My Not So Invisible Hostage: Depression

Some of the days that I wake up, I know what I am stressed about, I know what I am sad about or what is making me unhappy or happy even. Other days I just exist. The things that used to stir loads of emotions either of pain or excitement just happen and I am still there, Unmoved by them. As if they passed right through me; making me feel transparent and much more insignificant. On much worse days, a single word would throw me off the edge that I so often struggle to hang on to and the tears would not stop falling. Making me think about everything bad that I could possibly think of and somehow giving birth to more horrific and sad thoughts where I thought none were possible.

These are the times when everything plagues me. From my purpose in life to why couldn’t I have just not wasted that little food in the mess when it was clearly too awful to be eaten. Times when even my mere breathing feels like a burden on the universe and I really don’t know where to go from there. It feels like a rock bottom but there is no way up. I just have to curl up in my blanket, hope my cries don’t wake up anyone and wait that the exhaustion from crying would eventually carry me to that blissful state of not being aware of my existence that everyone has so simply named sleep.

The worse part about my depression is not that it consumes me. The worst part is when my depression reminds me so painstakingly that my troubles are nothing compared to what other people have. Their problems are so real and so big that mine have to be insignificant in comparison. My depression is so clever as to remind me that it is all in my head and I could be doing something so much more productive with my time and not disappoint literally everyone I know. It’s the cleverness of my depression that makes it worst. It shows me how my act of being depressed is such a waste and yet whilst doing so  somehow cunningly holds me clutches me harder than before.

My depression is nothing if not ironic. It will tell me push all of the people I know for a crapload of reasons which would make sense at the time. It will tell me to be rude, be hateful and be downright unreasonable to push everyone away and later it will make me question why didn’t they try harder? It will make me question why would I do such a thing in the first place. It makes me question if I have reduced such a shell of a person that I can’t even tell what’s in my head and what’s real life anymore and how one affects the other.

(Notice how I say My depression, as if it’s a proud possession or a part of me. Seems funny yet sad. Seems to have a true ring to it too.)

My depression makes me hate myself harder than anyone could. It makes me believe that no one can love me more than they can hate me because there is nothing worthy of loving or liking even. And the worst part is the lines have become so blurry that I don’t know if it’s my depression or just who I am as a person now that’s doing all this.




Tears in the Night

I have a problem.

I can’t cry in closed spaces.

Bathrooms, cubicles,onto pillows. You name it.

Unless there’s a sense of grandeur or at least a place that offers me solace and assurance that it is bigger than I am. That’s where I can cry.

Really cry I mean.

Shedding a tear or two is not really crying.


Real crying is when your whole body is in so much pain that it is ready to give itself away.If you would concentrate on one part you could feel it’s need to be torn apart because how it is now, however it is, is just too painful to stay that way.

But sadly mind has the control.

It won’t let us do such ‘harm’ to ourselves as long s it’s bearable.

Mind doesn’t understand that even truly ragged clothes are held together by pieces of thread but that doesn’t make the cloth whole and healed. It doesn’t understand that it’ll be easier, more helpful even to tear the cloth apart and use the pieces to make something more useful.

Even if it can preserve those rags for some more time, they will tear apart just as they wish to. It’ll just be more painful.

Mind’s a stupid bitch.

So the body and soul take control in the only way they can.

Slowly, painfully and rather carefully they send out little pieces of flesh and bones through the only window that mind has least control over.


They deceive the mind as often as they can; rebel against its whims most times to follow their own and lets go of pieces that were in unbearable pain to find a new destiny.

A new body probably.

And hence a new future.

That’s also why I will never cry in a closed space.

I don’t wish to deny my pieces a chance at something better. I don’t want to imprison them within small walls. I want the best for them.

I did not let them go so they’d suffer more.

I want them to go an endless place with endless possibilities.

Failing that, At least a place bigger than myself.

A place with lesser pain.

Normality and Existential Crisis

There are times in life that you realize that you realize that you probably are not the genius that defines the era or a genius that contributes amazingly to one field or (lets face it) a genius at all.

Being a person who was tagged as smart by various institutions as a child , it is very hard for me to cope with the fact that my intelligence is above average at the best.

This poses two types of problems(problems that I am in no way prepared to handle, mind you)

1.From childhood being tagged as smart, kind of limited the number of things I’d try as a child to find myself and ultimately result in me no hobbies could be later developed into talents. As I was smart ( And I liked to read and know stuff then) I figured that my path will be sorted out easily as  I will excel in one of the academic courses I would take and from there it’ll go.

RESULT:  I have no hobbies or no real talents and literally no idea what to do with my average intelligence.

2.As I am sure most of you are thinking, being average isnt so bad! Opportunities will come your way and then if you work hard there isn’t anything that you can do. What people don’t understand is that after a certain age you can’t just pick up anything. You need at least a vague definition of what is it that you want to do. There is the question of sustaining oneself of course but there is also a lot of judgement and anxiety and added responsibility that you just don’t consider when you are younger.

3.This frequently poses as an existential crisis. I start to think that if I am not able to apply myself to doing anything worthwhile then what is the point of living like a simpleton.(At this point a stupid voice in my head says if no one lives like a simpleton how will people know the special ones? which is later thankfully silenced by another which goes like WHY MUST WE BE THE SIMPLETON!?!?!)

(Wow! Look at that I started with 2 problems but by time I was done there were 3.Is this an epitome for my life or what??)

It leads to a lot of sad thoughts sometimes stretching as far me considering if I am wasting the resources which are given to me(LIKE FREAKING OXYGEN) and could be applied to someone more worthy.

My point is that I wish that there was some test or anything that could tell you what you like from an early age so you wouldn’t have to be midway the path to a good job and think this is not what I am supposed to do with myself.

I guess that anyone who doesn’t possess any particularly identifiable talent can relate.

If there is a creator I really wish that he wouldn’t discriminate with giving some people talents and others none.Because I can live with me not discovering my talent de to my own faults and being caught up in other shit but to know that I didn’t have any to discover either way would truly suck.

And it would be truly cruel too.


An open letter to the person whom I didn’t know and who committed suicide

First off I wanna make sure that you know it’s isn’t one of those you had so much to live for and you didn’t have to do it posts. It isn’t one of those you could have gotten help and it was wrong of you to do it posts. 

Even I don’t know what kind of post this is.

I might be called suicidal for writing this, for these views but rest assured if anybody is reading; it isn’t like that and I don’t need counselling for this. I am not being rude, I just don’t. It’s just something I feel and neither am I promoting or encouraging people to do suicide.

I am also not trying to make the death of a person about me. Believe me it’s be the last thing I’d want to do.

Not everything is a problem. Don’t make everything that you feel afraid of into one.

Okay? Here we go.


Dear person,

I hope there’s an afterlife and I hope that you come across this somehow because there are some things I’d like you to know. And know that this letter is for you and you only. No hidden meanings and no metaphors. I just wanted to talk to you and this was the only way I knew how(with the whole atheist thing I have going on)

Firstly I’m sorry that you had to go through this. I don’t know what is that happened or the so many things and happened or didn’t happen. I am truly sorry.

Also I apologize for phrasing this letter this way, to the person who committed suicide. As if that’s the only thing you did in your life.I just didn’t know how to phrase it differently.

Since I am assuming that there is an afterlife and you are around and so are reading this I am sure you heard a lot of things about you. You must have seen a lot of extreme reactions and heard numerous opinions. Opinions that were so strong and so hurtful that it made me motivated to reach out to you. I can only imagine how hurt you’d be.

I don’t think that just because you are dead people are allowed to hurt you.

I want you to know that I don’t think that you are weak. I don’t think you were a coward and I refuse to believe that you were a terrible person for doing this.I refuse to blame you for the misery that people say you caused to the people that loved you and are grieving for you now. Know that I don’t commend you for doing this. Nor am I angry or upset. Simply because I didn’t know you.

I can’t be a judge of if what you did was right or wrong. I can’t be the judge of this because I will never know what you were going through and I don’t know how much it hurt. It could have gotten better but I also know that sometimes it hurts too much to hold on.

It’s Okay.

I just wanted you to know that I know that you tried as hard as you could. You are not weak.

I want you to know that I know that you gave it everything you had and on days it was hard for you to move a finger but you still did it and You are brave for that. You are not a coward.

I wanted you to know that I am sure you tried to shield the ones you love from this tragedy  for as long as you could. I am sure you tried to be good. You’re not a terrible person.

I want you to know that I will never condemn you for causing pain to the ones that are grieving for you now. Yes, You might have scarred them. Scars that can never be healed. You might have even given some blows that might break some people. Those people might have tried to help you because they loved you and they might have nothing to do with why you did it but that doesn’t make it your responsibility to take blame for their actions. I  am sure that you would have most certainly tried to live for them but somethings you can’t help.

I believe in you for all this things because life is indeed beautiful and it takes a lot to leave it all behind. It is the most difficult thing that you must have ever had to do.

I refuse to believe that those people who are saying these things have any right to be saying them. They didn’t know how you suffered. And you don’t know how they will.

And honestly how can one person truly know the pain of another.

How can somebody even say that my pain is greater than yours?

We are all wired differently.

No one will ever know what I feel and Who I am truly.

This might all feel a whole stunt to attract attention and me being melodramatic since I didn’t know you and it shouldn’t affect me this much but it does. It does and there’s nothing that anyone can say that will make it less relevant.

All said and done, I wish it makes you feel better. Afterall just because you are dead doesn’t mean you don’t matter. Does it?