Forever grateful to a band of brothers
DARRYL Wallace can’t tell how many times he has considered suicide because the tally is too high.
The depression of childhood trauma latched itself to him like a strangler vine, tightening its grip on his psyche until hope and happiness had been completely choked off.
But since joining a men’s group in August, the 48-yearold Cairns man has found faith in himself and life again.
He totally credits fellow attendees, whom he refers to as his brothers, for his transformation.
“I didn’t believe in these groups, but the brothers believed in me,” he said.
“I was a man who bottled up his problems … I didn’t want to burden anyone with it. I didn’t want to trust anyone.
“It’s like a living in a box that’s all taped up. The brothers have removed the tape. They helped me open up.”
Mr Wallace, a Mbabaram Aboriginal man, was referred to Kunjur mens group by his case worker at Wuchopperen Health Service.
Kunjur is run by Indigenous men out of the Indinji Hall at 156 Irene St in Mooroobool.
It incorporates cultural understanding into the running of its weekly meetings.
“What they do there is marvellous,” Mr Wallace said.
“They seen I was going downhill pretty fast. I was thinking suicidal thoughts. It was a dark place. Blackfellas, we’re shame to talk about things like that.
“I couldn’t keep it anymore; it was hurting me mentally and spiritually. I just needed help.”
Mr Wallace said he was being anti-social and he was facing homelessness, but the group taught him he was “not alone in this fight”.
“The last session I broke down in front of everybody. I haven’t cried like that since my mother died. Everyone gave me a standing ovation because they knew how hard it was for me to share my story,” he said.
“I’m walking in the light again: that’s all because of Kunjur. I’ve been to a lot of psychiatrists and counselling services in my life, but they’re nothing like this.”
Bernard Sabadi, Kunjur’s co-ordinator, began Kunjur after his friend committed suicide in 2018.
“It was something we were hearing about a lot, too much,” Mr Sabadi said.
“That’s when I thought the mens group was the solution.
“I never wanted Kunjur to be a phase. My vision was to have other men come on board and help facilitate the work of the group so that Kunjur could be here for many years.”
About 20 men attend each Wednesday’s support group, the agenda for which has been shaped by attendees over the past four years.
“We open with a prayer, song or dance,” Mr Sabadi said. “Then we do a check-in with prompter questions: ‘what’s something that has brought you up, what’s something that’s brought you down? What’s something you want to improve on, what’s something you’re grateful for?’ The check-in is a safe place for men to express their emotions.
“Then we have a meal together and that’s when the one-on-one yarns start.”
Mr Sabadi said traditionally men thought being strong meant not sharing their emotions.
“That doesn’t work, men just become angry. We’re trying to change that,” he said.
Kunjur was named in honour of Mr Sabadi’s late friend.
“I went to my friend’s father, a Western Gugu Yalandji man, and asked if he could give it a name in his language,” Mr Sabadi said.
“He consulted with his brothers and they came back with Kunjur.
“It’s the name of a sweet fruit that only grows atop the mountains of Western Gugu Yalandji country. To get to it you have to go through struggles and hardships, it takes a real effort.
“That’s the sweetness of the fruit, a reward for going through all the hardships.”
If this article has raised issues for you or someone close to you, contact Lifeline on 13 11 14.