
7 June 2008 – Graduation day! Today is the day I have
been dreaming about for such a long time! What looked
like the impossible, I have achieved with a lot of help and
grace from God. That which started as a dream, which
the unbelieving Sarah laughed at, has now started its
birthing pains. But unlike Sarah, I was uncertain what
it was a birth of. A birth here where the octopus arms
still have a stranglehold around my neck? That morning
we were with my mother but my father wasn’t there –
he wasn’t even aware of this, one of the biggest days of
my life. My little sister has not found it in her heart yet
to forgive me and my elder sister is not able to make it
either. Mother’s friends are here but they reproach me for
causing discord in the family. Today I am surely reaping
the few seeds that have not been crowded out by weeds
that I have sown.
With mixed feelings I receive my degree. BCompt.
Oh God, You know everything about me – every tear
of frustration, the incurable abscess and the guilt eating
away like a cancer at my insides. Getting up early every
morning, often with energy drinks and many cups of
caffeine-filled coffee, struggling through the days. Was
64
it worth it? Yes, my salary has increased way above

expectation, but my relationship with my family, except
my husband and children, lies in splinters.
65
Chapter seven
Breaking point
At work I always tried to give my best – even when
it was difficult at times because of the high doses
of medication I was taking. Every morning my bed
consumed me like an insect-eating plant. I wished that
I could just stay in bed.
Work stress was also a sticky spider’s web wherein I
floundered. My present employers were also unaware of
my illness. Meanwhile I was preparing for membership
of the chartered accountant organisation. This was also
a challenge as it covered all the fields. I continually and
faithfully took my medication, visited the psychiatrist at
regular intervals but didn’t receive any therapy.
It was a habit of mine to always be well dressed for
work. One day I arrived at work wearing my jeans and
*tekkies and didn’t do any work at all. There was a motor
car racing game on my computer. I was second and
Jesus, in the red car, was first. I hung a necklace that my
daughter had given to me on a cupboard’s handle – it was
my ‘degree’ which I had received from Jesus.
It felt as if the sun was shining from me – causing
great joy. I repeatedly played the same song on my CD.
A song concerning the armour of God. The employees
were all very surprised – it was so unusual that I wasn’t
working but playing games on my computer. The music
resounded throughout the whole building, so much so
66
Chapter Seven – Breaking point
that even the manager came to see what was going on. I
prayed for everyone who entered my office and told them
how much I loved God. The wife of one of the employees
was a medical sister who visited me.
She accompanied me to the bathroom and very
diplomatically asked me what was wrong. I answered
curtly: ‘Why does everybody think something’s wrong
with me?’
Now the cat was out of the bag. Once again everybody
was aware of my condition, I thought angrily. Time to
resign and flee again. I was in the clinic for a week and on
sick leave for another.
It was a disgrace for me to return to work. Religion
was once again an issue. I was furious with God. It was
especially a masquerade to go to church and pretend that
nothing was wrong. Eventually I didn’t want to go to
church at all anymore. God was deceiving me. Just when
I thought everything was sorted between us, He’d once
again failed me! My little sister hadn’t forgiven me yet. It
was three years since Boeta’s death, which did not add to
my emotional welfare.
Within a month I found another job. Now I could
start on a new page where nobody would be aware of
my illness and I was planning to keep it that way. At
the beginning it was really a challenge as the previous
accountant and financial manager only had a few days
to show me the most necessary. I was very uncertain. It
was also a new accounting programme which I had to
master.
The pressure at work drew my attention away from
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the awful spider that was just waiting for me to be caught

in its web. My self-confidence grew as we sorted out the
new work bit by bit. But it was during the long, dark
hours at night when I couldn’t sleep that all the ghosts
caught up with me. All the ghosts of feeling guilty and
my struggle with God.
As time passed, I could manage the job very well and
my thoughts began to wander again. I was half manic
when I told the manager about my illness. We talked
about it for nearly an hour. I found it strange that the
moment I had the courage to inform my colleagues of
my illness, I was experiencing some kind of retrogression
(manic). Afterwards I could barely face the person!
Good grief, what would he think of me! But I got over
it and continued, trying to bury myself in my work. But
the edge of the well of depression once again pulled me
into its whirlpool.
May 2010 – Everywhere in South Africa there are
celebrations. The soccer World cup celebrations are in
full swing. Our city is one of the hosts. My little sister
isn’t very impressed with me yet. My daughter is fifteen
and my son in his first year of high school. In spite of
everything I enjoy a good relationship with them. In spite
of everything my husband never deserted the little car’s
fun ride! He managed to stay aboard while the bipolar
winds caused him to screw up his eyes! I am still not
over Boeta’s sudden death. The third commemoration of
his death is just as intense as the first. It still feels as if I
am looking for God. As if I have failed Him. I backtrack
along the grief-stricken road to where I think everything
68
started to disintegrate. I investigate every side-road. Cry

over seeds that never germinated. Because I just did not
have any strength left over after being in the clutches of
the spider webs. My soul is caught up in the grains of
sand that have irrevocably trickled away, but which I
still hope to regain. Oh my God – have I made the right
decision? Was my previous manager perhaps right? And
everything grinds and minces into insignificant chaff that
blows away in the wind. It is as if the children have grown
up overnight. When did my son’s feet get so big? In my
struggle to survive and not to live, so much has passed
me by. During my mother’s operations where I was not
able to be her crutch. Painful thoughts that are spears
piercing my heart. Causing me to feel weaker and more
defenceless in this web. This time I see the massive spider
ready with its venom to hasten my death, in my mind’s
eye.
Like other cities, we also had a fan park. It was close to
our home and there were festivities practically throughout
the nights. The little sleep I had because of this, served as
catalyst for a compound episode. It is a situation where
depression and mania quickly alternate. It can be very
dangerous as it is fuel to execute depression thoughts.
It is once again winter in our city – the time when I
want to sit curled up in the secret corner of my heart. But
I can’t – I have to get up every morning, paint on my mask
to show the world and ‘I’m well, thank you’ repeated like
a refrain while it’s misty in my heart and my vision of the
world has become a mirror of the heartaches of all the
yesterdays. The long nights are hell. It’s too cold to get up
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Pilgrimage to Grace
and walk through the house, watch TV or do something

worthwhile. Then it’s only me and the footsteps of my past
which echo and echo in every cell of my brain – every
measured tick-tock of the clock. The long wait until the
sun eventually replaces the moon as king of the heavens.
The situation has now continued for nearly a week. A
week wherein I could find no escape from the whirlpool
by sinking into a restful sleep. Where God feels as far
removed from me as the earth is removed from the
heavens – His secret place in my heart feels empty. Empty.
Everything is reduced to a barren desert. And I yearn for
water, for rest, shade for my thoughts and ... grace. At
work I keep to myself as usual. Arrive early for work and
see to it that my work stays up to date even though I have
to grind my teeth to manage it. Nobody must be able to
point a finger at my pride – my work.
During the night my restless soul keep me tossing and
turning. I am such a burden to all and will always have
this cloud of a chronic illness overshadowing my future.
What should I do? An overdose of pills is not a guarantee
of finality, I do not have the keys to the safe. I must
choose something that will guarantee finality. Guarantee
it one hundred percent. But first I must flee – flee from
this syndrome of emptiness – flee to where rest and peace
exist. Flee to where I can bring these accelerated thoughts
to an end. It is synonymous with the peace that the great
ocean offers – at least I hope so.
I can go to the office early – which is not unusual
and then just continue going until I reach the ocean –
anywhere as long it is at the coast – at least 1 000km
70
away. There I will decide what my next step will be. As

long as I can just get away now.
Eventually the day breaks. It is overcast just like the
day of Boeta’s death. And the dead feeling reigns in my
heart. I feel godforsaken. My family is definitely better off
without me. My incessant moods!
First I need to go to work. Yesterday just before closing,
the manager said that everybody had to know everything
about each other’s work. Surely it’s just another sign that
it will be better for me to execute my plan – they have
discovered that there’s something wrong with me! I just
have to get his phone number then I’ll be off! Greet him
for the last time, thank him for the opportunity I had to
work there and apologise for being such a failure.
Arriving at work, I quickly jot down his number. The
lady in the office next to mine asks anxiously how I am.
‘Well, thank you.’ I tell her that I’m on my way to the
manager to discuss my statements.
Instead, I drive away quickly – it is just after six
o’clock. It will be ages before they realise I’m missing – I’m
not important, anyway. The tears of depression want to
overwhelm me – but I hide behind my mask. I must get out
of here – I just have to! The kilometres are devoured in the
whirlpool and before realising it, I’m in Bloemfontein. They
must not track me down – my only contact with them, my
cell phone’s sim card, I destroy. My mask cracks from the
depression tears that break like the wall of a dam – all
the pain I had to cover up and be brave. I eat and drink
nothing – I don’t want to spend money on myself – I am
not worthy enough.
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Pilgrimage to Grace
Before long the signpost indicating Durban/Port

Elizabeth looms up before me. Where can I go to escape
this black veil? Escape this sticky spider’s web before this
enemy staring me in the face, devours me completely?
Port Elizabeth, Port Elizabeth – it is the furthest away –
nobody will look for me there. And I take the off-ramp.
I have never been to Port Elizabeth. The weather is still
overcast, like the cold blanket enveloping my heart – no
escape from my unholy thoughts.
On entering Cradock it is quite dark and it starts to
rain. I feel a deathly fatigue overwhelming me. I cannot
afford to become involved in an accident – I have to be
certain, I mustn’t be hurt, but dead. I decide to stay over
in a guest house and quickly calculate whether I have
sufficient funds to conclude my plans. The hot bath does
not discard the icy cold that I experience in my bones.
Or the ice around my heart. I get into bed and yearn for
sleep – sleep that will be able to drive away the cold of
this night. But once again sleep eludes me. Restlessly I roll
around in an effort to get warm. But in vain – the cold
will not break and sleep eludes me for another night. I lie
and wait for daybreak.
Eventually the sun rises and I can continue on my
journey to Port Elizabeth. It is still raining continuously.
There are road works just outside Cradock. I start getting
impatient to reach Port Elizabeth and my solace, the sea.
It is afternoon. I drive into Port Elizabeth with a feeling
of doom. The last city I will ever see. The rain has abated,
but the wind is icy cold when I stop at the first beach I
see. I am completely alone on the beach except for the car
72
watch and two workers in the bathrooms. I take off my

shoes and start walking away from my thoughts. In the
spray of the waves everything overwhelms me – all the
pain I went through to study, Boeta who is gone, my family
who will be better off without me. Circling thoughts that
cul-de-sac in my brain leaving me gasping fitfully for air.
My feet become numb from the icy water. I sit and gulp
the salt water breeze, but I find no contentment – just a
feeling that I finally have to seal my destiny but making a
decision about how to go about it.
I have my car, enough money for petrol and my
daughter’s clothes in the boot. I am not worthy of using
any money. It must be saved for my family who deserve
it. Arriving in the bathrooms, my feet are so numb from
the cold that I can hardly walk. One of the workers hands
me an old rag that’s lying around to dry my feet. Where
to now? It’s not right to book into a guest house again
– it’s too luxurious for a deadbeat like me. But it is so
cold! I cannot escape it. It is growing dark – a blanket is
ALL I will allow myself. I drive and drive and eventually
reach a shopping centre in the strange city where I buy the
cheapest blanket I can find.
Now I need to find my way back to the beach where
the sound of the waves will hopefully help me to sleep. But
I get completely lost and end up in a slum neighbourhood
of Port Elizabeth. I realise I’m driving in circles. Panic
rises in me – nothing must interfere with my plans – I
must stay safe until the time is right! Later I find myself
on a gravel road leading to a restaurant. I lie down on
the back seat of the car and huddle under the blanket in
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Pilgrimage to Grace
an attempt to escape the cold. It is already early morning

when someone knocks on the window of my car. I just
draw the blanket tighter around my head and make sure
the doors are locked. But the episode upsets me and I
decide to find a beach where I can stay for the rest of the
night in an effort to get some sleep – but still I wait for
the day to break.
As soon as it is light I get out of the car. Just across the
road is a beach – Kings Beach – and there are bathrooms.
I take my bag and decide to buy the most necessary
toiletries. With the bag slung over my shoulder I cross the
road where I shower, wash my clothes and stack them in
the boot to dry out.
On the beach! I can hardly believe it – after all the
anxious moments and getting lost continuously! I don’t
need people around me – I want to be alone – here where
I’m hiding from the world. A distance down the beach I
come across an old piece of capsized log where I sit and
stare as if hypnotised at the never-ending waves breaking
on the shore. In and out, in and out. How do I make a
definite end to it all?
But first I need to spend some days at the beach to
bid everyone an imagined farewell. Maybe I should die
without water – it could work, which of these little sand-
plovers would feel any compassion for me, anyway? With
my left index finger I scratch in the sand while my heart
screams – ‘Why?’ But it is an unending rhetorical question
that mocks me. Eventually night falls and I decide to stay
at the filling station – I don’t have the energy to get lost
again. In an effort to cocoon myself against the pain of the
74
world and these awful symptoms, I wrap myself tightly in

my blanket. It does afford me some kind of comfort – the
blanket. The thoughts hammer through my mind – how,
when should I end it all? I get up and walk to the beach
– maybe I should do what *Ingrid Jonker did – just carry
on walking into my beloved sea and hope it’s the end. But
there are many people on the beach and the water is ice
cold. Discouraged I cross the road and return to my car
where I once again count the minutes to daybreak – so
that I can channel my thoughts and decide what to do –
hoping for a solution to materialise from my tired brain.
Day two at the beach eventually breaks. The clothes in
the boot are still damp but I decide to wear them anyway.
I walk across the street again and take a hot shower. I
find again the place I had the previous day and I lie on
the sand in an attempt to absorb some heat from the sun
that has temporarily won the struggle against the blanket
of clouds. But inquisitive eyes dispel my rest. I decide to
get up and walk along the street. After a few blocks I come
across a shopping centre – no, dying of thirst will take too
long. I buy a fruit juice which I down thirstily. Back to my
car – I look at the sea of faces surrounding me. Oh God,
do they also feel like I do? Why am I such a freak – why
can’t I be as happy as these smiling faces?
Another night – and there’s a lot of noise at the filling
station. I draw the blanket tighter around me in an
attempt to drown out the noise, but to no avail – and
futilely I wait for the sandman to rescue me. Just a few
hours’ sleep – won’t it be heavenly – that is all I ask for!
Not the whole night – just a few hours – is it too much to
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Pilgrimage to Grace
ask for a temporary deliverance? Eventually day breaks

and it’s day three at the beach. Once again I decide to
repeat the senseless routine. Meanwhile, the weather has
improved, but I have no occasion to frolic boisterously in
the waves. I only walk along the beach and get my feet
wet. My heart contracts when I think of my family. What
are they doing right now? Never mind, they will forget
me after a while, who has any interest in me anyway?
My heart contracts painfully. I settle down in my special
place again.
Why delay any longer? Not even the wide ocean,
the crashing waves can erase my pain. But HOW? A
thought flashes through by brain. Paracetamol. It is
freely available and it could mean my end! And there is
a chemist in the shopping centre! Again I decide to walk
– all the way back. Half a litre of water to swallow the
tablets. I scrutinise the boxes to see which tablets have
the most paracetamol. I grab five, six boxes from the
shelves. Sleeping pills, then I can sleep while waiting for
it to take effect. And something against nausea. I hate
feeling nauseous. Nervously I reach the cashier. Will she
suspect something and stop me? But she doesn’t even raise
her eyebrows at the unusual purchase. I’m just another
customer to her. The way back is a relief – I will NEVER
again need to spend a sleepless night! The prospect of
this after weeks of sleepless nights sound like the peal of
heavenly bells in my ears. On reaching the car, I realise I
have reached my final hours – I only hope I have bought
enough. The tablets are large, it will be difficult to swallow
them whole. I carefully start breaking them into quarters
76
into the brown paper packet from the chemist. I mix it

together with the sleeping – and nausea tablets.
Do I now contact the outside world to inform them
that I cannot see my way clear to accept this illness any
longer and that my longing for Boeta has become a
mountain? I still have the manager’s number.
There is a public phone close to the car. My fingers
are like those of a trembling eighty-year-old while I dial
the number. The manager answers almost immediately.
‘Hello’. Suddenly an iron hand grabs my throat so that
I cannot utter a word. ‘Hannelie, is that you?’ And I
hang up the phone. Get back into the car – leave the car
unlocked with the keys in the ignition. The phone rings
immediately – but I am frozen – cannot give up now! I
swallow the tablets with the water. I cannot choke down
the last few. Waiting for the deliverance of death, I lie
down on the floor of the car – nobody must see me now
– also not when the nausea overcomes me. I throw the
blanket over me like a corpse. And wait and wait with a
hammering heart...
Meanwhile my family is hysterical. The manager had
immediately re-dialled the number while I was lying,
awaiting death. He contacted my mother and told her he
suspected it was me who phoned. A policeman passed
the phone booth and answered the ringing telephone.
The sleeping tablets were not working and nausea took
a hold of me, but I believed it was the end and stayed
where I was. Meanwhile the policeman told my mother
that he could see the vehicle she had described. The
specific scenes that followed were speculated about for
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Pilgrimage to Grace
a long time by my family – that I surely had ‘something’

or ‘Somebody’ watching over me. I only heard the car’s
door opening and closing and then some voices. Later
I discovered I had parked at a very dangerous filling
station – that was why that policeman was patrolling the
area. At the moment that the policeman was answering
the phone, he saw a Nigerian getting behind the wheel
of my car. The Nigerian took flight when he noticed the
policeman. The policeman didn’t see me lying covered
by the blanket on the floor of the car and left. But after a
while I heard voices again. Meanwhile I had moved from
the very uncomfortable floor to the back seat where the
police noticed me. My mother continued phoning and
begged the policeman not to leave. I was not friendly with
him at all when he opened the door. They asked me who
had accompanied me and couldn’t believe I was there on
my own – then they realised what the Nigerian had been
planning on doing! It had already grown dark and they
(not knowing I had overdosed on tablets) begged met to
accompany them. There was a policewoman who asked
me whether I knew what would have happened if the
Nigerian had succeeded in executing his plans!
Why would I, who was busy committing suicide, or
attempting to anyway, mind at all? And I stayed quiet.
However, they were insistent and wouldn’t let me go. They
started examining the car and when they came across the
empty boxes, asked whether I had taken them all. Then I
had to acknowledge the fact. But still I refused to give in
and give up my attempt at suicide – I am NOT going to
be saved! It may not happen. But they kept at it – ‘We are
78
not allowed to remove you without your permission. Just

come and sit in the ambulance so that we can take your
blood pressure. We promise not to drive away with you.’
Eventually I agreed as they continually promised they
wouldn’t do anything against my will. I started feeling
very ill and they spoke to my mother and my husband.
Hours later they eventually succeeded to convince me to
get into the ambulance and with screaming sirens they
drove me to hospital. It felt like a never-ending journey –
they kept on talking to me along the way in an attempt to
keep me awake. The sister who treated me in the casualty
ward looked like an angel to me. She had to feed me
the ‘black tea’ I had heard of so my times before. That
which followed I can describe in one word: Revolting!
The more nauseous I got, the more I had to drink the
mixture. After a while which felt like an eternity, the
sister was satisfied that I had been ‘saved’. The doctor
who was not very impressed with me said the level of
paracetamol I had consumed was just below the danger
point. At that moment I wished that I had taken all the
contents – just look at all the drama I had caused! And
my mother, husband and daughter were on their way to
Port Elizabeth – the whole distance of 1200km. After
satisfying herself about my condition, the sister injected
me with a sleeping agent and I could sleep for the first
time in weeks.
The next morning my family had not arrived yet and
I was completely derailed. I had no idea where I was. I
stared at my warped echo reflection in the mirror and
noticed the black mixture between my teeth. I asked the
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Pilgrimage to Grace
other patients whether they knew what it was. ‘It’s her

who came in last night,’ they whispered to each other. The
staff asked what I would like for lunch. One staff member
was wearing one of those large black and yellow hats that
was so popular during the soccer World Cup. It looked
so festive. My frame of mind was very good – I just did
not know why I had been hospitalised. I could remember
the hospital was called Greenacres – but the rest was a
dark vacuum of confusion. One sister asked me if I knew
where I was, to which I answered correctly. Then she said
it didn’t look as if I knew why I was there. That caused the
cogwheels of my brain to start functioning and, bit by bit,
the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place to paint
the whole unpleasant picture.
After that I couldn’t wait to see my family but they
would only be able to arrive that afternoon. The morning
passed sluggishly. It was a struggle between self-
reproach, disappointment and a sense of shame. I just
wanted to hide in my secret place but knew that even
there the black well was very deep – the only safe place
that I could create for myself. The only thing keeping me
going was the prospect of seeing my family again. The
ambulance men came to visit me. ‘It is only God who
can solve your problems,’ they said. At that moment
however, I felt forsaken by God. How dare they then try
to discuss religion with me? Don’t they understand that
God has discarded me? And the circling thoughts wheel
and wheel...
The sleeping-draught kept me restful and eventually
it was afternoon and my family arrived. A sense of shame
80
descended upon me. Then anger blew over it – how could

I have been saved after all the trouble I went to? Why
did I seek help by making contact and why isn’t it the
end? Now I have put my family through all this trouble
to drive so far to fetch me, a dead and lost soul. So far.
What thoughts are passing through their minds? Just
joy because they have found me after three whole days?
Relief because the Nigerian had fled? Maybe even anger
because I had dared to take the ‘easy’ way out! But it was
no ‘easy’ way out! Even in that I couldn’t be successful.
But everyone was just happy – tears of joy to see me
again. The doctor didn’t want to release me but after
explaining that it was impossible, he dismissed me. My
family was very tired after their long journey to the coast
but we could not overnight in Port Elizabeth as it was
also a city playing host to the soccer World Cup. So we
decided to keep driving until it got dark and then look
for a place to sleep. It was also terribly cold again. On
the drive to Middelburg (Cape) I feigned sleep so that
they wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. Tears because it
felt as if I would be a prisoner chained forever to this
‘jolly’ journey – inextricable. The only place we could get
for the night was on a farm a distance from the town.
Mom made us some chicken and sandwiches and it was
the first time I had eaten in days. Exhausted, we went to
bed only to rise early for the long journey home. Because
everyone had to work again on Monday, there wasn’t
much time to rest.
We eventually reached home late that Saturday night.
My psychiatrist insisted that I be hospitalised, but I
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Pilgrimage to Grace
refused. On Monday I was back at work. I went in very

early to talk to the manager. I will never forget his first
words when he saw me: ‘Do you feel better now?’
How can one feel better after such an ordeal? I had
written him a letter and his eyes filled with tears after
reading it. He said I needed help urgently – which I had at
that moment, from a very dedicated psychiatrist. I asked
him if I could possibly have my own office. He told me
to take the day off to get my things in order. Meanwhile
they would arrange for my own office.
My brain felt like a power-station that had exploded.
My mind digging for answers of how my life could end
up in this depression well. The weariness still felt like a
very heavy yoke crushing me into myself. On Tuesday I
returned to work and my own office. I didn’t want to see
anyone and sought refuge behind my locked office door.
Meanwhile matters concerning my insomnia hadn’t
improved. It left me flustered and very weary. Eventually
my psychiatrist prescribed sleeping tablets.
Approximately two weeks passed in this fashion.
Sleeping tablets at night but still no restful sleep. The
psychiatrist labelled it a ‘mixed-episode’.
I could not handle it anymore. Nor the fact that
my suicide attempt was unsuccessful. At work I was
suspicious of everyone and tried to avoid them. Each
evening I started once again to plan an escape from
the vicious circle. To drive away does not help. The sea
doesn’t bring peace, I thought. But I had a new escape
route: the sleeping tablets. One day I put in a day’s leave
– so they would not look for me, I thought. I pretended
82
to go to work, then returned home to take two sheets

of the sleeping tablets. But once again I was ‘saved’. My
husband had forgotten his cell phone at home, found me
and rushed me to hospital.
It was a terrible feeling when I woke up and realised
that I had been saved once again. The psychiatrist tried
to get me admitted to the clinic, but there was no space
available. Once again I ended up in the hospital’s casualty
ward. They heard that I had taken two sleeping tablets
instead of two sheets so they didn’t regard it as very
serious and I was sent home. At home I experienced one
of the most difficult evenings of my life. There was still no
space for me in the clinic and I couldn’t be admitted to an
ordinary hospital. I had an unbearable headache and was
very nauseous and weepingly begged my husband to take
me to hospital, which he couldn’t do. It was awful for my
family as they were unable to help me.
Fortunately the next day there was an open space at
the clinic, and I was admitted. When I was weighed the
scale reflected a merely 50kg. I was very weak from the
lack of sleep. I stayed in the clinic for two weeks. I begged
the office to send me some work to do, but they had
received instructions from my psychiatrist that I needed
to rest.
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Chapter eight
A turning point
The only good thing born from the whole situation is that
my little sister forgave me unconditionally. It was only
sad that so much had occurred before this could happen.
Meanwhile I could unload some of my feelings by

publishing my writings in *WOES.
In the depth of your soul’s window
I’ll find the meaning far from this world
I’ll know I’m also a child of God
the earthly problems a mere myth.
The firm grasp of your hand

saves me from the swamp
where the crass voice of the enemy screams
when over mountains high you hear my voice.
The four chambers of your heart

have space enough in each
to share in the cup
of my own cross of grief.
Within your Golgotha there’s always room
for another thought for me
here where I walk at your side
any blemish impossible to see.
84
Chapter Eight – A turning point
Earthly gifts I wish not for you

this Christmas my love
none of our love stolen by the great thief
no we shelter safely in God’s care.
The rest of the year medication and psychologists

were constantly adapted by my psychiatrist in an effort to
stabilise me. For the first time I started receiving therapy.
January and also the commemoration of my brother’s
birthday was once again upon us. Once again I got into
my car, planning to go to the coast. Along the way I
continually grappled with God. Just see whether I would
contact anyone again – I will definitely not be rescued
again. I challenged God to stop me in my attempt. I
entered a filling station in Bloemfontein to fill the car and
to draw enough money for the rest of the journey. When
I reached the ATM, someone tapped me on the shoulder:
‘Are you not Adele’s sister? What are you doing here?’
I tried to lie saying that I was on my way to my father-
in-law. But they were aware of the whole situation! They
were on their way to George for a holiday and my mother
had asked them to keep an eye out for me. ‘Coincidentally’
we had stopped at the same filling station! I was
dumbfounded – I couldn’t believe that I had been saved
yet again! With a fearful heart I also remembered my
threatening God. My sister travelled all that way to fetch
me. My psychiatrist was rather upset with me over the
whole situation. He adjusted my medication once again
and sent me to another psychiatrist for weekly sessions.
I decided to do something about the situation.
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Pilgrimage to Grace
Previously I had failed miserably when I stopped taking

my medication and decided to do it ‘responsibly’ this
time. I registered with Run/Walk for Life and started
walking around a rugby field. I would do everything
possible to succeed in my aim – without medication.
At first I didn’t tell anyone about my decision. I knew
that it would definitely, in light of what had happened
previously, be disapproved of. I attended the weekly
therapy sessions conscientiously and really applied
myself. Suddenly everyone started telling me that I was
looking very well. Some people even said that I didn’t
look like a zombie anymore! To me it was a sign that I had
made the right decision. At the insistence of the coach,
I also started jogging around the field. A whole month
went by where everything progressed picture-perfectly.
But my conscience started nagging me. It felt as if I
had deceived everybody. Understandably, the therapist
was not excited about my decision. He asked me whether
I had considered what the consequences for my family
would be. But I kept to my plan: exercise and therapy
and positive thoughts. I realised I would have to inform
my family that I had discontinued my medicine. I really
expected the worst – that they would force me to take it
again. But, wonder of wonders, my husband told me I
looked well. My mother also understood.
I counted down the months of my being without
medication. Six months would be the turning point –
when I would irrevocably have conquered this illness,
according to me. I undertook each day filled with energy
and mending hope. I took life one day at a time and
86
handled it well. Evaluated each day, searching for any

symptoms. The feelings inside me matched those of a
conqueror.
During a therapy session I asked the therapist whether
he thought I had made the right decision. He answered
that if I continued looking so well, there was no doubt.
He also mentioned that he could see I was determined to
stop the medication, which was the reason to continue
with the therapy.
December and my fifth month without medication
soon arrived. I found a holiday flat on short notice in
Port Elizabeth, of all places. I told everyone that if I could
manage to function without medication until December,
my effort would have been successful. Shortly before
our December holiday I noticed a small red mark on
my arm. The next day however, it had stretched into a
long line towards my elbow and I felt very ill. I went to
the doctor who prescribed antibiotics for the bite mark.
The sleepless nights started to haunt me once again. But
I convinced myself that it was only physical and I had no
reason to feel worried.
Eventually our holiday was at hand and the bite mark
healed after a second course of antibiotics. We would
have left on holiday on the Monday, but on Saturday I
contracted a stomach virus. Once again I convinced
myself that the reason was the pressure my constitution
was under. So we left on Tuesday but I wasn’t feeling
very well yet. In Kimberley we visited family for a week
and would then travel to Port Elizabeth. But I became
so ill with the virus in Kimberley that I was admitted to
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Pilgrimage to Grace
hospital. After one day on a drip however, I was feeling

better and we were on our way. It moved me emotionally
when I saw the city again where I had experienced my
biggest pain ever. The filling station is really situated in
a very dangerous environment and crowded with people
at night. We visited Kings Beach where I had buried
my message in the sand. To have my family hand-in-
hand with me, meant the world to me – the complete
opposite to my first experience of the city. But the little
sleep of the last few weeks and the physical struggle of
everything that had happened, caused the spider’s web to
imperceptibly grow and grow...
Once again I got into the swing of things as far as my
jogging programme was concerned and ran my usual
kilometres from Kings Beach. I sms’d my therapist that
I felt like a winner. His answer was that I am a winner
already. But deep in my heart I knew it wasn’t true
yet – I first had to bridge this six-month gap without
medication. Before the holiday I had also contracted a
knee and foot infection and together with all the other
physical challenges it had demanded a lot from my body.
To jog past that chemist unleashed a lot of emotions. On
the second-to-last day we went for a long walk along
the beach but carelessly refrained from applying some
suntan lotion again. I sustained severe sunburn on my
feet and calves and could not sleep at night for a while.
Back home we had no time to recuperate from the
long journey as we had tried to pry everything from our
holiday! The new year with all its demands started in full
swing. Once again it was January and once again it was
88
the time of my brother’s birthday. The little sleep and my

physically run-down body left its mark. Together with
the fact that January was traditionally a difficult month
for me, I reached the sixth month’s red light without
medication. Fear of failure attacked me together with
depression concerning all the misfortune that had been
heaped upon me in such a short time.
And then it happened again! One afternoon I simply
did not return to work. Armed with my medication I
decided to take off again. This time to Lydenburg. Surely
there’d be nobody there who knew me. Along the way the
thoughts that everything was going wrong again, swirled
through my mind, everything was going to collapse
again. It was also the first time that I was not a ‘zombie’
on my brother’s birthday and my emotions were very
raw. But as I entered Lydenburg, the traffic cops stopped
me. After some argument, I agreed to accompany them.
People from another branch of my work, took me under
their wing.
It was a very difficult time. Sleeplessness was once
again blamed for the unfortunate situation. It became
intolerable and I was put back put on very light
medication. I felt like a complete failure. The therapist
also came to the conclusion that I was unable to function
without medication. That was another blow for me as I
recalled his reaction to my question that I had made the
correct choice to discontinue my medicine.
I read up on any possible information on internet,
but a Professor answered that it seemed as if I could
control the manic component of the illness with
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Pilgrimage to Grace
physical exercises, but as with most sufferers, I was

unable to control the depression. That was the absolute
truth and I had no choice but to accept it. It was no easy
task to take the hateful medication again, but I realised
I had no choice.
Jogging and work was what I focussed on to carry me
through that time. The bottomless well gyrated within
me once again until I had no self-confidence left. I started
entering 21km races and even ended third a few times.
But still it wasn’t the end of unfortunate occurrences in
my life. During a practise session I experienced a stab of
pain in my side. It was a few weeks after my Lydenburg-
escape episode. The doctor diagnosed inflammation of
my kidney tubes and prescribed Purbac, an antibiotic.
That weekend I had a 21km as well as a 10km race and
I was determined to do my best. I suddenly detected
strange spots on my tongue and a red rash on my feet and
legs accompanied by a fever. But I completed the race. A
doctor there thought I had German measles. On arriving
home on Sunday my husband took me to a doctor, who
immediately admitted me to hospital with his diagnoses
of Steven Johnson Syndrome, a reaction to the Purbac
antibiotic. At first I wasn’t very ill, but on my second day
in hospital my lungs were affected – caused either by the
rain on the day of the race or by the syndrome.
After four days in hospital I was discharged and the
endless sleepless nights started once again. Once again I
started planning an escape. I would do it after the weekly
therapy session. But the therapy session didn’t proceed
as it normally did. My mother had phoned the therapist
90
saying that she was very worried about me. That was a
truth I should have heard long ago! I, who suffered from
tunnel vision. I could experience no light through the
bars of my jail. The therapist was very upset with me and
his tone of voice and words was a reflection of it. There
was no reason for me to feel bitter about the fact that I
could not function without medication.
But it was difficult to once again find the right
combination medication for me. The therapist wanted
to keep the dose as low as possible – perhaps to satisfy
me as it was no secret that I wasn’t very excited to take it
again. My family was also very disappointed that it hadn’t
worked out. Still no words of blame – they had fought the
fight with me and knew how exceedingly hard I had tried
to succeed, but that it was impossible.
Meanwhile I knew that running away was no solution
and in my paranoid brain thought they had installed a
tracking system in my car.
While the situation was still not very stable, my
therapist informed me that he had to participate in a
rotation system in another city for three months. The
questions he put to me were very subtle – like, do I
regard myself as impulsive, do I normally exaggerate
situations? Only months later did I realise the objective
of the questions. His questions was aiming to find the
answer that I have border line personality too. Living in
a world where everything is black and white – no grey
areas. It is very harsh. Something is 100% correct or
100% incorrect – nothing in between. Initially I found
this perception strange, but the more I thought about
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it, the more I recognised myself in this perception of

his. The image behind the mirror. The loose threads of
thought acquired – a black-and-white chess game. And
time and again the moves of the opponent surprises – the
sticky spider webs – again. How could I ever be a match
in this game? I knew the rules of the game but I had an
opponent who apparently foiled me over and over again.
His moves were sometimes unexpected and sometimes
against my inherent rules. Rules that equalled inputs to
outputs. Even in my most strenuous attempts it felt as if I
had failed miserably. It was the month of May when my
therapist had to leave. He asked me how I felt about it. The
medication hadn’t been sorted yet and I definitely didn’t
feel stabilised yet. There were also new complications at
work. The other accountant was on maternity leave and
I had to stand in for her. Everything was once again,
without perceptible reasons, pitch-black. Everything was
planned for 22 May. The commemoration of one of the
darkest days of my life. First I had to complete all my
work. Sort everything out so that I could leave a ‘clean’
life behind. I sent a message to the therapist that it felt
as if I was going to give in – as if I could not handle the
continual hammering of ‘why’ that carried on and on.
What was the use of everything if tomorrow was just
going to be dark and without reason again?
The therapist suggested I see one of his colleagues
which I rejected in this dark well. Why would it help?
Who could help? And my struggle with religion tripped
up me even further. How could God allow this? I was
feeling like a little buck in a big desert yearning for water.
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God is watching this grim scene without helping me. I

just wish for a short escape from the cul-de-sac thoughts.
An escape from those damning thoughts that in the end
are the only outcome. I was blind regarding my children,
my husband and family’s worries concerning me.
21 May arrived. This time I knew I wouldn’t leave in
my own vehicle. I would book a seat on a bus due for
East London. I had sufficient Lithium for the deed. First
I had to gather my courage to book the seat. But the
supermarket was off-line and I had to buy my ticket in the
next town. With difficulty I reached the next town with
tears of failure, a feeling of unworthiness and fatal daily
pains. Oh God, why does it feel as if You have forsaken
me? The time I felt so close to You feels as far away as
a shooting star. But still my soul yearned for God. The
space in my heart that used to belong to God and Boeta
was a leaden weight. In spite of my family’s concern and
support, I could not escape this dark well. I just had to
get away from everything!
Armed with the bus ticket, I got into my car. ‘By
chance’ my sister and her manager were in the town on
business. The next moment she opened my car door
and they noticed the packet of Lithium. Immediately
they came to the correct conclusions. Back in the city
– I didn’t want to return to the ‘green gable’ hospital!
My family took me there, but I refused to be admitted.
The doctor explained to my mother that I could not be
admitted against my will. With that, we returned home.
It was a Friday afternoon. Nothing had improved yet. By
Sunday my daughter begged me to return to hospital. I
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could eventually see their concern and realised I needed

help urgently. I was admitted to hospital and the doctor
on duty recommended an ECT (Electronic Convulsion
Therapy). The thought of undergoing this treatment was
not alarming at that moment. Anything as long as it was
an escape from this bottomless well – a sunbeam of hope.
I would have to receive two treatments a week for three
weeks. So three weeks in this jail. My sister accompanied
me to work and, as could be expected, the manager was
not impressed at all. ‘All right, fine. But then you see to
it that you are better when you come back. But we will
have to let you go if you take sick leave again this year.’
At that moment I really got a fright – now that which I
had always regarded as ‘holy’, was also implicated. I could
even be fired! I decided to co-operate, seeing that my
work was one of the most stable things in my life.
Wednesday arrived after my first treatment.
The therapist had ignored me for a week. With the
culmination of all these events, the situation got too
much for him. His message would once again shake
my foundation. Much later I would understand why it
affected me so much. What was the saddest of all was that
this all happened while I was admitted at the clinic. ‘The
therapy is unfortunately not going according to plan.
After discussions it has been decided not to continue
with it.’ It felt as if my heart was being torn to pieces.
I was going to lose my job and I had lost my therapist
whom I visited weekly and who had become my pillar of
strength and my lighthouse in a dark harbour.
After a session, the acting doctor informed me that I
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was also suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder.

I had no idea what it meant as he didn’t explain it to me.
My medication was adjusted to serve the new diagnosis
as well.
After the electronic treatment I put on weight which
I found unbearable. That I couldn’t exercise didn’t help
matters either. How to explain to anyone the feeling
I experienced of blades cutting my soul to pieces and
not being able to do anything about it? And this when
nothing really appalling had happened? People’s reaction
is always – you are so blessed, why don’t you appreciate
it? Why do you do such things?
But people are unaware of the fact that the blades are
merciless and never ask when, or for reasons, or whether
they are welcome. When the rivers of pain are in flood
it is already too late. The cuts are then so deep that the
damage caused is nearly incurable.
Weekends were times of grace. I could go home to
my family and it was special, even though they were
so worried and even though I didn’t want to return on
Sundays. Only one more week of ECT’s, another week
with the feeling of rejection that I was experiencing from
my therapist. At home I assiduously explored everything
I could find on borderline personality disorder, but
at that stage I wasn’t emotionally fit for the ordeal of
understanding as the ECT’s had the effect of short-term
memory loss.
At the end of those three weeks I was discharged with
two weeks’ sick leave. But during my sick leave I had to
return to work in an effort to catch up on all my work
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that had fallen so far behind. It took all my effort and will
to concentrate while the words of the manager echoed in
my ears – one more chance, one more chance.
Eventually the statements were completed and my
sick leave had also elapsed. It was then that I remembered
what I had seen on the internet regarding borderline
personality and the doctor’s words in the passage of
the hospital. And unfortunately I must agree with the
diagnosis. Another label to hang around my neck. The
labels of suicide, black-and-white patterns of thought,
the feelings of rejection, selfishness (because according
to the psychiatrist, suicide is selfish) and impulsiveness.
And I started to recognise the pattern. At school I placed
my teachers on pedestals. Then I naturally discovered
that they didn’t match up to the perfect visions I had of
them. Then I would fall from cloud number nine into the
dark well.
It made absolute sense what happened regarding my
therapist – borderline personalities placing them on
pedestals and idealising them. Unconsciously that was
exactly what happened to me and once again the person
couldn’t live up to my idealising of them. But the way it
was handled – when I was at my weakest point, was like
a fatal wound for my already weary, painful emotions.
I exercised at an alarming pace in an effort to forget
and to shatter my personal best records. I sent messages
to my therapist in the hope of understanding why he and
his superiors had acted in such a way. But everything was
to no avail. Unsuccessfully I helplessly fought against all
the feelings of rejection that had rekindled in my heart.
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Wounds from my search for fatherly love and acceptance

and now again rejection. During the day I conscientiously
did my job like a robot -– even when it demanded
every drop of my energy every day. It was surely grace
for another day. The wonderful love of my family and
friends I blindly ignored and could only concentrate on
the cancer that daily gnawed a greater emptiness into my
heart.
8 August 2012 – I have a slight flu. ‘I’m not going to
work today.’ My husband: ‘Just take something for the flu
and get better.’ They leave after what feels like an eternity.
The flu is the ideal screen for my plans of the day. The
menacing storm breaks loose in and around me. That
which I try to bury each day in work and exercises. The
rejection-pain. The incessant blades. Today is the ideal
day to lower the curtain over this gruesome drama. While
lying in bed making plans, I receive a message on my cell.
It is the therapist. ‘... and please stop sms’ing me...’. That
was the last straw. The sign that I should go through with
my plans. I investigate all possibilities. I have Lithium at
my disposal – close to a full container which is more than
a month’s medication. I also have an anti-inflammatory
substance which can affect the heart’s muscles. This can
also lead to the Steven Johnson syndrome.
Blindly I drink all the rheumatism capsules. The
whole container. I wait for it to take effect. Besides an
accelerated heartbeat, nothing happens. Spurred on by
the therapist’s sms I decide it’s time to take the next step.
Lithium. I swallow a handful and once again the nerve-
racking wait. Nausea overwhelms me, but it only spurs
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me on to take more. During the course of the day I take

them all except for five tablets which I just can’t swallow
any more. Internet searching brings to light that a person
doesn’t immediately die from an overdose of Lithium - it
is a whole process.
How do you describe your feelings then? What words
can accurately express the razor-sharp carving of rejection
from your soul? Or the painful rivers that carve tracks on
your mask? That which makes no sense to other ‘healthy’
people – why can a therapist touch you so deeply? But
psychologically it goes much deeper than the surface
of the skin. It penetrates the essence of my soul. There
where I have my secret place hidden from the hurt of the
world. It contaminates my holy place I have accorded the
therapist and because of borderline personality, my whole
world topples irrevocably (at that moment).
My family arrives home where they find me feeling
ill with no idea of the true situation. Because I have flu,
they presume I have contracted some stomach virus. The
evening’s sand is smothered in the hourglass between
bouts of nausea and concealed tears. Nobody is going to
save me this time! At long last I will be liberated from
everything. That is the ONLY THING that matters at this
moment – to be set free, released from this pain. There is
no reasoning in this disorderly mind of mine – I cannot
and do not want to understand why the therapist acted in
this way – all that matters is that this well has devoured
me. And once again my ‘hero’ proved to have ‘feet of
clay’! Once again I am not good enough. The thoughts
boomerang inside my Golgotha. It poisons every cell, every
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thought, every perception. Hannelie the loser! Pathetic to

become so inseparably dependent on a therapist And I
hope death comes quickly and mercifully...
But the sun shines the next day – still in the land of the
living. My husband gets suspicious but the anti-nausea
tablets help somewhat and I stay in bed that public
holiday.
The next day also dawned – I shivered unceasingly,
but I went to work. I didn’t exercise, glad for the excuse
of having a bit of flu. Oh God, why are You making it so
difficult for me? Why stretch everything out like this until
culmination? Why can You not allow me to go? Once
again I dreamed of the long table and the people who
say that they will never let me go. Why does God want
to keep me in this life where everything around me is
dark? A cocoon life without the expectation that one day
a beautiful butterfly would emerge from it. No, nothing
good could break from this cocoon. I remembered my
father’s words when he said he couldn’t believe such a
‘thing’ had crawled out of my mother.
At work it once again required all my self-discipline.
I shivered continuously. Letters swam in rivers before
my eyes. Nausea hadn’t withdrawn completely yet. The
hurt was incessant. I drew myself into my secret place
but found no solace, only a desire that everything should
end. But the next day dawned once again and soon it
was weekend and my younger sister’s birthday. I hid my
feelings – withdrew, but it was nothing new to my family
and they had no idea of my ordeal during the week.
Wednesday arrived and I could not bear it any longer.
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Was I still going to die? It seemed that my wish would

not be granted. I had a doctor’s appointment, and he
immediately tested my Lithium level. It was normal. But
I explained to the doctor that I had taken an overdose
a week ago already but nothing again since then. He
phoned the psychiatrist who immediately made an
appointment.
I explained what had happened, but it was like chaff
before the wind. It was very evident that she didn’t believe
me! It broke me further – after gathering all my courage
to ask for help, I was now a liar as well! And once again
the blades continued. My family was at their wits’ end.
Their concern drove my feelings of guilt only further. But
I had no medication left to repeat my attempt.
I sms’d the therapist that I could not believe my
attempt had failed once again. How was it possible? What
happened that I was still untouched after everything?
How did you explain it? It felt as if I had been degraded
into a Pinocchio. But the container with only a few
Lithium tablets in it and the empty bottle of rheumatism
tablets were silent witnesses that my attempt to escape
this senseless world has failed again. I was furious that
they denounced me as a liar. It was no pleasure for
my hurting emotions, but a clinical approach would
probably be indicative of me being a liar. I cannot explain
it. My new therapist asked whether I saw it as a ‘Godly
intervention’. My struggle with God was more intense
than ever. If God wanted me to live, then surely there
had to be a reason to live. I looked at my family. Oh, what
a burden I was for them – if they were to know about the
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recent occurrence!
However, each morning the sun rose brightly,
everything seemed normal. I forced myself to just hang
on. What else could I do? I drowned myself in my own
self-made (unnecessary?) sorrow.
15 October 2012 – Every day is a struggle to keep going,
every second a fight with the octopus arms of depression
that want to smother the life out of me. The insipid sun of
hope filters, to no avail, through the bars of my heart to
clear the dark clouds.
It was just another ordinary day when I received a
phone call from a well-established firm! My chances to
get the job seems very slim. But deep within me burned
a small flame of hope. I felt a flare emerging from the
dull coals. I left for the interview with a thumping heart.
And I begged God for some relief. Relief in the form
of a new beginning. The interview proceeded well. I
admonished myself not to be too hopeful. Every second,
while waiting for the outcome, felt like a lifetime. Every
phone call resounded against my heart. Suddenly on
Saturday I had to write psychometric tests. But it clashed
with the first full marathon which I had practised so hard
for! I was torn in two. Maybe I wouldn’t even be offered
the job, then I would have sacrificed my marathon. If
I ran the marathon I’d miss the only chance I had of a
new beginning. Nervously I contacted the agency to ask
if I could write the tests at a later stage, to which they
answered with a definite no.
But I decided not to give up and contacted the
company itself. The personnel manager was not available
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but the switchboard put me through to the financial

manager. I explained my dilemma and that I didn’t want
to miss this chance. He answered that he would see what
could be arranged. With not much hope I ventured upon
my first marathon that weekend. As the kilometres flew
by my inner struggle raged fiercely. But the beauty of
my surroundings took my breath away and that spark of
hope frolicked happily in my chest.
I completed the race in a very good time. I received
congratulations from all sides – from my old club, my
family and a lot of support from the new club with whom
I had ventured on the race. But Monday eventually
arrived. Monday and a praying heart – please help, Lord!
If You really want me to live, let something happen in my
life that will give me some hope again. Tuesday came and
I made peace with the fact that I had botched my chances
by not writing the test at their given time. But suddenly
my cell phone beeped – a message from the personnel
agency! I had to take the test the next day! But what
now? And the next stumbling block looked like David’s
battlefield against Goliath. I had never taken such tests
and had no idea what to expect. Until the early-morning
hours, it was me, the internet and psychometric tests! I
felt calm and prepared when I walked into the room. The
tests lasted four hours. Four hours during which the old
feeling seeped over me which I always experienced in an
examination room.
Once again I wished the time away while waiting for
the results of the tests. At the promised time, I heard
the beep of my cell phone and opened the message with
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mixed feelings. I was invited to meet the Chief Executive

Officer. Another steep incline to bridge!
The day of the interview arrived. It felt as if I was
moving in a dream world. Only a few weeks ago there
was no sun shining in my life. There was just a desert
emptiness in my heart. God felt far removed and the
religious struggle was violent. But now it seemed as if
the small spark of hope had been ignited! The official
asked what I could offer the company. Truthfully and
sincerely I said my passion for my work. My work which
I still believed I had received from God. Deep in my sub-
conscious I still held onto that dream of the red carpet
and the medal. My whole career passed through my
mind’s eye. I gave my best in the interview. Now all that
was left was to hope – hope and wait. The CEO promised
a quick response, but once again I had to fight against my
emotions causing havoc to my insides. But it could not
extinguish my hope.
13 November 2012 – My husband and I are on our way
to Pretoria to visit my new psychiatrist. As the kilometres
fly by, my thoughts keep returning to the interview. I look
at the clouds. They look like little correct ticks. It is as if
God is smiling at me telling me not to worry. In my mind’s
eye I see the gleam of Professor Pretorius’s golden tooth –
everything will be okay. Suddenly the phone rings – it is
the personnel agency! ‘Hannelie - good news! You have
the job of accountant!’ My salary is considerably higher.
I can hardly curb my excitement. After all the trouble
– the initial interview, the stress when I couldn’t take
the psychometric tests on that Saturday. The four-hour
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question paper. Then the meeting with the CEO. Then

eventually this wonderful outcome! I can start over! And
in my heart I can thank God again for the first time in a
very long time. Thank Him because I can clearly see His
Hand in this outcome.
The visit to the psychiatrist is informative. We talk
about everything that had transpired during the last few
months. We discuss the new job and the marathon that
took place. I explain that I am trying hard to forget the
previous therapist. I also tell him that they think I lied
about my previous suicide attempt, wanting them to
feel guilty. It still hurts, although I succeed in telling him
they don’t have to believe me. My husband knows I was
ill and I know the Lithium tests were made weeks later,
explaining the normal levels in my bloodstream.
His next remark I will never forget – he says I am
stronger than a person who would lie about something
like that, that there is ‘something’ in me causing me to rise
time and again, to fight again. But that I am continually
getting hurt. And it goes deep. I know this is true. That
beneath the layers of masks and pain and the pretence of
many days, there is the foundation of which the essence
has not been crushed by all these circumstances. It is
inexplicable that God exists for me again. That people
matter to me now. Their encouraging messages, a friendly
gesture. And I realise, the therapist was wrong. It was
unprofessional of him to fail me when my distress was so
high. But suddenly it doesn’t matter so much anymore.
It is as if the scales have been removed from my eyes,
the shackles of the past unlocked. The hollow feeling it
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left will probably never disappear completely – but it is

part of the lesson of life I have to experience. It is okay to
trust people. Yes, one can get hurt. I will also be careful
whom I accept as genuine friends and who are mere
acquaintances. Nobody should be placed on a pedestal.
No person can constantly be in that idealised position.
And this knowledge is liberating. It doesn’t mean that one
cannot love someone. Or trust a person. It rather means
one should give God more space. Then everything will
fall into place like it did today. And my heart swells with
thankfulness and excitement for the prospect awaiting
me: Forward! I listen to the words of a song stating
that there is something in us that looks to the sun. After
everything that has happened to me I cannot deny this.
To resign my job was bitter-sweet. The driver who
was indirectly responsible for my brother’s accident, had
been working at the same company. Although I knew he
couldn’t be held accountable for the accident, seeing him
did open up old wounds. Now I wouldn’t be reminded of
it time and again. And I had learned my lesson never to
run away from my job again – running away has never
been a solution. I can only attest that I am thankful for
the opportunity to start over again.
Meanwhile I was working very hard to realise another
dream of mine – the Comrades. Not to prove to my old
therapist what I could accomplish, but to grow. There
were so many new friends at the club and I had learned
not to use other people for doctors and props, but to
regard them as members of a family who really care.
A girlfriend and I had great fun in the gymnasium. I
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really felt like Mr Bean amongst all the strange apparatus

as it was my first visit to a gymnasium. But instead of
regarding myself as a loser again in this strange place, I
stuck it out and improved every day.
December 2012 – My girlfriend’s friend died in a
motorbike accident. She said she didn’t want to go on living.
It upset me immensely because only someone who has been
there would understand such a remark. She didn’t practise
with me either anymore. During the funeral I was once
again confronted with the religion situation. The preacher
invited people who had not been redeemed but wanted to
be, to stand. I stood up and my heart was bleeding in its
desire for God... It was as if my life was played as a movie
in front of me. All the time that God has protected me from
my suicide attempts. But I realised that it was all by the
grace of God. Grace that I was once again able to give my
heart to God, to forget about the past that haunted me
so and to reach out for the future. I needed God and no
therapist or person could ever replace it. And I prayed that
I might rediscover God completely again. That December
I appreciated my family and I realised what I would have
lost had I succeeded in all my plans. What would then
have happened to my family?
January 2013 – It was with mixed feelings that I looked
through our Christmas photos. Two beautiful children, a
husband who always supported me. Family, friends who
surrounded me like a gleaming halo. Every day I was closer
to my new job and my chance to start over again. I worked
very hard to complete all the tasks and to finish off my
work before moving to my new job.
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February 2013 – Eventually the day arrived that I

could walk into my new job! It felt as if the shackles of
the past were slowly being unlocked and I could reach for
the future, a redeemed person. Mercifully I could grab at
the chance like a drowning person in a stream. Mercifully
the rays of the sun could melt away the iron railings of
my heart so that God’s fresh breeze could sweep away the
spider webs from the dark corners of my heart! My heart
swelled with thankfulness but also with the whisper of
fear! Would I be good enough? Would everything there
once again be obscured by these problems? I remembered
with compassion the message I used to write in my
diary every year while studying: ‘Work as if everything
depends on you. Pray as if everything depends on God’.
And I know it was always enough. I placed the message
from the previous transport manager in my office where
I would be reminded of it every day: ‘My grace is enough
for you.’ Tearfully I suddenly realised I had been blind
to the truth all this time. My obsession with myself
blinded me to the problems of others and I had allowed
myself to be enclosed in my own world where only my
problems existed! Ashamed I confessed that I am sinful
and insignificant. That I allowed Bipolar Depression and
other labels I carried around to separate me from God
and my fellow man. God’s mercy was NEVER insufficient
– if I think of how many times I shouldn’t have been here
– how many more chances would I get? What was very
significant and fed that mustard seed once again, was
that we started each day with a reading from the Bible
and prayers at my new job. We even sang then. I decided
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to grab the opportunity in the hope that the weeds would

not hinder the process of growth in the seed again.
20 March 2013 – A few years ago my cousin was
diagnosed with stomach cancer. Miraculously he was
cured of it. He also had a close encounter with death
during a heart attack and a stroke. God was good to him.
But like a thief at night, cancer got its claws into him
once again. This time it also spread to his other organs.
I was greatly disappointed because he was healed and so
a testimony that God lives – but what now! After being
so very ill? We visited him and he was bedridden. But
he made a joke or two and there was no sign of him
feeling sorry for himself. So it happened that the cancer
spread even further and he was hospitalised. He was also
transferred to a cancer hospital. One Thursday evening
my children and I visited him. I’ll never forget his words
when he realised who was visiting him. He had his back
turned towards us. The long cancer struggle’s temple
clearly stamped on his thin body. His voice a scarcely
audible whisper.
‘Please give me a little hug.’ I encircled him with my
arms. I wished I could walk along the path in his stead.
I didn’t deserve to live. I saw a person who WANTED to
live but was deprived of a life by this consuming cancer.
But I saw my two children and realised once again how
privileged I was, that I could improve where I messed up.
Grace for the road ahead – mercy when I would want to
run away again one day, when I would remember this
picture - this dying man who wanted to live and I had no
right to quit. Even if I suffered from Bipolar Depression
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and even if it might be easier to have the courage to

fight against the enemy from where I was now standing
in the boxing ring - I was going to tackle this struggle
as a stronger person. Wednesday arrived and he was
deteriorating. I decided to visit him again after work. But
just after three o’clock that afternoon I received the news
that unleashed mixed feelings in me. He had died. And
suddenly the dam of restrained emotions broke open in
me. Emotions because I was so blind, wasted so much
time. Tears not because he had died but because he had
suffered so much.
The text in the funeral letter dealt with the fact that
we are but breakable clay pots. And how true it is! Not
only me, as I am no exception to the rule. It’s exactly
what the Word says – all our homes here on earth are
merely tents. The preacher said it is always the getting
up again that counts. The fact that there is a treasure
inside each of us that is indestructible. Oh, Lord, please
help me to remember this when the valley of depression
gets too dark again! Help me to see that other people also
wage in struggles just like I do! That the fact that we are
Christians is not a passport to a carefree, illness-free and
elevated existence on earth! Help me remember that even
Jesus suffered here on earth, who am I then to complain
about Bipolar Depression?
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Chapter nine
The comrades
2 June 2013 – Eventually the big day arrived after months
of practising – getting up before dawn and often braving
the elements. But the nerves gnawed at me – I felt
inexperienced and had an injured muscle. The only plan
I had was to keep up with my jogging partner. The gun
clapped at 05:30 and the mass of people moved – at a
snail’s pace. I had fastened a little girdle around my middle
containing several energy agents, dried *wors, nearly a
whole chemist, etc. I felt heavy. It was unfortunately also
that time of the month which most women hate. Halfway
my partner started getting emotional. Her mother had
died during the week and being the little stalwart that
she is, she didn’t want to leave me in the lurch but joined
me in the Comrades. But halfway she couldn’t continue
however, and I had to continue on my own. I had no
plan B – just move, move. I lost a lot of time halfway
because, being ignorant, I waited for a downhill stretch
to start jogging again. Much later I discovered that I had
run those 5 km at more than ten minutes a kilometre.
But I made the next cut-off point and the next one – to
come up against the giant of Polly Shorts. I was tired,
exhausted, I was chafed – wearing a short skirt with
shorts underneath causing great sores from the chafing.
Head down, I walked up Polly Shorts. And there, right in
front of me, an athlete stopped dead and I tripped over
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his feet. My glasses slid away from me and my hands

and elbow were injured. A man helped me up and then
ran with me for a long time. Only 8km left but I was
FINISHED! I looked for Vaseline along the way, but the
water points had run out of stock and they only offered
me ice. It didn’t help much but I tried to jog... Then
came the realisation that I was not going to make it. One
kilometre of eighty-nine kilometres... Lord, I was not
going to make it! And immediately the enemy presented
itself – you are useless, you are a failure. The tears flowed
and I was half dragged, carried towards the finish. I didn’t
know by how many minutes I was late, I only stopped my
GPS-watch minutes later. My heart was in tatters, and I
had to then find my people. A good half an hour later
they found me where I was waiting in the stadium. How
was I going to process it? How could I explain that my
heart and soul had gone into this race? ALL the practise
and the more than a thousand kilometres I had done
since January. Everybody was as quiet as mice in the car
and I could hardly stop the tears. My body was sore but it
didn’t measure up to the darkness that stalked my heart.
The next day I had to wear my mask with difficulty and
look past the hurt in everyone’s eyes.
But time does heal. I compared the positives to the
negatives, I had jogged all those many kilometres, just
not making the last cut-off point. I was a novice and all
the excuses eddied through my mind. Three weeks later I
started jogging again together with my jogging mate – in
the cold of winter and mostly alone during the mornings.
At work I wrapped my hurt in mounds of work.
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August 2013 – Publication WOES

Today the cocoon feels too narrow. According to the
predictions and signs of the season, it was time for the pupa
to break out of this dark existence with its labels of bipolar
depression and borderline personality disorder. God’s light
has infiltrated this cocoon and the pupa eventually realises
that this season of depression and darkness has to give
before the omnipotence of God.
The mountains and valleys of bipolar depression

together with the black-and-white borderline is definitely
more than an anthill in the precipitous road. Like *Lisa’s
piano the high and low notes are recorded in black and
white – no greys, or nearly – only the severity of completely
correct or completely wrong. And the fact that the highest
soprano note suddenly alternates with the deepest
depressing alto note.
But between the soprano and alto notes God has

conjured up the most beautiful song. The heaviest frays
God gives to His bravest soldiers! The tune is learned
with great difficulty – through many, many lessons in
life. It takes a trained ear to make sense of the apparent
disorder of these conditions – these uncertainties. The song
asks why all the learned people refuse to help the essence
which is actually the core of the hurricane... The core of
not only bipolar and borderline personality people but also
a person’s search experienced from birth – the desire for
the presence of God. An emptiness which only He can fill,
whether you have been labelled or not...
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Sometimes a single note signals a desperation – when

the medication list grows and grows together with the
distress in the soul’s windows of those who really care even
when the rhetorical why, echoes in their ears after yet
another episode...
But the refrain returns again and again – know Who is

actually in control. And the refrain always dominates the
song – when even the storm which is locked-up in black
and white becomes peaceful. And it is here that the pupa
realises that nobody has the right to judge, because we are
all God’s pupas looking into the dim reflection of a mirror.
Sometimes feeling the cocoon growing closer and closer.
Nobody really knows what processes are enacted in

each cocoon. The world is only interested in who seemingly
emerges the strongest from each cocoon – even when the
world cruelly wrenches open the cocoon and the pupa is
spiritually unprepared with underdeveloped wings.
May your piano also be tuned by the Master of all pianos

to produce the song of all songs. May the labels hanging
from your yoke also become honourable symbols. Because
the stamp of being the child of the King is also printed over
the tags of bipolar and borderline personalities.
Towards November I tackled another marathon and

completed it in under four hours! And before realising it,
it was December and time for our holiday again as well
as another visit to the psychologist! We left for the coast,
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stopping along the way for my visit to the psychologist.

He could not believe his eyes and ears – here was his
difficult patient who had risen above a really big defeat
without returning to her old ways again, without any
thoughts of suicide!
The holiday was wonderful. I jogged along the beach
nearly every day and savoured every moment. I registered
for the Comrades again. I just had to. My preparations
were one hundred percent correct. I completed the
Loskop marathon of 50km in under five hours. I was so
happy. Everyone told me I would definitely do well this
year. I drank a lot of vitamins and was in top condition.
However, everything was concentrated around my sport
hobby. Because it made me feel good. The night before
the Comrades the whole club slept in a large hostel room.
I couldn’t fall asleep and got hay fever. In my thoughts,
angels cared for all my friends through the night. Morning
came, but I felt tired and sneezed a lot. On the way to the
starting point in Pietermaritzburg, Danie Botha’s gospel
music was playing. I was unexplainably sad and sat crying
in the back of the car. I yearned for God and prayed that
He would carry me. The feeling of anticipation that flows
over you while thousands of people wait in anticipation
for the shot of the gun to start the race. The strenuous
preparation of a whole year. Eventually the clap of the
gun. Two of the club’s athletes and I had agreed to run
together as far as possible. Within the first ten kilometres
I knew something was wrong. My legs felt heavy and
I was unbelievably tired. I could keep up with my two
jogging mates for about thirty kilometres. Then the
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medics had me pull over and told me to sit. It was nearly

at the halfway mark. They gave me lots of energy drinks
as well as re-hydration remedies. After about ten minutes
I started walking slowly and some of the club members
joined me. I felt a bit better, but halfway my son and
mother were very worried about me. I decided to keep
at it. I came across a group whose leader shouted ‘One
Two’ then the group answered ‘Three Four’. Suddenly a
dizziness overwhelmed me. The medics got hold of me
again. My club mates caught up with me again and lifted
me from the ambulance. I felt terrible and didn’t know
why I was experiencing such a bad day. Eventually, at
approximately seventy-three kilometres the spectators
convinced me to stop. I felt unbelievably dizzy and
couldn’t run straight anymore. In the ‘bail bus’ it looked
like a battlefield. Nobody said a word. I was terribly cold
and the drive to the finish in Durban took forever. It is
needless to say that the rest of the Comrades holiday felt
dead to me. I was inconsolable but everybody avoided
me so that I could get over it. Halfway home we stopped
at a doctor’s rooms where he immediately put me on a
drip. The next day I was back at work and suddenly I
knew what was wrong: I had flu! The doctor was very
worried that my cardiac muscle may have been affected.
I was sent to a specialist. Fortunately nothing was wrong
but according to the specialist the cardiac muscle could
have been greatly damaged had I continued the race. It
was with a thankful heart that I returned to work. It was
a bad bout of flu. A friend of my mother’s had meanwhile
become my prayer partner. He visited us and prophesied
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that God was going to use us a great deal. And that God
loved my husband a lot because he had stuck by me
through all the years, loving me unconditionally. He
also said that God said we have suffered greatly but that
we have passed the exams. He also said my eyes were
glowing in spite of the illness I was suffering from.
This was great news but because of my ‘history’ I
was carefully optimistic about it. The dreams never
diminished during me taking my medication. I dreamt
that many people told me I was never crazy, and that
it really was God speaking to me. And where I used to
wrestle through everything alone, I now had this faithful
prayer partner. I could even contact him twelve o’clock at
night and he would pray for me. In this way I could also
overcome the Comrades saga. He told me that the Lord
had protected me. And that is exactly what happened!
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Chapter ten
Assurance!
One night I dreamt that I testified a lot and suddenly
became very busy. Meanwhile I progressed very well at
work. I asked God what the lesson was He wanted me to
learn from all this. I received His answer: I had to preach
against perfectionism in my prayer group at work. My
strive for perfection was my biggest enemy. Jeremiah also
looked for excuses because, in his eyes, he wasn’t good
enough to be a prophet of God. Perfection had robbed
me of God’s blessings. Everything had to be perfect
before I really felt good about myself. I learnt that when
one obstinately demanded everything or nothing, one
usually ended up with nothing. God told Jeremiah not to
judge himself on his shortcomings, because when one is
weak, then God is strong in your life. Like God equipped
Jeremiah, touched him and placed words in his mouth,
so He also wants to reach out to us and come to our aid
when we are weak. A strive for perfectionism will never
again strip me of God’s blessings and love.
Meanwhile the psychiatrist regarded it as a miracle
that I hadn’t experienced an ‘episode’ for two years. The
prayer group welcomed my message with open arms. I
clearly felt guided by the Holy Ghost and remembered
the day, twenty years ago, when God promised me that
I would help many people one day. Self-confidence
enveloped me and the dark cloud of the past wasn’t such
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a heavy yoke anymore.

I still jog but the desire to feel close to God overwhelms
me. It nearly feels as it did before, but now there are
people telling me that I’m not losing my mind.
The days passed quickly. One day I was driving
to work in my red car. I pulled over and once again
wrestled with God. Why, Lord??? Why do I have to
suffer under this difficult struggle. Is it You conversing
with me or is it my illness? Is the fight against bipolar
the reason to anchor my feet to the ground and keep my
head in heaven? Always a double-sided cutting sword...
Suddenly the heavens split open and a blinding white
light lit up the surroundings. It felt like when I was manic
and my ‘soul leaves my body’. When I looked around
me my daughter and I were in strange snow cages. And
the whole landscape was magically filled with snow.
Suddenly the snow cages started moving and I fearfully
asked where we were going. Suddenly we stopped at a
snow building. It was indescribably beautiful. A person
opened the door for us and we were authorised to enter.
The person was very friendly ‘Hannelie - what does God
say to you?’ Shy but with certainty I said: ‘God tells me
that I have everything I need.’
The person handed me a brown cardboard suitcase
like the one I had at school. Inside the case were
things similar to price tags found on merchandise. The
journey continued to my cousin’s house. She spoke to
my mother on the phone, telling her not to worry as we
were safe. Then she helped us over the edge and I got
the feeling someone was putting me gently onto my
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bed. Immediately I was wide awake and quickly I sent

a message to my prayer partner. I thought I was losing
my mind again. But just as I had previously dreamt, the
next day everybody answered me that it wasn’t so. But I
wanted to be sure and I asked God for a Scripture. I read
Isiah 55, especially the section about snow and where
it says that God’s Word never returns empty. It was a
great revelation for me. Was what my prayer partner had
prophesied true? Here was the proof then.
I really wanted to share this with my prayer group but
I wanted to be one hundred percent sure that I wasn’t
manic and that the message came from God. So I decided
to go to a local doctor. I couldn’t get an appointment and
arrived at a medical centre after hours and prayed that
whomever God sent me to, that person would be able
to help me. I carefully wrote down the whole dream and
gave it to the doctor on duty. Usually doctors told me
that they couldn’t help me with my religious problems,
and fearing a manic attack would adapt my medication.
However, he read what I had written attentively and saw
me between the other patients. He sent me home with
three questions:
1. What does conversion mean? 2. What is it to
prophecy? 3. Does God speak through dreams to
people today?
It was very late and I still had to complete some
statements at work, but the flame burning inside
me was inextinguishable. For the first time a doctor
BELIEVED me!
The next day I asked for a day’s leave to be able to
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answer the questions. I was really led by the Holy Ghost

and could find Bible verses that could prove everything I
wrote. That afternoon I waited on the doctor with great
expectations. He said he could see I had gone to a lot
of trouble to answer the questions and that he agreed
with everything I had written. But if the dream was from
God, medication wouldn’t influence God’s work and to
set his mind at ease, he increased the dosage of one of
my medications that I had been on for two years. Instead
of feeling bad about it, I praised God. He asked me to
return in a week’s time.
This is what I had written: Galatians 1:10 ‘Does it now
sound whether I seek the favour of people, or do I seek
God’s favour? Do I try to ingratiate a person? If I still
seek the favour of people, I would be no servant of God.’
God’s grace was enough for Paul, even when he, like me,
sometimes endured a thorn in his side. He was, however,
satisfied with weaknesses.
1. What does conversion mean?
The general answer would be to give your heart to the
Lord. But to me it is much more than that. Realise you
are sinful and without Christ you are nothing. That you
are a sinful person and if Jesus hadn’t been crucified for
you, you would never see the Father or go to heaven. The
Holy Spirit lives within you to make you a new person
in Christ. Your whole life is renewed – all the old things
pass and in and through the Holy Spirit, you are new.
Your thoughts change, you notice people, you also see
God in people. An old sack, as mentioned in the Bible,
cannot hold new wine. That also has me thinking of
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the parable of the sower. To be seed in good earth, all

separation must be uprooted between you and God,
like the weeds along the way. The roots of your faith
must also have depth and not perish in shallow ground.
Therefore to convert to God is much more than giving
your heart to Him. Bible verses for verification: Romans
2:13, Ephesians 2:13, Ephesians 4:17-24, Colossians 3:8,
Acts 1:15.
2. What is prophecy?
The scholarly answer is ‘to lift the veil’. Proof that God
singled out prophets during childhood: Jeremiah 1:5.
Proof that there are gifts of prophesying: Corinthians 14.
Therefore to prophesy is not from people themselves. It is
a very great sin to prophesy falsely. The biggest prophecy
of all time was the coming of Christ. The next biggest
prophecy of all time is that Jesus will return to earth.
Revelations 22:17 ‘The Spirit of the bride says come’.
The prophecy is not to be afraid to say what God says.
Isiah 58: ‘God says call out with a great voice, do not keep
silent about anything. Let your voice be heard as clearly
as the Ramshorn.’ Prophets are not always acknowledged.
Even Jesus wasn’t always acknowledged. Prophets are not
always treated well and must often do ‘crazy’ things to
convince people that God speaks to them. Isiah even
once walked around without shoes or clothes. If God has
chosen a person, nobody can change it.
Revelations 3:7
The conclusion of everything – I don’t care anymore
who believes me and who doesn’t. It is no longer relevant.
Satan has stolen enough from me and God has drawn the
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line. The only thing I have ever wanted to do is to move

in God’s world.
3. Does God speak to people through dreams today?
Substantiation of snow: Matthew 28:3. Isiah 1:18 God
is looking for messengers. Isiah 8: ‘Who can I send? Who
will be our messenger? And I answer: Here I am! Send
me!’ To whom does the glory of dreams belong to: ‘I am
the Lord it is my Name, the glory belonging to me I give
to no other...’ This is proof that God spoke in dreams in
the Old Testament.
Joseph is a good example of this. Proof that dreams are
interpreted: Daniel who interpreted Nebuchadnezzar’s
dream. The question is if God still does it today and
whether it is God who speaks to me in my dreams.
Without a doubt I write the following: YES. Acts 2:17:
‘So it will be in the last days, says God: I will pour out
my Spirit on all people. Your sons and your daughters
will prophesy, your young people will see visions, your
elders will dream dreams. Yes, I will pour out my Spirit
on my servants and handmaidens in those days, and
they will act as prophets.’ In the Old Testament God
communicated wonderful promises through dreams,
like with Jacob’s dream at Beth-El.
And God always substantiates His special dreams to
me. Therefore it doesn’t matter anymore what happens
today – I now realise I am in God’s Hand and NOBODY
is going to pluck me from it. I know all dreams are not
always from God and must be tested and be purified as
through fire.
I can only testify and believe. As already stated, God
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is not vague to me. He is a reality. I have truly discovered

that I am on this earth to do the Will of God. That. That
alone. I know I cannot forget what God promised me.
God knows it’s been a VERY long time with difficult
paths that I’ve been clinging onto. I trust Him. The doctor
requested a follow-up visit in a week’s time. I carefully
wrote everything down:
During the night God confirmed again and again
how much He loves me. And that my path has been laid
out... It is my choice whether I will walk along that path
or not, because God forces nobody. I go to work with the
full armour of God. And it feels as if the glory of God
shines in me like a flame – God places His ‘lights’ on hills
to shine. Today it is my workplace for Jesus. Everything
is under God’s control. People always say one must live a
‘balanced’ life.
That is NOT according to the Scriptures! God is a
jealous God. He wants a person’s ALL. All your time, your
money, your soul, your whole being. Not stinted Sundays
alone. Therefore I said to God: Here I am. With my all
in God’s control. I see the image of Nebuchadnezzar
with light at his feet and an image that crumbles. The
heading is something like: ‘The final superpower: The
Kingdom of God.’ I do my work but to be a good soldier
for God is critical. In my spirit I pray for the people at
work. I receive the picture of an athlete running through
the portals of Heaven. The song ‘We are going to crown’
registers in my head. I see the picture of the feet of Jesus
and many crowns, but not many people receive crowns.
The day has passed and I am jubilant.
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Weekend: I receive the significance of the labels in my

dream: Joel Osteen Ministries ( a Black Berry Messenger
contact sent it to me: THANK YOU!) ‘People will label
you too slow, making too many mistakes. God labels you
strong, talented, valuable and more than a conqueror.
Make sure you are wearing the right labels.’
We drive to my sister-in-law. I praise God and pray in
my heart with the CD’s playing in the car. On Saturday
a newspaper sticks out from under a pile of others. God
can even use that to be an instrument. ‘What are you
waiting for – relax in the everyday occurrence...’ And just
there I know that God is teaching me these things. Had a
very blessed weekend.
Tuesday: BBM from a regular ‘contributor’. ‘You have
already been tested and purified to the bone, says the
Lord. I have tested your disposition and your heart. Will
you become embittered or will you stay faithful? Will you
serve Me only when all is well or will you also serve Me
during the dark nights of your life? I have tested your
devotion. Your commitment. Will you hold fast to Me
like a Job even when your friends say curse God and die?
Hold fast to Me, says the Lord. Great is your reward. I
will never forsake you. You are Mine.’
I have received another significant picture: Leave
your body to doctors, your soul to God and, the most
important to me – keep control over your emotions. My
work is done.
I enjoy restful nights and when I feel restless, I pray
and ask people to pray with me. Everyday affairs don’t
irritate me anymore, because with God, the everyday
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anyway becomes extraordinary when your spiritual eyes

are open. My illness is perfect in the Hand of God. A thorn
in my side, but under God’s control. Most importantly, I
learned that faith is not an emotion. It is a firm belief.
Not how you feel, but to move past it and that was a BIG
lesson I learned! And to serve God in everything and
everywhere.
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Chapter eleven
Reflection
The Thunderbolt
The thunderbolt cleaves through the heavens
To the aorta of this child of man
It sings and pulses in every cell
Dazzling X-rays through secret bones.
Ousts the poison of yesterday’s bitter bite

Thunderously demands the heart’s dominion
Satan you have stolen!
God Himself now arrests this heart of man.
Depression spider webs decay

The web spun so densely
No light to filter through
Now every cell reflects this thunderbolt.
How can four heart chambers carry this offering of thanks?

The Glory cascading tempestually
In this once barren desert?
How can thanks then ever suffice?
I once read that success is not a destination, but a

journey. There is no recipe unfortunately, that is 100%
successful for Bipolar Depression. Medication is very
important, but once again not always a safety net. I was
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Chapter Eleven – Reflection
both very depressed and manic with medication. To

consider alternative options is not the answer either. At
times the rhetorical question echoes mockingly.
What is the answer to this unpredictable illness? I
have truly discovered that one can live in absolute peace
with yourself and God by accepting His Will and His
time. A bipolar person is just not someone who accepts
being average, so maintaining an average existence
where one merely exists and doesn’t live in the true sense
of the word, would not answer the rhetorical questions.
Throughout my journey I assuredly and adamantly
realised that my little ‘watering cans’ would always
and unconditionally be there for me – through all the
depressing, manic and good times! Each one with its
own unique method and support. The letter on the cover
was written by my daughter shortly after I returned from
my 2010 episode. I always keep it in my drawer and when
dark clouds gather, it is like my sun.
It is questionable whether I will find the answers now.
Why did I have to be one of the people the preacher had
prayed for that day? Is it perhaps only a ‘spiritual eye
operation’? Rhetorical again. But instead of it becoming
mocking, it is resignation. I was not false, I merely
testified what I genuinely believed. It is not impossible
that restoration can still be complete, but in the event
that it is merely a spiritual journey, it is now the time,
after so many years, for acceptance and resignation. My
faith has received the wings of an eagle again. Currently
it is my aim to find resignation and to realise God is not
necessarily playing hide-and-seek with me. He is in those
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eyes with which the little ‘watering cans’ sometimes look

at me, in an encouraging e-mail when the day doesn’t go
according to plan, a hand on my shoulder and just the
normal sunshine after drab weather.
I want to cultivate a spiritual nursery within my
Golgotha with positive thoughts and refuse to become
part of the merciless statistics of Bipolar Depression.
I want to ask God to teach me to find even one ray of
sunshine every day to help brighten the dark cloud’s
silver lining and to open my eyes to truly see it. Also
grace to continue practising and to dust the spider webs
from my brain cells with each session. To dispute every
negative thought with each step. But most of all – to be
able to give back, just as unconditionally and liberally as
my little ‘watering cans’. Maybe we should search less for
answers and rather concentrate on appreciating every
day’s ‘clues’. In the hospital, my ‘restless’ soul was prayed
for. Initially I got very upset that a complete stranger
could sense the restlessness in me. But the truth was
staring me right in the face. My search for answers makes
me incredibly restless, like a ship on a stormy sea. And
the only way to reach resignation is to try a new recipe.
The ingredients are firstly thankfulness, light medication,
therapy, exercise and positive thoughts, peace with God
and with my past. Like the recipe for success it can never
be a destination. It takes hard work and singleness of
purpose every day! I can merely offer companionship to
my fellow-fighters – it is principally an illness one has to
suffer from personally or have a person close to you suffer
from it before you can comprehend its all-encompassing
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influence affecting all aspects of your life.

I want to choose not to be a victim of it. A person can
so easily lose oneself in the ups and downs of this illness.
The use of medication and many manic and depression
episodes trigger the question: Who am I really? One can
also choose to be bitter after the death of a loved one, but
my brother would definitely not have wanted that...
I don’t know what the future holds, I only know I’m not
going to give in. My little ‘watering cans’ are sometimes
even drooping leaves, but see, they don’t give up. Thank
you also to all the unknown ‘watering cans’. We know
it is not always simple or easy for you. There is no just
compensation we can offer to justify the true purchase
price of your ‘water’. I can only verify that my weak root
system was nourished and strengthened by you time and
again. Come the next Bipolar storm, I know you will be
there and together, with the grace of God as in the past,
we will be victorious. The scale of all the goodness that
have come out of the illness weighs at the end more than
all the bitter venom of the illness. I have fought the battle
and God teaches me the necessary skills I needed in this
warfare. Step by step, day by day armoured for the war!
To me, God’s way is wondrous. I believe I have walked
this pilgrimage of mercy to be a beacon of hope for
others. A lighthouse, as I can look through the lenses of
God with compassion and empathy at this world... which
is apparently plastic and inaccessible, until one can look
for and find, Jesus in the eyes of others.
Eventually I carried out my stepfather’s instruction
given me years before – to emerge from the cocoon
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enfolding me. My tags and bipolar depression have now

been replaced. And God has made everything new for
me. Now I rejoice in people’s messages – I strengthen
my spirit by making the choice – GOD LIVES. I draw
strength from the positive people surrounding me and it
helps me to shine my light in dark places.
I received the following from a Facebook messenger:
‘Oh beloved, you are going to be famous. This book of
yours will take you places you have never imagined.
Don’t relent in your effort. The God that I serve has finally
listened to your years of tears. Keep this faith going and
never doubt.’
9 September 2014 – I visit the psychiatrist to discuss
the increase of my manic medication. His first words to
me were that I should remember that not everything is
a reaction to bipolar depression, but that one can also
experience religious reactions. I relate the occurrences
of the past months. I am ecstatic! Just like my dream,
the psychiatrist confirms that it is religious and has no
connection to bipolar depression. After twenty years...
During the return journey my heart sings... I now
know more than ever before, that God is reality. And that
I am definitely cured of my old ways. I know I will again
try to flee from God. Or return to the ostrich-method
by burying my head in the sand. Even if this book can
save ONE PERSON from suicide, win ONE SOUL for
the Kingdom of God, it would have served its purpose.
God DID see bits of my broken heart and I believe
God cried with me and my little ‘watering cans’. I never
dreamed it would be possible to once again have the
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wings of an eagle. The jogging definitely helped me – I

learned endurance which can definitely be applied to
one’s everyday life. NOTHING I learned was inapplicable.
No path less trodden was ever taken without God. I read
again my writing of long ago in my much-used Bible –
‘Hold fast, I will use you.’
Like my ‘watering can’, I will walk this road God has
channelled for me, drop by drop. The support system God
has sent me, is a formidable ladder! Were I to experience
‘episodes’ again – and this is difficult to say – GRACE
will once again be written on my pilgrimage and God has
taught me to praise Him still.
131

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Pilgrimage

Copyright © Hannelie Viviers 2015

Published by Porcupine Press in 2015

Translation by Jenny Eksteen

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from The

Heartbroken that I had to bid my friends farewell

disdain in the strict teacher’s voice. To top it all, I had

primary school, I unknowingly underwent a personality

schoolwork and it drove me crazy when they played their

eyes of my best friend. It took courage to wear them in

the expenses and that I would have to study through

friends. Some of my colleagues popped in now and then

unprepared at the conference and that God would reject

me turned dark and I was ‘lost in the Holy Ghost’. An

Overcome with bliss he folded me in his arms and

– I had testified and now a miracle was going to take

devoured. Every second of the clock I tried to devote to

Our pastor’s interpretation at a Wednesday prayer

*bakkie’s open window, I said: ‘God has declared that

tore my photographs out of my photo album and flushed

Of the long trip to Weskoppies I was blissfully

But I knew that my ‘Dad’ would fetch me. They

one side. The sisters told me I look like princess Diana

deliberately mixed with the other patients, thinking it

aim: I was going to find a job! But who in the world

– I looked so dim-witted! Above all expectations, the

Weskoppies. The Professor continually assured me that

droughts or floods occurred again. I quickly advanced

fetching some spare parts – sometimes even with oil-

code. The manager was very upset with me and told me

the upper hand. I incessantly started speaking faster and

On reaching the hospital, I jumped out of the car,

mother was meant to visit. It was never a Tuesday for

effect on me? Why? Why? I became terribly despondent.

accepted his offer.

student. Then I went to the accounting firm and told

when I started showing progress. I studied extremely

pass an extra module before carrying on with my second

a high note. The highlight was when I received the

I did not worry about it anymore and because people at

interaction with people at work is also deteriorating. I hold

Lord, everything will be as You intended.

carry me and not leave me to myself, even when I don’t

I was sad to take leave of the people who had opened

module I did not pass. I drove very carelessly and even

22 May 2007 – The day is especially cold and grey –

it cannot be. I want to doubt, I want to convince myself

the depression giant. My little sister was very, very quiet.

is still festering. An abscess of longing and self-reproach.

goal after all the years of struggle and hardship. While

sympathising and who had supported us. At work

it worth it? Yes, my salary has increased way above

the awful spider that was just waiting for me to be caught

started to disintegrate. I investigate every side-road. Cry

and walk through the house, watch TV or do something

away. There I will decide what my next step will be. As

Before long the signpost indicating Durban/Port

watch and two workers in the bathrooms. I take off my

an attempt to escape the cold. It is already early morning