A note on depression. Mental illness is something that we love to sweep under the carpet. Looking at my social media or meeting me in real life apart from a handful of close family and friends, you cannot guess behind my cheery smile and glassy eyes resides a very deep, very real, haunting pain. I have been through a lot of emotional turmoil the last 2 years and the ugly beast of melancholy rares its head in the form of depression and anxiety every so often in my life. Initially, the pressure to pretend that I was perfect and that nothing affected me was more crippling than the mental illness itself. I didn't want people to pity me. If life was going to hand me some crap, I would make amazing avant-garde art with that crap and show it who was boss. I worked twice as harder.
Why is it that we look after our physical wounds but its completely okay to take your body and mind for granted for emotional ones? Denial sets in, with a healthy dose of guilt. “What’s, wrong with me ?” “Why do I feel like this ?” and many more constant negative questions keep you in a feedback loop of hell.
I shut down. I couldn’t work. I stopped working out. I couldn't digest food. I stopped sleeping. I shut myself off from everyone around me. I tried drinking and smoking (hated both). I was lost in an opiate dream (minus the actual opium of course, somehow that would have been more fun). I constantly worried about my future and resented my past, it was pure unadulterated hell. I think the scariest part was the I felt I was losing myself and I couldn't do anything about it.
One day it all came crashing down. Losing your mind isn’t the way they show it in the movies. It isn’t some dramatic, profound moment of ecstasy at all. It was 10 am. I was completely dressed for work. I was feeling slightly ill at ease when something overcame me. I started sweating profusely. My breath grew ragged. My mind was racing. I couldn't form cognitive thoughts. I could feel my own heartbeat in the back of my throat. My first thought was “Oh my God, I am having a heart attack, I am dying.” It was the second most terrifying moment of my life. I was just paralyzed with fear. After 20 mins of lying completely still in my bed, my mouth tasting of metal, I felt okay enough to sit up. I had, had my first of many anxiety attacks. My dad who was an equally worried witness to this ordeal immediately took to me the resident psychiatrist in the hospital next door.
She took one look at me and asked me to tell her in a nutshell what the problem was. By the end of the 15 mins, I had been diagnosed with clinical depression, anxiety and a touch of bipolar to spice things up. “Okay,” I asked her. “How we beat this thing?”, “Well, I would like to start you off, on one antidepressant, one relaxant, and one sleeping pill,” she said as if we were discussing ice cream toppings at Ibaco. “No, I meant without medication,” I said firmly. “Look, I'll be honest, you need this. If you don't go on medication, 3 months from now you will be suicidal and I can't help you at that point,” she said. Though I was exhausted, somehow at that moment I had the good sense to get up and walk away from her. Till date I don't know where I might have been had I stayed for the rest of that consultation.
I told my dad the diagnosis. We headed to Anokhi. Somehow the soothing lights and the delicious smell of hot chocolate with cinnamon calmed me down. My dad looked miserable and beaten. This was exactly why I didn't feel like sharing what I was going through with him. I felt guilty. I felt ashamed. I felt it was my mess to deal with. “Maybe, you should try the meds, if she feels its the best way to go,” he asked. “ No, there has to be another way, let's figure this out,” I said.
Luckily for me, I had an amazing boss and a great company that was extremely empathetic to my condition and told me to take time off to feel better.
2 days into my break. I got a call from my best friend Atul. “Get out of your pajamas we are going out,” he said mysteriously. Dragging myself out of bed seemed like a mammoth task. Eventually, I did and we set off on his bike. 40 mins later we were led into a quiet room by a friendly man named Thyiagu. I honestly thought Atul had brought me to a shady bar for a laugh when all of a sudden I saw the cutest sight. In the room were 3 puppies. 2 labs and 1 beagle. And the rest they say is history.
Enter Mocha. Named after my favourite coffee. Dogs really are the best anti-depressants. She gave me a sense of purpose again. She made me laugh. I would laugh all the time around her. She would look at me with those adoring brown eyes and I would feel empathy pouring out of her. If I got anxious I would stroke her silky warm and fur, while she nibbled my toes to say “its okay”. All my feel-good hormones started flowing back into my veins and for the first time in 4 months, I was sleeping through the night.
While all this sounds great, I would still have bad days. Days where I felt my life was slipping away from me. I would have anxiety attacks about not getting better, about missing out on life. I would look at my friends and colleagues creating amazing art, design and traveling to exotic corners of the globe and I would resent and blame myself for the situation I was in.
Enter Mathangi aunty. My guardian angel. I started going to therapy once a week. She would patiently address all my worries and issues. She never judged me and made me feel like I wasn't losing my mind. Her guidance made me realise, the impact a good counsellor can have, in helping you battle your mental illness. She made me understand there is nothing wrong with getting help for a mental illness. You don’t have to think you are “crazy” or “nuts” or in my case “weak”. She taught me how to control and focus on my breathing if I had a panic attack. She helped me break my negative loop, but telling me to do a positive action every time I had a negative thought. If I missed my mom, instead of crying or wallowing in pain, she would tell me to bake something from my mom's cookbook, in a way to remember her positively. Its been 4 months of therapy and every session I feel a little better. Like a broken vase slowly being pieced back together.
Of course, I need to give a shout out to the special few people in my life ( you know who you are) for answering my midnight calls, taking me out for chocolate ice cream or sometimes just listening to me cry while holding me in a tight hug.
My family, of course, has been a huge support to me. They suffocated me with unconditional love and helped get me back on my feet.
If you suffer from a mental illness. The first thing you need to do is go easy on yourself. Don’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault. The second is don’t give up hope. You CAN and WILL get better. It will take time, it will be an uphill journey but you definitely can get better ! It has been 6 months now, and though I still have bad days where I am extremely emotionally volatile and feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I take it one day at a time. I remember to breathe, look at the sunset, remember I am loved and that like a work of art, I should believe in progress, not perfection.
