I was a nothing at 16. Undergoing severe depression, I was battling within myself to just exist. Actually living a life never occurred to me. It was always the case of “what’s the point?” I never lived, never bothered about trivial stuff, let alone mega things. I ate, slept, and talked to people, did everything a human being did… but as a robot. I was a two-in-one human being living a double life.
Look up all the classic symptoms of depression and I had it. For a long time. It started when I was around 8 or 9 years old. No one saw it. No one guessed it. No was concerned that I was a different person. And me? I was a kid. How was I supposed to see it?
Years went on and no one noticed the scars on the outside. On the inside. All over me. It was there. Some were plain enough to see. Some not so plain. But it didn’t matter. I was called names; “useless, good for nothing, hopeless”. I was compared through and through with, well, practically every human being in my life. “Why can’t you be like her, why can’t you be like him?” and was subjected to wonderful motivating statements like “you’ll never amount to anything in your life” or “what’s the point of you living?” and so on.
What did I do? I just stood there. Like a stone statue. Completely exhausted of life and numbed to the extent that I couldn’t feel pain anymore. Be it physical or emotional. I couldn’t feel anything, actually. Which is strange, because I did feel. It hurt. Every little thing hurt. It hurt to such an extent that I died inside. I lost the will to live.
It didn’t do anything to me; EXCEPT corrode me. Day in and day out.
Now that I think of it all, the damage was clear to see. It started with the school scores. One year I was in the Top 5 and the next year, right at the bottom. I didn’t understand it. Any of it. I skipped meals. I never laughed. I cried all day. I cried all night. Woke up. Repeated the same thing the next day. The signs were all there though for someone else to see. Nobody did. And the damage continued on till I was buried way deep in it. Till I was 18.
At 18, a spark in the form of Psychology flickered in my head. Might sound strange to you but I was in college. It was part of my syllabus. And it was the only subject that I actually enjoyed. It helped me understand the most important person in my life that I desperately needed to understand. Myself. It was only through that subject I realised what I had, what I was going through, what I needed and never received and what I had to do. The struggle to get through it felt like it was a whole new lifetime.
It took me more than a decade to accept myself, change myself, learn from the millions of mistakes that I made and falling down countless number of times, getting up again and again, lose hope, find it again, refurbish myself and be born as a completely different person. You’d think healing yourself wouldn’t be painful. Healing was more painful than the depression or the loneliness.
They call me lazy without a thought
They think I like being in a rut
I wish I could look them in the eye
And ask, why don’t you try living my life
They think I like being useless and dumb
They do not know that I am numb
To what they say or what goes on
My life’s a silent ticking bomb
They think I’m wasting my time away
When in reality I’m fighting tooth and nail
To stay alive and live a life
A life where my heart’s not so tight
But that was then.
I’m a whole new person now who is completely intent on living life to the fullest.