This is what my bed looks like today. I have been a messy person. It took me a while to realize that it wasn’t just being messy- it was being messed up. Here me out: I have been vocal about my depression, anxiety and borderline personality issues in the past. However, that doesn’t seem to be enough. As I type this out, I somehow hush my tone when I use those words. It’s time I learn to stop. My bed has been messed for more than a week now, I occasionally throw everything on the floor to make enough room to sleep. During a depressive episode, it is tough to find the energy or the will to declutter. I tend to just sit on my bed, mostly. Do a little something here and there, as need be. What depression does, is that it takes away your ability to feel. Poets may say that feeling nothing is also feeling something, but I’m tired of this romanticisation of depression. It feels like a free fall sometimes. Sometimes, it feels like having your own body close up on you. But more often than not, it doesn’t. Zilch. Zero. Nothing. Monotony takes over, you do your daily chores but don’t know why. Everything is rather pointless. My behaviour often attracts the question of “What’s wrong?” and here’s the funny part: Nothing. My days have been absolutely normal. I attended my classes, and a concert yesterday. I made breakfast today. There is nothing that’s “wrong”. But, I struggled to feel “happy” at the concert. For my first ever concert with one of my favourite artists, I was surprisingly underwhelmed. To an extent where I was trying to smile just so I’d feel a little happier. And no, do not confuse depression with sadness. I’m not just sad. Sad is an emotion I’d rather feel more because it’s completely normal to “feel sad”. Depression takes away your willingness to do something as basic as turning on the light of your room. Waking up, if you manage to fall asleep, is a task that I put on my to-do list because it takes effort.
I often leave things incomplete. When the Kuhad concert got cancelled on Saturday, there was a little riff at home. Following which I threw out all my clothes from my cupboard and started folding them. I need something to do with my hands when anxiety escalates. My palms tend to go cold and lose sensation when anxiety hits, on the other hand my body is sweating. It’s like mid-January Bangalore weather, I can never tell if I need a sweater or not. Anxiety hits more often than the evident instances. My heart starts pacing at random moments, even without triggers. I sometimes wonder if I’d ever mistake my anxiety for falling in love. I usually feel a constant buzz in my head, I joke about how my head is why the song “Tera buzz much jeeney na de” was written because existing in constant anxiety is exhausting and I’d rather not. On worse days, I tend to get extremely dizzy, sometimes pass out or puke. Paranoia becomes the undertone of your day to day life, so much so that you get paranoid sleeping. I missed one of my exams last week, and it wasn’t because I wasn’t prepared. It was because I did not have it in me to walk out the door without puking. It’s having a constant fear of everything going wrong. Its not limited to things going wrong, though. Anxiety will escalate when things are going right too. I met a guy and he was nice to me, recently. But my stomach was constantly churning and breathing seemed like an enormous task. As I type this out, my anxiety has hit, I have to constantly deep breathe so I wouldn’t start shaking. I love how when usually people think of “fear the unknown”, they think go a ghastly gross reptile, or a super-villain with vaguely impactful powers. Anxiety, essentially feels like the fear of the unknown. But your body is somehow afraid of anything and everything. You seldom gain control of even typing a decent caption out. Coming to terms with reality can be harsh. That is why therapy is difficult. I’ve been to multiple therapists. Finding a good therapist is a hit and trial, it will take you a while to find someone who you can get yourself to trust and pay at the same time. There have been therapists and psychiatrists who have been beautiful, with whom I can just let myself go. But there have also been doctors who have made me feel ashamed for being depressed, or having multiple sexual partners, and what not. To find someone you can confide in, to let go of all your sub-conscious guards and walls is tough. Therapy takes months, even years and just to kick start it when you know the kind of things you will have to confront aren’t pleasant, is tough. I’m prone to procrastination. I’m also prone to the escapism. But it’s a great deal for me to come out with my vulnerabilities, even if it’s in front of my doctors. Recovery is important but you have to let me take my time with it. I will do it at my own pace. If you’ve read these posts and rolled your eyes, or taken this as me cribbing or being dramatic then please read up about stuff. It’s not gonna put you in my position, but it might enable you to gain enough empathy to acknowledge others’ struggles. You will never truly know how someone feels unless you are in the same situation. To a functional person, my inability to fall asleep for days might seem like a poor choice of lifestyle. Which is where your empathy comes in. Realise that none of us want to be in this situation. We simply are. It’s tough for me to do things and I want to talk about it on my social media because I want to do my bit to try and explain how things are here. This space is something I choose to let this information out in. It’s my space. I take full authority and responsibility of it. It’s been chaotic. It will be chaotic. It’s exhausting. P.S.- If you are someone going through something, I’m here. You’re not alone.
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