Be Your Own Super Human!

Have you wondered how it feels to be someone who suffers from mild depression but the symptoms aren’t that deadly so nobody gives a shit?

Image credits: henn_kim, Instagram
Image credits: henn_kim, Instagram

Hold on, this isn’t any comparison or whatsoever. Every type of depression is equal and should be treated with utmost care and respect. This is NOT a competition. 

I have good days and bad. Mostly good days, but the bad ones are bad enough to overshadow the good ones by a long shot. I live a pretty, good privileged life and I should be thankful for it (which I am) but that’s not the point. I don’t cry my eyes out or have trouble breathing at random, but I still “feel” like shit most of the time. A minor inconvenience fucks up my entire thought process and creates indescribable disruption. I fall into pieces which only I can assemble back. I hear everyone say, “I’m here for you if you want to talk.” ; so where do I begin? How do I explain a lifetime of battling with anxiety and “mild” depression? How do I possibly put aside the fear of getting judged while narrating my sob story to a society which constantly disappoints and puts down every human being? Be it shaming a 3 year old for what her mother made her wear or a global female icon for getting shot and making something out of her misery. And mind you, it’s not just my gender that throws me further into the deep, dark pit of depression. It’s much bigger than that. 

I love how these supportive messages begin to pop up at the death of one famous entity. As soon as that fades away, so does the empathy for the dead person. It breaks my heart that people like me who are struggling every day, sometimes just to wake up and gather the energy to live a single day without overthinking, or without having to indulge in small talk, will have to keep on handling themselves because no matter what, nobody else can understand your pain like you do, nodbody gives a shit about you like you do. It’s borderline cynical but if you put some wise thoughts to it only you can save yourself, be your own best friend. The people around you, are all good just for casual encounters. 

Hold them close, but hold yourself the closest. 

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2016: The Year That Is Done!

2016: The year of making smart, sane choices. 365  days of positivity & happiness. Can safely say, this year has given me a lot to be thankful for.

 Moved out of a wrong career choice, a wrong relationship. Started over to find happiness lies in the smallest of things.

Applied for a dream job and got it. Met some absolutely amazing people and realised life is much more and beyond anxiety and overthinking. 
Got rid of people, got rid of negativity, of the voices in the head that held me back from doing things I love. Smiled more often. Changed as a person. Grew out of toxicity. 

Travelled. Travelled a lot more than I had imagined I would. Spontaneous trips and doing things I was absolutely terrified of doing without batting an eye, said yes to life and no to fear. 

2016 would have sucked if I hadn’t let the past years’ mistakes empower me. 

Time flies. Don’t live a life you’re not proud of. 

Happy New Year. 

Stop Romanticising Depression!

Of late, I have come across a bunch of hoodwinked people who assume and believe that Depression and Anxiety affects only the less privileged part of the society. Clearly, these people have never faced uneasiness, random pangs of sadness, overpowering them and eventually bumming them down!

Honestly, Depression was never about those temporary bouts of regular old sadness. Depression is certainly not some black and white image with goth boy staring out of a window and some stupid quote caked on to it.  It’s just like your regular illness that you wish went away, but worse. Because, nobody comes out and says “I have a disorder” or “I need help.” For whatever reason, opening up about it isn’t something we all do. Nobody hides the truth, but at the same time none of us are facing it head-on either.

It’s almost impressive how worthless depression and anxiety can make you feel. Here’s the thing, get it straight or get out: People get sad. People get depressed. And people cry. No one has the right to say that they can’t and worse, to be happy and say “it’s just a phase” because it doesn’t ever get better.

Depression can hit anybody, regardless of their sex, age, or country. You might have a lot of friends, but you might feel like curling up in a corner and not have any human interaction for days at all. You’d skip sleep but at the same time feel never to get out of the bed. You skip meals because eating feels like a chore. Your friends and family worry about you but eventually they get used to your absence every now and then. They stop asking you what’s wrong because they never get the right answer. What would you say to them anyway? You might have a hundred thousand people by your side when you don’t need them but the moment you do, there’s no one at all. All your nightmares begin to seem to come to reality. And the voices in your head, oh the voices never die.

This is what depression is and if people knew even one fourth of what it feels like to go through the this, they wouldn’t joke around about it. They wouldn’t tell people that it’s ‘spur-of-the-moment’ thing or to get over it or to look at the bright side. There is no bright side for us.

So, don’t let people tell you that your problems are less important than the problems somebody else might have. It’s never the case. Don’t make them make your tough situation any tougher.

Life, happens in the ‘now’ always!

And so I try, I try to be more ‘in the moment’ because it struck me for the millionth time as I lay in bed yesterday morning that I’m always either in the past or the future – a future that I’m perpetually planning and never get to; a future that keeps getting farther away. Today WAS the future I’d dreamt of once and so I tried.
I lay my head on the pillows and listened to the birds outside chirp. A few stirred around the corner of the room. It was warm inside and frigid outside but I went out into the hall anyway, after a while.
I stretched, lay down my yoga mat and got through three cycles of the surya namaskar before I felt a sharp pain in my back. I felt it all, thoroughly, my sinew angry in protest. It was an unpleasantly warm morning and my muscles were hard, set, unwilling to move and I’d pushed them too hard. So I sat on the settee with the ants who’d followed me from the bedroom to the hall.

On calmer days such as these, I try not to push myself into a lot of things. I try to think about why I’m here, I try to be kind to myself.
Love has diffused into everything we do, it’s become an everyday affair. It’s subtle poetry, not a song that explodes out of our mouths anymore. It’s how the stars go around — over ages, silently but beautifully still.
I don’t know about the trajectories of our stars, where we’re going or where we’ll end up. Or how we’ll end. I don’t understand the pressure to decide things NOW and here that my parents have recently been putting me under.
On that note, I don’t know what to say to my mother these days. I feel like we’re drifting apart even though I say all the right things to my parents. I love them but I’m a little sore because I’ve been clasped too hard all my life.

Until next time, love.

‘Could-have-beens’ and other things I dislike

Do you, dear heart, and do it well. Someone said ‘there’s something missing in the world and I think I’ll have to create it’, so do. Create what’s missing. Use your voice for something that matters — little boys and girls in homes and in the streets, for men that feel the need to drink at 9 in the morning and then struggle with getting a print of their ration cards because they’re too poor to have learned to use a computer even though their child needs that print to get into school. Use it to speak about your own madness, use it to correct the wrongs that were done to the mouth you kiss every night. Speak for the ones that can’t, because you have a mind and limbs that can get you places. If the sight of the homeless makes you feel guilty about the Starbucks coffee you drink, then let it. Let the shame wash down your throat and scald you, let it propel you into action, because there is little else that’s worse than stifling what makes your heart cry out. If you want to cry, then do. If you want to draw, dance, mix music, then do.

Create what’s missing. Just don’t die with ‘could-have-beens’.

Until next time, love.

Why I Write?

Through all the years of despotism and desolation, we keep writing. Through the years of solemn pain, and understanding, the years of searching, the moment of finding. Through all the times of mindnumbing tears ot the fear of never knowing what’s next, because everything’s here. Or the next moment, when everything’s not. Why do I write? Why do I live and why do we stay here, living and writing with insginificant words and even more insignificant lives, no more important than that of ants. Why live and why survive..Why stay up nights or even worse, why stay up days?

WE don’t live for our dreams. We search for them and we run behind them but when the world comes crumbling down, there isn’t a background score while the tears flow and there isn’t anything philosophical or meaningful. It feels bad and we cry because we can do nothing else. Nothing else because we don’t know why or why not. Fear moves in and out of our lives and all we have to do is stay and watch as if foreign to the very being that moves as our feet does, sees with our eyes and hears the wind through our ears. But being alien to all of this, and being incapable of understanding of fearing life itself, is different. Why do I write? I write for someone who will read, I speak for someone who will listen and I act for someone who will witness. And the search for that someone is all that matters, all that has mattered. But right now, in this moment, in this moment of unknowing, in this moment where we are edging our body to give us that hope or that break, that moment when we realize, ah, it’s pointless to be broken, we need to live and hope, but no. Nothing arises. There is nothing because all the logic, we have thought of, all the escape plans, analyzed, all the quotes and quotable sayings heard and repeated and all the philosophical musings, mused. So why write? Why survive when all is lost? When our bodies and our minds give no hope but to stand against time as it flows till you rot and fall by the flesh, do you smile? Do you jest to the Gods to look down and grace you with intervention and then enlightenment? It makes no sense because nothing seems to matter, nothing except the pointless gaze of sightless eyes, and there isn’t drama or pain or suffering, simply the clean, fresh, nothing.

I write to communicate. But when there is no one to communicate to, I write. Not because everything will be okay, not because I will be, but because the world needs to hear this. I write and I live to smile and to laugh in the words if not in the flesh, I write and I live to look at those around me, hear the wind and smell the things, even if the body seems surreal and unnecessary. I write to surrender myself to the chaos and randomness, that nothing matters and to go on as mundance, unnecessary beings is our calling, because I am afraid of Death and the Darkness when I have to be, but afraid of none and naught when the time needs me to be. Intellect, emotion and it all combining to allow me to make such words, paint such pictures and say such things that don’t matter, don’t have to exist but simply do, just like the life I live that doesn’t need to go on and is purposeless.

There always was something that I needed to do, something above and beyond the call of duty and to change the world, but it doesn’t matter now, because it will come to me. It doesn’t matter, because the chaos and the fact that none of it matters, give me the power to swim through the shortcuts to that time where I must do what I must. Though nothing matters, and I write now for nobody, and search for nothing and noone, and dream no more, I write. And in fear, live.

I write in fright.

I write the night.

Until next time, love.

Silly Tales of Ego & Drama

“The ego loves drama. The ego creates drama and focuses on the drama, so it doesn’t have to feel it’s own pain”, said some profound woman on the internet.

Recently, a “friend” blew things waaay out of proportion by being downright nasty about it on social media and it took me by surprise because it was a clear case of misplaced anger and miscommunication (and because we’re not teenagers anymore.) I was upset, yes. But then I realized she was just projecting her emotional imbalance through me. That in the process of healing, she’d forgotten to live and let live. That it was her choice to stoop so low. That there are many people like her who are just bitter and can’t see beyond their own shortcomings. 
While I might forgive and forget easily, I know we will never be friends again. But that’s the great thing about growing up. You have a say in who stays in your life. You can have people fuck off without it being the worst thing ever. You accept that people, both good and bad, will find ways to get out of your life when they have to. And while it might hurt now, tomorrow you’ll be grateful that they did. Pinky promise! 🙂

Until next time, love.