A Helpless Spectator

I have been a helpless spectator when my close friends suffered. Despaired at their pain. Grieved at their inability to function. These are feeling you would know if anyone you know suffers from or had suffered from depression. Depression is a demon that casts a gloomy shadow on the person’s life. There is no easy way out of it. Once somebody is in its grip, it will take tremendous amounts of support, help and effort to get back to normal again. These are some things I have seen first hand from their experience.

 

It is hard to know what to do when your loved one is going through this. So, I would like to share my thoughts.

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In the time I spent with my friends I have made quite a few mistakes. The most important thing we should avoid doing is making them feel worse than they are. Even if we feel that might spur them on to do better, it must not be done. They might respond temporarily, but in the long run this is something that needs care and attention, not a guilt trip. This is a mistake I am guilty of.

 

It hurt to see my buddies in that state of limbo, not really doing the things they should. It is hard I know. But we need to realize that addressing and tackling the issues they face should take priority rather than academics, work or anything else. Another mistake I made was trying too hard sometimes. There are times when we try to talk to them but they don’t feel like talking. People going through depression and other issues would have phases where they are withdrawn and avoid conversation with people in general. We need to give them their space .

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They will get back in touch when they feel ready to handle contact with others. We need to understand that their not wanting to talk to us isn’t really because of either of our “faults” but rather a need imposed on them due to their issues. Trying to force them to talk to you when they are not ready to will be counter productive and do neither of you any good.

 

There are quite a few things we should NOT say to someone who is going through depression. A few of them would be “Just get better”, “Stop making it more than it is”, ” “Why are you depressed?” . This not only destroys their confidence, but also makes them feel like it is their fault they are going through this. But the fact is , it is definitely NOT THEIR FAULT that this happened to them. Nothing we ever say should imply that. The best thing I found I could do for my friends was JUST BEING THERE FOR THEM. Although it took me time to realize it, all they wanted was to have someone by their side that they could count on. Somebody who made them felt wanted and give them the feeling that they were worth it. Different people would have different needs.

 

Some just need someone to be with them. Some need a person to talk to. Some would need a voice of reason. Irrespective of whether we could be what they want, your mere presence and care can go a long way in helping them overcome their issues.

 

Each and every one of us can help the people around us overcome their mental illnesses. If we realize that someone around us is having a tough time, just be there for them. Help them in every way you can. Learn what makes them better and show them you care. This way we can do our bit to help them in their battle. Let’s do our bit to shatter the stigma around mental health issues and make it easier for affected people to seek and get the help they need and deserve.

 

-Anonymous

A diary entry of sorts?

Where do I begin? How do I try to make you understand what it feels like to live with something that you refuse to even acknowledge exists. Something that is perhaps even more mythical than unicorns or leprechauns. Yet, I shall try; try to convey what I feel as best I can in the faint hope that at least one of you will understand. I stand in a crowd; happiness, laughter, sarcasm and wit all melding together to form a misty shield of normalcy that hovers around me shielding my own personal cloud of darkness from your view. I have good days and bad – Good days where I laugh and smile; and bad days where I can’t seem to feel anything at all. I have friends who care, and a family that loves me. Yet, on my worst days, even they can’t seem to help me. On those days, I hide and wear a mask. I clamp down on those emotions, those fears and try to go through the wooden mechanical routine actions like a puppet on strings.

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There’s emptiness; there’s limbo. There is no feeling – no sadness, no joy, no anger; nothing. The distractions, the mechanical routine actions do nothing to stop the numbness that’s creeping in. I feel helpless and frozen, locked in a silent scream for help; unable to do anything until the dam bursts, the tears flow, the blade slices and the blood drips.

 

-Does it even matter?

(The anonymous author gave this as their pseudonym)

Dreams to Emotions

Do you know how it feels, when you are tied on a rope, clenched tightly on your neck, pulled from both the sides and the only way you can escape is by letting one side win? Wanting both, and struggling in the middle – you’re gonna choke and suffer. The struggle is hard. You eventually end up dead, but death is not an easy or instant one. Torture blows on you. Your blood stream fastens and it just wants to rush out but it can’t. Tired of choking, you decide to go to either one of the side, which again, gets you to a dead end: to live without your soul. Death at every step, cornered, fate, fate, destiny, luck, god and hope laugh at you. You fall down. You cry. Wanting the rope to silently fall down, but it doesn’t. Both sides have hold it tight. You are stuck. You chose either of the three options put forth to you. You lose yourself. Once and forever.

Do you know how that feels? To beheld up tightly, choking, wanting for air,wanting to breathe, wanting to live.

I lost. I gave up. Stuck in the middle of the rope of life I never wanted to be in, Crushed in between emotions and dreams without which survival is impossible. To chose between who I want to be and who made me, I lost my tug of war with destiny, I lost myself.
It is okay to have dreams, it is okay if you couldn’t conquer. It is not fine, enforcing someone else to live it for you. Let your little bird fly high with its dream. It’ll learn to fly on its own. It will fall, but it will get up. If it can’t, it knows what to do.
I respect those who give up dreams for their family. I also respect those who give up family for their dreams. For those who are stuck, wanting both, we know we lost a bit of our souls, wondering what will be, our purpose of life now.

Don’t let your child lose its life or soul.

Sincerely,
A dead soul with chopped wings getting tamed to be someone’s slave.

Image credits: https://in.pinterest.com/explore/bird-sketch/

Sometimes I wish

 

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Sometimes I wish

The notion about depression amidst the masses turns true

Sometimes I wish

I could snap out of depression as my friend urges me to

Sometimes I wish

My mother’s lap could heal depression like magic

Sometimes I wish

My mind would clear through the traffic

Sometimes I wish

Suicide rants weren’t my brain’s beseech

Sometimes I wish

Serotonin grew on trees that were within reach

Sometimes I wish

Pills and Shocks led me to survival

At other times I wish

Depression didn’t kill me

Long before any of these wishes made their arrival.

-Anonymous

The Broken Men of Breaking Bad: Why men need to open up

“Why are you crying? Are you a girl?” piped up a voice brimming with confidence at having the attention of the kids gathered around in a circle, and pride at his display of strength. The voice belonged to my classmate in kindergarten who had just smashed the sand castle that I had been building on the playground. He had followed it up by pouring fistfuls of sand all over my head from where they flowed down my body ruffling the crisp, striped shirt that my mother had ironed so painstakingly a few hours earlier. By now, a swarm of my fellow kindergarteners had gathered around, attracted by the commotion. And like any good mob, they looked on at the commotion in amusement and burst into cackles of laughter at the scene unfolding before them. Ashamed and embarrassed, tears streamed down my face which is when the boy who stormed my castle, asked the question which led to more peals of laughter from the crowd, louder than they were before. The laughter that reverberated on that pleasant Chennai morning and numerous other incidents ingrained the idea in my conscience that hiding your vulnerabilities was essential to being masculine.

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For those who haven’t watched it yet (I highly recommend that you do), Breaking Bad follows the story of a struggling high school teacher, diagnosed with cancer who turns to a life of crime selling crystal methamphetamine to ensure his family’s financial independence. The series ran for five seasons and achieved widespread critical acclaim and popularity. One might be tempted to ask as to what the series has to do with the incident that I just explained, mental health or men.

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“Because he is a man”

(SPOILER ALERT : The succeeding paragraph contains information which might be considered mild spoilers. If you haven’t watched Breaking Bad and want to avoid any information about the show whatsoever, skip this para. You have been warned :p)

Let me explain. Something that struck me while watching ‘Breaking Bad’ was how the men that the series followed steadfastly refused to open up about their troubles,  holding onto the images of strength that they had so carefully cultivated. Take Gus Fring, the ruthless, calm, Machiavellian drug kingpin for instance. As a young Chilean immigrant he was emotionally devastated by the murder of his best friend at the hands of the Cartel. The depth of his loss can be judged by the way he spends the rest of his life building a drug empire to rival the Cartel and finally eliminating every single person he held responsible for his beloved friend’s death. Or consider Hank Schrader, the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) agent. He is an incorruptible agent and a thorn in the flesh of drug traffickers till the end. To his family, he is as an emotional support and source of strength. Yet, he closes himself out from everyone when he experiences PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) or when he is seriously disabled after a brutal assassination attempt. Who else to best illustrate this than the primary protagonist, Walter White (a.k.a Heisenberg) himself. Battling cancer, feelings of insecurity and notorious criminals, he refuses to completely open up to his loved ones on multiple occasions – and these lead him down a path of death and destruction that devastates everyone around.

Why is it that these characters refused to talk about their emotional scars and mental burden? Why did they not share it with the people they loved? Why did these men cut off themselves from so many sources of help? These questions are perhaps best answered by a character in the show, Gus Fring whom we had mentioned previously. When trying to convince Walter White not to leave the drug business, he tells him:

“ ..They (your family) will always be your priority and your responsibility. And a man, a man provides. He does it even when he is not appreciated, or respected, or even loved. He simply bears up and he does it. Because he is a man.”

These words echo true in so many of the messages that our patriarchal society feeds to young boys and men. “Man up “, “Be a man and suck it up”, “Boys don’t cry”. We would have all come across these at some point in time. From a very young age, we raise men to be take pride in their independence and urge them to provide for their loved ones. While these are noble ideals in themselves, what is problematic is the rigid gender roles that accompany them and the notion that being “strong” requires sweeping all our vulnerabilities and weaknesses under the proverbial carpet.

The effect of this conditioning is raising a generation of men who believe that talking about their mental demons is for the weak. Men who are emotionally expressive and open up are looked down upon as less “masculine”. From stories, legends and religion to movies and commercials beamed constantly, we are fed with a barrage of messages that the ideal man is a picture of flawless physical and mental strength with not a chip in his glorious armour.  The men we look up to and consider our heroes are often portrayed as decisive individuals with no insecurities or doubts to speak of. In our age where (thankfully) superiority in physical violence has largely been condemned by mainstream society, the onus of patriarchal notions of manliness has fallen on being the ultimate “provider” – either to people they lead or those they love.

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The fact that men don’t talk about their emotions results in very serious consequences. The refusal to speak up results in countless men carrying on with their lives while dealing with undiagnosed mental illnesses. The statistics paint a grim picture. Men are more than twice as likely as women to die from suicide and about half as likely to seek mental help. In many First World nations, suicide is a leading cause for death among men. This is a highly distressing phenomenon and it is time that we take steps to reverse the trend.

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A very dear friend of mine once told me that it takes a lot of strength to open up about one’s weaknesses. While I can’t claim that I have completely internalized it myself, I deeply agree that this is a message that ought to be shouted from the rooftops to shatter the shrouds of stigma that hinder open discussions of mental health. Unlearning millennia of social conditioning and prejudices is not going to be an easy task, but perhaps we can make a dent in those notions, however small, if we tried. Perhaps, we can learn that being strong and feeling weak need not be mutually exclusive. Perhaps, we can talk about how the heroes that we lionize and glorify went through mental torment of their own. Perhaps, we can tell men that it is perfectly normal and healthy to talk about their emotions. Perhaps, I can tell my kindergarten self that it is OK for boys to cry.

 

-Siddhaarth Sudhakaran

The Depression Dish

Silhouette of depressive man

It has been one..two..three..four..five

A decade of survival

A public facade hiding the despair

Six months of struggle

Six months of rejection

An ounce of words

Replace what once was abundance

A gallon of tears

Sixty nights of fears

Nine gazillion “It’s all in your mind” hoots

Negligible pinch of hope

Oozing In drops despite the cries to gush

Scratches of gore

First on the paper with a pen

Next on the skin with mine own blood

The words struggles, the blood dries

The funeral pyre of hope witnesses my cries

Withered. Broken. Crest fallen.

No glimmer of sunshine. I sit sullen.

The last act sees the chair go down

The noose tightens, reserving the grave beside hope

The Depression Dish is now ready to serve.

Please don’t forget to garnish it with my mother’s tears.

Depression is real

Depression…..

A word which is thrown about in today’s age of left leaning liberal millennialism as if it means nothing…..
Does it ?

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I was sitting one fine evening looking at the rain pouring down, the drops smudging the dust on the windowsill, looking like tears cascading down the glass pane…..Johny Cash was crooning out Hurt in my ears and I was reading the Color Purple by Alice Walker. I looked up to see the beautiful sight in front of me, and cried. Spontaneous, sudden…..unexpected. I wiped my tears away to prevent someone from knowing what had happened. Seems like a routine situation save doesn’t it ? I thought so too. Till I couldn’t go back to the book. Because my mind kept racing back like the prodigal son it was to what had just happened. Trying to decipher why it had happened. And why I decided to hide it. Looking towards the rain splattered outside….I tried to figure out….Why ?

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real 

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I was depressed. If I told people I was….They would ask me to ‘suck it up’, ‘grow a pair’ and other such phrases which people throw around without a hint of knowing what the consequences are. I was told to know my life was good and hence I should not feel entitled to depression. I was told I am loved and I had no reason to be hurt…..that I was just a spoilt little brat. I wasn’t. You see, Depression like most things do not go away with entitlement. It is hurt. No, not like a pin prick or a car crash or even like cancer. It is the indescribable feeling of an asphyxiating child being pushed inside an empty grave while all he tries to do is figure out the one last soliloquy he needs to sing to give his life meaning. That didn’t make sense ? Neither does depression. It is the feeling where you feel crushed and helpless, but you do not know why…..

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar’s chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here

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Next time someone tells you they are depressed, do not ask them to stop whining, do not presume you can help them…do not patronize them. Hug them. Let them know that the day they feel like ripping their face off in agony…..they can run and come to you. Hug you. Cry on your shoulders…..let them know that in a planet of over a billion people, they can turn to one. Trust me, the pain, the agony, the smoldering fire of madness which cannot be rhymed or reasoned with…all they need is the solace of a comforting fellow human. For the warmth of a human heart is the medicine to anything, while the jeers of human wrath is the ever present conservative hand shutting a person down. Let the depression sink in. Let it stay. So do you. I didn’t figure out the reasons for the tears yet….I never needed to. Loving friends and family ensured I finished my book in peace and enjoyed subsequent nights of torrential downpour in all it’s natural beauty. Depression is real. Not a social media whack, not a rich person’s perpetual whines…..It is a issue affecting the human psyche. In today’s fast paced world….We all have been depressed sometime or the other. And a depressed person needs support. Not antagonism. Support. Because depression is real. It is a red flag, an incessant drone at the back of the human mind…..Depression is real.

And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way

– Soumyajyoti Bhattacharya

Image Credits : Google Images

The Smile

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A smile is just another kind of lie
A practiced mask behind which we hide
We laugh, we grin with a bright face
Behind which are things we’d rather erase.

It is merely another falsity
A mocking oath on the altar of travesty
The curve of a lip hides, more often than not, pain
And suffering rather than joy, endured disdain.

What exists behind a smile is quite varied
Maybe a depressed soul to whom we pay no heed.
“She’s smiling, she’s all right ” is what we think
When in reality, she’s broken, barely balanced on the brink.

It could be someone you think you truly know
The happiest one, the loudest, though
Behind the stage curtains something else lies
Silent screams, razor cuts and bloodshot eyes.

She appears perfectly content and happy
But the cracks lie under the surface unseen
Her fractured thoughts and hopeless cries
For someone to notice her, to save her, to try.

“I’m fine, I’m okay,” she protests when you ask
Simply words- the feelings within to mask
She’s out of control, both abuser and victim
Everyday fast approaching her own requiem.

Look past that glimmering smile to see the scars
That lie on her heart and body before she falls too far
For some steps once taken, certain opened doors
Cannot be closed and may mean she is forever no more.

So be more aware and be more kind
For you never know what wounds you might not see but may find.
Us sad folk are not so easily seen
For we wear smiles of blood and shattered dreams.

– Kaavya Karthikeyan

Image source :Fanpop.com

Depression

I woke up today,
with an heart almost broken,
Bleeding tears through every crack left open,
My soul feels ice cold, and there’s voices in my head,
Silently screaming all at once,I don’t know if I’m alive or if I’m dead,

Everyday feels worse, I can’t keep my eyes open,
Everytime I shut them down, nightmares awaken,
I feel pain and I feel numb, paralyzed but shaken,
Hateful eyes spitting venom, my safe places all forsaken,

Will anybody miss me? Will anybody care?
Will they even notice when I’m no longer there?
I feel invisible, I’m choking on myself,
My mind feels claustrophobic like it’s crushing on itself,

It’s hard to go to bed, and It’s hard to wake up,
Like a dog without his bone, I feel lost and all alone,
I want somebody to know, I want somebody to care,
But I’m too afraid being judged, when I leave my feelings bare,

All my tears feel like acid, My voice is always broken,
I just want to see, a Human Being being human.

Just another cut, Just another scratch,
“What’s that little mark?” “No, that was just my cat”
Just another excuse, Just another lie,
“You wear bracelets now?” “Just fashion, why?”
Just another tear, Just another scream,
“Vishal, were you crying?” “No, Just had a bad dream”
It’s not just a cut, or a tear or a lie,
It’s always just one more, till the day that I die.

– Vishal Muralidharan

Sound and in Peace

Happy, cheerful and ecstatic
That’s how one would describe her
With eyes that are very dramatic
Oh she’s beautiful, no one would differ

Teachers love her, that’s for sure
She possess every quality, with which one can lure
She’s everything, bright, intelligent and savvy
In short, everything for which one has to envy

Most popular kid of the school,

That’s no doubt

Never misses on schedules,

Works with no halt

 

Everyone is bound to love her

That’s what you think

Dark is her past, fate and life

Thoughts fly off in a wink

 

As usual, for school she leaves

Down with a sense of grief

In the campus, Rinngg… She hurries

Face changes, with a smile in a brief

 

Oh make up! Such a wonderful tool

Covers flaws up

Oh so beautiful!

Deep inside, is the bitter truth

 

She reaches home all tired,

Goes back to her dull old tone

This is not how she was wired

People all around, yet, she was all alone

 

She goes to sleep

Sound and in peace

The heart that is clustered with emotions

Sleep does not come in ease

 

She woke up

Emotionally dead

She tried covering it up

Couldn’t, she went ahead

 

Never was anything the same for her

Nor did she feel it could be

Monsters from within, tearing her apart and crushing her

Flashes of all the things she did not want to see

 

Incidents happened, one over the other

Isolated she was, no one seemed to bother

 

“Oh she’s just sad, she’ll be alright”

“Attention seeking drama queen”

She did hear them all right

She felt bleeding in and out, from her cells to her spine

 

She goes to sleep

Sound, but not in peace

Her monsters laughing at her every leap

Frightened she woke up, it all came to a cease

 

“Will I ever be loved?

Will I ever be cared?

Will the torturous trauma ever come to a stand?”

She cried as she lost all hope, the only thing she had

 

A moving dead corpse

A body with no soul

Heart beating fast in fear, like a racing horse

Inside her, just one big hole]]

 

She kept everything trapped in her.

The past for her is not just any bygone

All crumbled, giving it back in a blur

And she refused to let it out to anyone

 

 

She goes to sleep

Neither was she calmed, nor was she in peace

Her neurons stretch with emotions taking every leap

It went out of hand, to bring it to cease

 

 

Pain and agony clutches her tight

Tired of choking she loses her mind

Her eyes move from left to right

If only she could unwind

 

 

A hurricane storms inside her

Silence, not a single murmur

She’s lost and drifted probably forever

Like a volcano, she erupts in tears,one, two, three and another

 

 

She wants to sleep

Sound and in peace

This time forever

To let her pain cease

 

 

 

Pills pop in

Her neurons go fast

Heartbeat goes down

And she fell down at last

 

 

She goes to sleep

Sound and in peace

All her pain comes to a cease

Chaos and trouble kept aside

Towards heaven, her soul shall stride

– Gayathri Krishnaraj

Image Source: Astranat(DeviantArt)