How long will the suffering continue?
Feeling low and not being able to do anything, let alone getting out of the bed. Depression, anxiety, panic, and more… we categorize all of these as mental disorders. But are they really controlled by meds and counsellors? Can we not take authority of how we feel?
My childhood brings me happy memories. I was a good kid with lots of friends. Hopping around, cracking jokes, being a daughter who was loved by her parents. After the tender age of 18, I had lost all my plight for even finding a reason to smile. You do grow up and mature, but entirely changing as a person is not the plan. I had changed for the worst. I had a huge temper where I would throw things, shiver while I cried incessantly, smoke away one after the other, and feel like the entire universe had conspired against me, that I was the unluckiest child with all the problems weighing me down. In the process of which, without my intent, I started losing all the people dearest to me. Nobody could get me out of my bubble.
I was never an extrovert, neither an introvert. What my kind of people are called are “ambiverts”. Quite a fancy tag for dwelling in between these two stark opposite characters. I got used to seeing people leave, new ones coming in without me making any efforts. At one point, I stopped giving a fuck about people. If you want to stay, you are more than welcome and if you wish to leave, then the door is open. I found very less people to engage with as I am a sucker for good conversation. I started to degrade people and judging everyone, whether I knew them or not.
I often resort to my make-belief bubble if I ever feel that way. In these times, I do not let anyone come inside. The space is entirely occupied by me. I am the queen and I give orders to my heart and brain to sulk more and overthink to a limit where it gets enough and I have a splitting headache.
It’s a place I describe with much detail; it’s dark and not bigger than one room. There’s a slight ray of blue light which enters as a halo on top of my head. There is no furniture, no door, and no escape. I often find myself sitting down with my arms over my knees and my head down balancing on my legs. I am furiously crying or I regret everything I have done. I tend to bring in my past so much that in the end all that remains are memories which I cannot bring back. Yes, there are monsters in everyone’s closet and there’s no denying it.
I would not be completely honest if I said I never wished to take my life and put an end to it all. But, I find that to be a very cowardly act of giving up. I have not seen snow yet, I have not travelled with the love of my life to the Southern Alps, and I have not seen and experienced so much in my tiny bucket list. How could I give up on the few people I call my family and the few friends I have managed to make?
Over the years, I have discovered a few solutions that I use to get rid of my bubble. By the wee age, when learning a new classical Indian dance form was not my cup-of-tea, I resorted to painting, drawing or just doodling in my notebook. This really helped me find my calm. Cigarettes have always been a savior even when I am not in my bubble. My mother’s lap is the most comforting place that I constantly keep searching when I am so very emotionally drained and cannot escape her staring right into my puffy eyes. Sometimes she would ask me to be strong, pointing out my mistakes, but it’s mostly just me laying my head on her lap and she running her fingers through my hair in silence.
Wanting to be alone when you feel the force of your negative bubble is pulling you hard is not a bad thing. Not wanting to be around people, not thinking about anything, having crazy thoughts, all of this is fine. But, the limit is only to that. Do not let it enslave your soul and leave you crippled.
You know you have come out of this once and shall conquer your fears once again.