One fine morning, I got up, not to embrace the serenity of the sun’s rays but to become the victim of negative vibes. The bad aura or depression, whatever you may like to call it, all over again. The previous days had been fine, they had been happy. Little did I expect that getting up would ache so much.
Neither had anything serious happened nor had any person behaved improperly with me these past few days. Therefore, without any concrete reason, I was dealing with a heavy heart, trying to understand what is going to happen next and how the whole day would look like. I did not know how I was supposed to convey this to people around me and when this sudden aberration was going to stop.
Everything felt disgusting. The newspaper that I read every morning with love was suddenly the most difficult task. I had so much work piled up for the day but it all looked useless. I had to cook my favourite food but I had already lost my appetite. All these things were as sudden and fierce as a natural disaster. The fact that it was abrupt, unforeseen and an amalgamation of so many things, I surmised that it would be unbelievable to others.
The functioning of the brain is almost like a dark movie on such days. It is in fact far graver. I stared at my face in the mirror for minutes, only to burst into pools of tears which helped me in no way. I felt the strongest urge to sleep and I rushed to my bed. The interesting part is, unlike nights, the day was insomnia free. I slept for a couple of hours only to get up with an empty stomach and a feeble self.
I dragged myself to the kitchen and cooked in the most terrible manner; the water boiled with big and small bubbles and at once I felt an intense desire to put my fingers into them. But that’s the thing with depression, you generally do not hurt your physical self because that will lead you to the face the questions from the world. It is a mental abuse with weapons called anxiety and panic. The pain you feel when you drag yourself from a stream of absurd thoughts cannot be elucidated.
Somehow, I managed to open my laptop and note down the tremors that shook the innards of my existence. I wrote this account of the alarming and dreadful side of depression not to endorse it but to expose my weaker side to the world and threaten its very existence. I realised that writing helped me blurt out everything that was stuck inside like a dagger and that writing is my way to fight with the flights of my fright.
I also wrote this because I am aware that there are people who will relate to the symptoms I have mentioned but are either clueless about what is happening or are still finding ways to tackle it. At this point, I find it imperative to express clearly to others that it is not sympathy that people like me yearn. It is simply a fight, a fight that can only be fought alone. But you do not need to alienate others, you and I are not different. We are just like you, dealing with a difficult phase.
My appeal to everyone is to speak, write and sing and discuss about depression and mental health. Because only by doing so, can we prevent bright fine mornings from converting into gloomy dark days!