Dear You,
There’s so much relatability among souls in this world – it gives you hope and it gives you happiness. Your words heal me, and maybe my words might help you get through a tough day. Observing your own self is the first thing to do when you feel like it’s the end of the world. Know yourself. Look at it, look at the patterns, trace the changes and see the transitions.
I used to wear a lot of accessories. Especially my favourite ring, a promise ring that I and my friend shared on her birthday. Junk jewellery made me so happy that I couldn’t wait to pair them up with outfits. And suddenly (or gradually), I stopped wearing them till those tiny jhumkas annoyed me. And, the rings became something strange to my eyes.
I used to laugh a lot. There was one word common to all definitions about me – energetic. And imagine how I felt when I saw my energy drain away, till it erased from my self. Someone who hopped all day, only wanted to sit now.
Letters. I was crazy about them. Random letters to your close ones, telling them how amazing they make me feel would make me so happy. All of that stopped, in some cases, it became a forced effort.
Sleeping was still easy, it was waking up that took all of my willpower. Someone who was always smiling and jumping after every nap, was now reluctant to open her eyes. It was hard, very hard.
Your eyes are squeezed. They refuse to open. Your bones are so tired, they’ve almost broken. Your legs refuse to move, your body aches. I did not cut off, but I found myself cribbing all day. I became selective, so selective sometimes that it was just one person I had a conversation with in my entire day. That person was sometimes my landlord aunty, or a college friend or my own self. Anxiety. It takes a toll on you. As I write this paragraph, I do not know if the next moment will bring all the feelings of worthlessness in me – super drained eyes, a forced smile, watery eyes, shaky fingers and sometimes a clouded head.
I read a lot. No, not books. Smaller posts. Posts about your mental health. Posts about NOT giving up. Poems about pain and grief. Poems about men and women and their world, posts about how there is greater sorrow, and mine is nothing. And there were days when I couldn’t read. Not a single word. Days when my pending assignments failed to move me (I was an extremely punctual person).
I remember I used to write a lot. It kept me sane or rather insane. I was looking for something. An answer, a path, a direction, a closure, my career, my dreams – I didn’t know. But something. Something that was lost, that was blurred, that was so far I cried to have it. My illness kicked in. It took almost a month to recover from a viral fever. My room became my world and somehow it wasn’t my world. I was still looking for something.
This open letter to you isn’t a story I wish to tell you and bore you out, I wish to tell you how important it is to observe your own self. It took me time. A lot of time before I realised how much I wanted to laugh and love and visit places and have chai and read books and study and meet people.
I considered seeing a therapist but somehow thought I wasn’t that depressed. No dark circles yet. No scars on my body. No cutting off from people or uncombed hair for weeks. I do not know what it was. I do not know what it is. All I know is that this moment has brought me to open my eyes. It’s rare. So this moment helped me write this letter.
I’m still searching for something. I’m still a stranger to my rings. I’m still waiting to laugh and hop around. I will, I know. Or I will never, I do not know.
But when life goes out of my bones, I remember some faces wanting me in their life. When eyes refuse to open, I see my parents and their love. This doesn’t happen every day. You’re not this positive every day. But I try to, with the last bit of energy left in my body, with the scarred leftovers of my soul, I try to crawl. You can, yes, you can. Not every day, yes, but on some days. Keep doing that. On black and white days, you’ll find greys if not all the colours.
Talk, try talking to yourself. Write if you can. Read a line. Walk a little. Worthlessness isn’t a worthy feeling, it’s only you who can kick it out. No, you’re not fine and no, this isn’t easy. While I’m still struggling, this is my story. Hope it helps you move your parts when you feel there’s nothing left.
-Love