Problem:
Develop a Psychotherapist not for yourself, based on the Trauma you went through in your days in Guinea, and how those traumas are currently affecting your mental state here in Canada. You are not getting enough sleep. Whenever I sleep and have a nightmare that I was sent to Guinea, I will feel sick for days before I GET BACK TO MYSELF.I am worried and sometimes I feel like killing myself instead of returning back to Guine where I went through acute depression and mentally disturbed. I was robed from my youthful agea In Guinea.I suffered the worst of any crime against humanity. Use the narrative below and make tiyr statement. Need Assignment Help?
My name is Hadja Haby Bah, and I am a citizen of Guinea by birth. I was born on December 9, 1997, in Conakry, a vibrant city filled with the melodies of everyday life, but which also harbored shadows of pain for the vulnerable. I grew up in an extended family that held Islam close to their heart, where traditions and culture blended in ways that seemed both comforting and confining. My tribal identity as a Fula shaped my upbringing, emphasizing a rigorous adherence to faith and moral values. However, these same values that offered a sense of community turned oppressive in the face of familial and societal expectations.
In March 2018, my parents' separation became a turning point in my young life. My father embarked on a path that I could never understand, marrying a fourth wife, leaving my mother alone to maintain our family's stability through her modest market business. In a bid to alleviate financial strains, my mother sent me and my younger sister, Kadiatou, to live with my father's elder sister, Hadja Binta. At first, we were nurtured and provided for, our education continued, and life took on a semblance of normalcy.
But that tranquility was a façade that shattered in 2019 when my aunt's intentions became clear. The proposal for arranged marriages surfaced, with my aunt suggesting that Kadiatou marry her son, Alpha, and I marry her other son, General Mohamed Bah. The age difference and the fact he was a military officer-as old as my father-made this a convoluted absurdity. My firm protests were met with an ugly transformation in our living conditions, plunging us into an atmosphere of physical and emotional abuse and forced labor that stripped us of our identities and future.
Forcing us into a role of servitude, my aunt disallowed any thoughts of school, replacing the pursuit of education with household chores and surveillance. I felt the weight of duty crushing my spirit and the precious bond I shared with my sister tightened into a struggle for survival. My aunt's twisted proposition morphed into a source of threats that intertwined with fear; we were no longer seen as children but as mere extensions of her will.
The pressures escalated, especially in April 2020, when military personnel began to intimidate me further. I was threatened with violence and was haunted by the prospect of imprisonment should I continue to resist their demands. The looming shadow of the military's influence grew darker, and I reached out to my mother for support, only to find that she too felt powerless against their might. She indicated it would be futile to oppose, as my father had also succumbed to their expectations and agreed to the marriage.
The betrayal of my father was a wound that cut deep and echoed loudly in my heart. I faced an emotional storm where I felt isolated and ensnared, eventually leading me to acquiesce to the marriage proposal on December 8, 2021, despite the turmoil within me. The day I married was barren of joy, filled instead with anxiety, an overwhelming sense of futility, and a resignation to a life that seemed preordained by forces beyond my control.
Now, as I navigate my life here in Canada, the specter of those sleepless nights haunts me. The memories of threats, fear, and the loss of autonomy linger like shadows in my mind. I often find myself staring at the ceiling, trapped in a looping cycle of anxiety that pulls me back to Guinea-the echo of my aunt's voice and the military men's threats reverberating in my thoughts, robbing me of peace.
My mental health is fragile. I often grapple with depression, a silent tormenter that makes simple tasks feel insurmountable. Every night is a battle against a mind that refuses to let go of the past. I yearn for healing, yet the road seems long. I strive to reclaim my narrative, but the scars remain. Engaging in therapy here offers some respite, the first steps toward unearthing the chains that bind me. Each session is a chance to explore and confront the deep-seated fears, and to slowly rebuild a sense of self that was nearly destroyed.
Yet, I hold onto hope, one that is slowly learning to flourish amidst adversity. I want to heal, to reclaim my dreams, and to move forward into a future where I am not defined by what happened to me but by the strength I carry within. I am learning to embrace the possibility of a life not dictated by others but crafted with my own hands, a life brimming with potential and freedom. Each day, I stand at the precipice between my past and my future, unwavering in my pursuit of peace, dignity, and the reestablishment of my identity.