More often than not, my head is like a war zone. There is World War III going on inside. I try hard to keep the damaged thoughts and memories away. I’m okay for a few weeks, then this thing starts to eat me from within again. It’s like a viscous cycle. It goes away for a while, then it comes back again. Every time it comes back, it’s harder than the last time.
I can’t afford to be ‘not okay’ right now. I’ve got exams going on, and in the last four exams, I have no idea what I’ve written. Pain medication and Cough&Cold medicines are making me insane. I’m high most of the time due to these and it’s making me crazy. My depression chose a really bad time to start surfacing. It’s my last year in school and I cannot, in any situation possible, screw it up. I’m working as hard as I can. I’m sleeping three hours a night for the last two weeks. I’m studying as hard as I can. I study till 1:00 in the morning, then I wake up again at 4:00 to pick up where I left off. I watch TV for two hours a day, four half-hour shows a day. On weekends, I watch a movie at 10:00 which drags on till midnight, give or take on hour. I don’t go outside to take a walk. I don’t listen to music anymore. I can’t bear it actually. I study, eat, watch TV and sleep for three hours. That’s all I do. Oh, yes, and one hour of blogging every other day.
I know the answers of the questions. I know what the Diminishing Marginal Utility is. I know the relationship between Price and Demand. I know what Elasticity of Demand is. I know what a deficit in the union budget is. I know how trades are settled in NSE Nifty and BSE Sensex. I know what NSCCL and NSDL do. I know what a broker is supposed to do and what he’s not. I know what Fayol’s laws are. I know how an agent is supposed to behave at his job. I know who wrote the poem Ars Poetica (And decided to contradict everything he’s written). I know these things! I know bloody every single one of them. I know everything that matters.
When I’m handed my question paper, it’s as if someone has put me on Flight mode. I start seeing two where I should see one. If I don’t take my pain medication, my back-ache kills the crap out of me. If I don’t take cold medicines, I’m left to choose between wiping my nose all the time or actually writing the answers. I write everything that I’m capable of at that moment and then put my head down to sleep, until those three tormenting hours of examination are over. Every morning, I wake up with my head throbbing out of my skull. It hurts constantly. So often, that I notice the difference when it’s not there. I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how to get out of this hole. I want to. I really, really want to, but instead, I end up getting sucked deeper.
The worst part is to go through it all alone. No one in my family knows about my depression. It’s surprising, isn’t it? They can’t know. If I tell them, they’ll think that I’m just hungry for attention. They are those typical Indians who think that if you’re going to a shrink, you’re downright insane. You belong in an asylum, not in a school.
I thought I could do it alone, you know. I thought that it couldn’t be THAT hard. I mean, being depressed is being sad, right? Being around people might change that. Then, instead of being sad, I could just hate them. For me, that’s a whole lot better than being sad. Again, I chose the wrong people. I did the wrong things and by the time I realized it, it was too late. Like they say, the damage had already been done. It’s not just hard for me to go through this all alone. It’s like-taking. No one knows what’s wrong with me. I can’t tell them. My mother has her own pile of stuff to deal with. I can’t unload this on her. She’s got two bedridden parents. The last thing she needs is an errant daughter. My dad? Yeah, right. It’s a miracle he remembers that I exist. And bad news just keeps happening around me. Trouble is obsessed with me, don’t you know?
This is so much, oh-so much harder than I expected it to be. I did things I’m not proud of. I did things which I’m tempted to do again, but I don’t because I know that it’s a step too far. I don’t remember what it’s like to have a real conversation anymore. I haven’t had one in the last month. Who am I supposed to talk to? My new dog? My ten-year-old brother who’s always playing? Sometimes, I get so lonely that I just start talking to my laptop or copy or even my toothbrush! I realize that me talking to them is not a problem. A problem is when they start talking back. I’m so isolated, stuck in my ivory tower like a hermit, alienated, and what the hell not? I don’t like other people, but I know that I need them to survive. I’m one of the seven billion homo-sapiens, a primate. I require company. I can’t help it! Evolution made me this way!
Its not always bad, you know. I recently went to a hill-station near my city on a school trip for a weekend. It was awesome! I had so much fun. I danced like crazy along with my other friends. The problem is, they are the kind of people who have fun almost all the time. They can make you smile at a funeral, and that’s a very good thing. The problem is that I need a deeper connection with someone. I’m way too deep for a healthy normal teenager. I smile on the outer surface. I make the funniest jokes. On the outside, I’m a radiant personality. I’m living a lie. I’m telling thousands of lies everyday, just to get by that day. One day at a time, that’s how I’m surviving. I put on happy face, so that people don’t ask me why I’m sad. I keep it all within me because I’m scared that if I tell everything to someone, they’ll know my weakness. They’ll know that I’m vulnerable and not half as strong as I appear to be.
Is it wrong to be scared? Is it wrong to think that I do need someone to talk to. Someone who gets me, someone who just won’t ever judge me. Is it too much to ask? One billion people living in India and no one can understand me? What am I, an alien? I’m tired of living a lie and telling them. It’s exhausting to be two people at once, and yet not be myself.