From Fear to Healing: My Journey with PTSD and Mental Health Awareness

From Fear to Healing: My Journey with PTSD and Mental Health Awareness

They say life can change in the blink of an eye, and for me, that moment came during the COVID era. It was an ordinary day, one where I planned to meet my brother in town. Little did I know, it would become a day I’d never forget—and not for good reasons.

In Zimbabwe, transport can be challenging, and back then, the most available option was mishika-shika taxis. These small, unofficial taxis are infamous for their reckless driving, but they were often the only choice. Reluctantly, I boarded one alongside a lady and a gentleman. The driver refused to let anyone sit in the front, citing a faulty door. Something felt off, but I brushed it aside.

As the car veered off the usual route, my heart raced. I asked the driver where we were going, but his response chilled me: “Shut up.” Suddenly, the two men at the back lunged forward, covering our mouths and pressing a gun to our heads.

In that moment, my life flashed before my eyes. Fear gripped me as I clung to the hope that I would make it out alive. They demanded our bags, rummaging through them. My heart broke for the man with us who had been carrying money for school fees—likely their target all along. I begged, tears streaming down my face, “Take whatever you want, but please don’t harm us. Don’t kill us. Leave our IDs.”

When they were done, they dumped us in the bushes near a suburb. Disoriented but alive, I ran as fast as I could, sobbing, desperately asking strangers for help until I finally reached home. The look on my family’s faces was unforgettable—they were as shaken as I was. For days, I relived that nightmare.

Every time I saw a similar car, I’d break down. The trauma swallowed me whole. I confined myself to the house, afraid to venture out, afraid to trust. It was a dark time.

Thankfully, light broke through the cracks when my brother and a friend referred me to a therapist. Dr. Machando and his team helped me take the first steps toward healing, diagnosing me with PTSD. Through their care and the support of YOPETALTH (Young People Mental Health Organization), I began to understand my mental health, my triggers, and my need to spread awareness about PTSD and anxiety.

Today, I’m stronger. My story is a reminder that mental health matters, and that healing is possible with the right support. It’s also a call to action: let’s talk about mental health openly. Let’s help each other heal.

As I reflect on that harrowing day, I remind myself of this truth:

“Scars remind us where we’ve been, but they don’t have to dictate where we’re going.”