The Queen's Gambit

I watched The Queen's Gambit on Netflix & I have so much to say about it. Let's start with "Major Spoilers Ahead!", though, shall we? 

So I watched several shows this year (once again, Fuck Ridley Scott & his obsession with serpentine babies) but none of them made an impact on me like the story of Beth Harmon. It's not that I can relate to being a world champion chess player or to being an orphan. The reason why this tale matters so much to me is because of the significance of the ending. 

In an age where dark & depraved endings are embraced to get higher ratings, TQG is a breath of fresh air, albeit tinged with the smoke of Chesterfield Cigarettes. I love how Beth returns to her roots in the end, walking away from the glamour she could so easily indulge in. I love the humility of it all. And the familiarity of her sitting down with a man several decades her senior and playing the game she devotes her entire existence to. 

Now, on to the dresses. Oh, the dresses. So. I grew up poor, so I never had the money to dress the way I really wanted to. And once I did start earning well, I bought a lot of clothes. Because I like pretty clothes and want to dress well. Not necessarily expensive clothes but nice clothes. So I understand why Beth dresses the way she does. She does it for herself because she can. 

The recurring theme of friendship in TQG is especially gratifying. And in my experience, it is also true. I have my Jolene, I have my Matt & Mike and I have my Benny/Harry/Townes. Friendship will save you from any abyss if you let it. People come and go. But the ones who are there when you need them, become your family. Like Jolene is to Beth. 

Now, to the Green Pills. I know the feeling of wanting your senses to be dulled. To want the blur and the disengagement from your mind. I know what it's like to want it so much that you choose it over everything else. But you can also learn to live without it. I think I learned to do it because I finally learned to embrace living over existing.

I love that she has a second chance with a maternal figure and I love how they both try to be better for each other. You can always start over. With yourself and with others. It is possible. Relationships take work but it's worth it with the people who matter. 

The actions of your parents do not have to define your entire existence. You can get past the addictions & distractions that consume your capability of holding onto clarity. You don't have to remain broken because you suffer. Everyone suffers. To quote Jolene, you should stop digging that hole.

Beth gives me hope. Hope that no matter where you come from or what demons linger within you, you are capable not just of doing great things. But also, of being happy. 

Awakening

It's Friday & I'm sitting here on my swing thinking about how much my priorities have changed over the past year, how my mindset has shifted. I now desire little from life in order to be content. The notions of what true fulfillment are, notions I've harboured for decades, seem trivial & misguided now.

The past year has been a particularly brutal year for most of us. Losing loved ones, being deprived of simple pleasures, being trapped within the same four walls & some of us going completely broke. 2020 has certainly been a mofo, yes. But it has also taught me a lot. 

I've realised I don't need access to much material means in order to feel like I have it together. I've found that a simple roof over my head, warm food on my table & some clothes on my back are enough.  Books, my swing and the plants in my little garden are the luxuries I've earned for myself. Now if I could just see the sunset everyday, I wouldn't have any complaints. Hehe. 

I've always appreciated my people. Deeply. But over the past year, I've realised how crucial friendship & familial bonds are. These people will look after you & help you, regardless of whether you ask for it or not. Most people in my life are inherently generous & kind. I hope you are just as lucky.  

I've also realised I don't need to become what I thought I should be. The demands that had been weighing my shoulders down were not my own, but the society's. And all it did was make me feel empty.

I've learned to need & want less in life &  learned to be grateful for whatever I already have. To not regret what I lost & to let go of people & things that no longer align with the course I've set for myself. Not with resentment, but with acceptance. And the wish that they thrive, even if I'm not by their sides.

Most importantly, this year has taught me that I'd be much happier living somewhere remote & quiet, preferably surrounded by foliage and near the shore, doing something simple to make a living. Societal pressures are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, really. Your mental, spiritual & physical health are what's really important.

If you can afford to, do what gives you peace. I plan to spend the rest of my life doing just that. But yes, obligations are a part of life. Let's hope I find a way to fulfill both. I hope you do too. 

P.S. This newfound clarity does not apply to food. When it comes to food, more is definitely more. 

Healing through Humility

Earlier this year, before the threat of Coronavirus reached our shores & disrupted the routine of our everyday lives, I suffered an inexplicable loss. I beat myself up for my own naivety & for causing the harm & grief that I did. It was a process & it took its toll on me... & it took its time. 
Until one day, I woke up & decided that I needed my life to change. That I needed to be grateful for what I still had. That I needed to organize my mind. But first, I knew I needed to declutter the mess around me. 

I'd heard of the KonMari method being effective. The concept is simple. Declutter your possessions. Discard what you don't value. Keep only what brings you joy. Adopt minimalism. Adapt to the concept, embrace it... & you shall find some ease within you for having cleared the chaos around you. 

Marie Kondo is a world renowned organizing consultant, author and tv show host who's method of tidying up your home & thereby simplifying your life, has gained her a large following. Including yours truly. 

I looked around my tiny home & decided there was a lot in it that I didn't really need. Furniture. Clothes. Books. Accessories. Knickknacks. Things that were reminders of what I had lost. Things that no longer "brought me joy".

I approached it by categories & separated what I didn't want/need from what made me feel good when I looked at it or touched it. There was a considerable pile on both sides. I sold/gave away/threw away the former & reorganized the latter. Category by category. Until what was left was only what I absolutely needed. 

And slowly, over the next few days, I was able to release the tension that had knotted up in my shoulders & my back for weeks. But I still had my mind to declutter, though.

So I decided to truly embrace the Japanese concept of Wabi-sabi. In simple terms, the view acknowledges three simple realities: "nothing lasts, nothing is finished & nothing is perfect." The acceptance of transience & imperfection. 

My favourite word has always been "Ephemeral" since the first time I came across it, many years ago. And since then, I have related to it on a spiritual level. Fleeting...short-lived...transitory. I recognised the truth of how ephemeral everything in life is from a very young age. 

I suppose that explains why I love Cherry Blossoms too. Sakura is symbolic of transience. The flower is breathtakingly beautiful when it blooms. But the blossom lasts for only a short while, falling within a fortnight. 

Accepting these realities has enabled within me a deep sense of gratitude. Gratitude for what I have & also the lessons I've learned from how I lost what I lost. I now accept, without resentment or bitterness, that the world owes me nothing, and that while I do have a wonderful support system, the only person who can truly help me, is me.

Do no harm. Be grateful. Embrace life as it is, however short-lived happiness is or how swiftly things change. And above all else, I have learned that whether it is giving to you or taking from you, the timing is always impeccable when it comes to the Universe.

I hope this helps 🙏

Forsaken

Her incoherent cooing resonates around the Pit. She frets and fusses, tugging the remains of my dress down my thighs. I am empty. The shock of it has stripped me of all feeling. And yet i thirst for water, for food... for salvation.

She slides Her bony arm around my waist, lifts me gently off the muck I had festered in for days, the tendrils clutch at me, denying me release. I hear Her nails scrape as She scurries up the wall with me, and the jagged edges of the Pit cut into my skin. Blood spurts out and the warmth of it eases me.

We reach the mouth of the Pit & the light pierces my cornea, shooting a tremor straight into my brain. I have to retch. She gently lays me down at her feet, folds Herself down to my level and pats my cheek, cooing again. "Look" She croaks softly.

The light blinds me for a few seconds and I flinch in pain. I slowly open my raw eyelids and let my vision adjust to the light. I lie on a hearth, too vivid to be real. The shade of green looks unreal, corrupt, … these are no leaves, just blobs of green, clumped together. Garish.

The light that seems to pierce through the wall of green seems to want to gouge out my sight. I throw up and blood trails down my throat, oozing down onto the hearth. She wipes her hand over it and smears it senselessly against the green. "Flowers… pretty flowers" She croons, the tune, a forgotten melody from years past.

She had made this. For me. It is like a child's first painting, globs of colour clumped together. A tale only the child could decipher. There is no rhyme or reason to it.

"See" She croaks. "See" and drags me onto Her lap. Cowering down to my face, Her spine bending to an impossible curve, She touches Her forehead to mine and closes Her eyes. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as well.

When I open them, I see through Her eyes. We are in a clearing within a forest. Sunlight streams through the leaves above. Yellow butterflies flit past us and She giggles in joy. Poppies grew in patches nearby, the petals, the colour of fresh blood.

She grins at me, maniacally. Proud.

My scalp feels Her nails dig into it as She strokes my head. "There, there." She whispers hoarsely. I manage a smile, a thin curve of gratitude on my sunken face.

And so we stay here on the mouth of our Pit, me lying on Her lap and Her, stroking my head. Choosing delusion over reality.

Grey

There is an inexplicable contentment one can derive from the sight of the falling rain and frothy waves beating against the shore. My thoughts are serene and the perpetual churning inside of me is a peaceful simmer now.

I am in Raa Atoll for work and I'm delirious about being free of the draining clutches of Malé City. Even if it is for a little while. Time and time again, whenever I am able to breathe in fresh air and not the thick fog of pollution, disease and despair Malé is immersed in, I reprimand myself for not taking more time away from the city.

It is raining here, delicious thick blobs of raindrops keep pelting against my skin, making me want to curl up inside bed covers and sleep for hours on end. There is so much greenery around me that I feel every string of my brain relax from the tightness they usually are wound up in. Every nerve in my body breathes gratefully for the open air and the occasional wisps of wind it accompanies.

We don’t talk about this enough. We don’t talk about the exhilaration we feel when strolling along the shoreline under a grey sky, thick with clouds impregnated by the oncoming bout of rain. We don't talk about how the air feels against our body or when it is coursing through our lungs, opening up the forgotten crevices of our chest.

I am alone on the beach, this plump stretch of white sand that encircles the island. My feet sink into the wet sand as I walk alone, content in my solitude. Where else in the world can I enjoy this feeling of complete and utter freedom? I belong here. Not in a city that drains the will to live from every pore on my skin. I deserve sand beneath my feet and a grey sky above me.

I deserve this.

Be Kind

My home has become a harbour where people dock down for a few hours of light conversation, tea and peace of mind. It has also become a place where people bare their souls... and I have been mindful of the energy that would create within my home. 
This past week alone I have had my loved ones and a few new friends take me into their confidence about their trials and darkest demons. What I learned left me empathetic for some and stricken with horror for others. Followed by restless nights with my own demons surfacing for hours on end. 

And so I ask myself if what i do is healthy for me, being the confidante of so many severed souls while fighting my own battles. And the answer i arrived at is, yes.

I don't do this because I have a saviour complex. Nor do I believe I have a solution for their problems. I do it simply to offer some relief to those who struggle. Talking it out helps sometimes. I realised that after I started therapy. The importance of expressing myself. 

What I have noticed is that all of them have one thing in common. They forget to be kind to themselves. They forget that they are only human, and therefore prone to mistakes. And they are incapable of forgiving themselves. Guilt is the ultimate burden to bear. I understand. Believe me. I do. But then, we live, we learn, don’t we? We are only human.

As for those who subconsciously blame themselves for what happened to them; things that were beyond your control or needed to be done, you didn’t invite the trauma into your life. Sometimes terrible things happen. Things that are beyond your control. So you bleed and you grieve. But holding onto that trauma will not help. Seek the proper treatment for what’s ailing you.  

Talking to a friend might provide some relief but it is only temporary. Communicate with a Psychiatrist, get a diagnosis and get started on your treatment. Be it pills or therapy or both. Only you know about your hysteria, sleep paralysis, paranoia, inability to control your emotions and the extent of it all. Try talking to Dr. Arif or Dr. Shanooha at IGMH (for appointments, call 3335245) and get a diagnosis.

I texted my former Therapist today, after a long time. As you know, she lives abroad now. I showed her photos of my place and she was so happy for me. When I thanked for helping me get here, she said I did it by myself and that she was happy that she was there at some point to help me. This woman doesn’t know that she saved my life. Really has no idea. Haha. 

Anyway, I hope you muster up the courage and strength to help yourself. And soon. And I hope you remember to be kind to yourself. Cheers. 

Reader's Block

2011 was the worst year of my life. The years after that fade into one another, with me clinging desperately on to the sliver of sanity I possessed. Along with my dilapidating memory and inconsolable emotions, came the inability to do one of the most fundamental things that make me who I am. I stopped reading.
Not for lack of trying, though. Because I tried. So many times, I tried. I would force myself to read a page every day but I couldn't discipline myself to actually follow through. My mind refused to comprehend the words and my eyes refused to linger long enough on the page to acknowledge what I was trying to read.

For as long as I can remember, I've had my nose buried in books. I loved the time I got to spend in our school libraries. My fascination with reading began with Enid Blyton books and I would spend hours with my head bent over her work, marveling at the lives the children lived. And I lived in them as well. I lived in many worlds. 

My former Therapist slowly urged me to force myself to begin reading again. Over the past 8 years I don't think I've read more than 50 books. Or 40. Or even 30. I didn't keep count. It was too depressing. So last year I was able to actually hold a book and concentrate on it long enough to read a few pages at a time. I was delighted. It made me remember who I was. And how much I love being lost in tales. 

The thing about CPTSD and Depression is that it makes you lose interest in the things that you love the most. It broke my heart to be that disengaged to literature. I forgot myself. 

I believe that I have regained my interest in pursuing tales again. It is gradual and inconsistent and it takes a while for me to read a book that I would've finished in one sitting before I found myself with this block obstructing my mind. I suppose a lot of you can relate. 

By treating my conditions, I am able to go back to being a version of who I used to be. Granted, it is a raw, jaded and unstable version but that version can read and that is saying a lot. My bookshelf is my pride and my treasure. 

Without books, I wouldn't have this imagination nor the beautiful dreams that occasionally grace my broken mind. I wouldn't be me without those worlds I had journeyed into. 

I hope this helps. 

Oblivion

I walk under the shade of trees, stepping on scatters of sunshine on the floor. Marble glistens around me and leaves sway above me. Weeping branches of bright green and brown hang overhead, a sharp contrast against the luminous white building that looms over us pedestrians. Beautiful and intimidating at the same time.

I walk to the centre of the square and stare at the ambivalent sky above me. Today is neither warm nor cold. Like nature has taken a slow deep breath. I wonder what is ahead. A storm... or more days of sweat trickling down our backs? Probably the latter.

I seek refuge in the welcoming embrace of more trees reaching for the skies. The bench where I sit is empty and I settle down, taking a long deep breath. Even walking is a trial today. Every step I take is exhausting. Every breath, a chore.

I sit and wait for my mind to take it all in. Flowers, leaves, trees and grass. Things that usually bring a smile to my face. I am surrounded by so much beauty and yet all that is on my mind are these five cursed words.

"What is the fucking point?"

Freedom in Solitude

Ramazan was impossible and i was unable to carve out time to blog, among other things. Eid went by in a blur since I was packing to move to a new apartment, which is lovely. It took me several months of asking around on social media and looking at many apartments to find this place and damn, the trial was worth it. Though my neighbourhood is a tad too hood for my taste, once I am in the apartment, i feel like i am out of Male’. Which is heavenly.

Thanks to the good people around me and my sheer force of will, I've managed to make some huge changes in my life over the past couple of years. These changes didn’t come without consequences but I am absorbing what is being thrown at me, converting it into something positive and productive. And i’ve somehow managed to keep my sanity intact. What little of it is left, that is. *cue in nervous laughter*

I’ve had some really bad days in which the bed held me hostage and some good days when i would don my mask and turn on that switch and be the person people want me to be. And it has gotten me by. Sometimes, even the facade helps. Learning to manipulate my thoughts is a process and it does not always work but well, here I am. Up and about.

Being independent and being self reliant is empowering, yes. But it does not come easy. There is much you have to sacrifice and much you have to compromise. Some bridges you have to burn and some you have to strengthen with a stronger base in order to follow your own dreams. And you owe yourself that. Follow your dreams. Even if it costs you more than you are willing to forego. 

My formula is working for what i want and with the rewards, staying true to my obligations and also staying true to myself and my own needs. Took me over 3 decades to arrive at this place but i am grateful to myself and to the people who love me, for their support and generosity.

Making these changes, while living in a society that has set rules for what is expected of a woman, has not been easy. I have second guessed myself and beat myself up over it. More than I can put into words. But at the end of the day, “the peace I have now, is worth everything i lost.”

I hope you find that too. Someday.

Abuse

I woke up feeling a bit strange today because i had a rough night owing to gastritis, and nightmares whenever I managed to get some sleep. I feel lethargic and befuddled and all I want is to sleep. But when I do close my eyes, the flashes of my nightmares are still vivid behind my eyelids.
Today I want to talk about surviving abuse, a subject that always leaves me raw. Every image is still clear in my head and every emotion still lingers, as if it happened a few days ago, instead of the decade that has passed by. 

Sometimes I am triggered simply by the thought of being back in that room with hands around my neck and the walls closing in on me. I used to succumb to full blown panic attacks before I started my treatments. I would lie awake unable to sleep because whenever I did drift away, I would have nightmares of slithering coils and snapping jaws. 

When I was a child, I had a fever and it was so intense I started to hallucinate. I saw a snake wrapped around my mother, its thick black coils gleaming with moisture and its eyes, red slits in its large head. I was so weak I couldn't even move and all I could do was stare at it in horror. 

That was the first time I started associating snakes with unbearable pain and being terrified. Over the years, whenever I am severely stressed or suffering in any way, I would have nightmares of obsidian serpents with red eyes. Sometimes they would be there when I woke up and found myself paralysed, during the worst nights. Thanks to medication, therapy and self healing, I rarely have those nightmares now. 

 

Being physically abused leaves a mark on you, like a ghastly tattoo that will never fade. You remember the sensations and emotions you felt and the images of everything you saw during the assault. And you remember the mental abuse even more vividly. How it felt when you were continuously told that you were worthless, unattractive and deserved to be treated the way you were. 

I was young and stubborn and retaliated in the worst ways but I was mostly afraid. Threats and blackmail are frightening and leave you feeling like you are completely at the mercy of your abuser. Your feeling of self worth is crushed and you exist as a shell of your former self; your body on autopilot and your mind, numb.

Breaking free of that situation was one of the hardest things I had to do and I chose my moment when my abuser was weak. I wish it had been more heroic... but then, that's life. You take whatever opportunity you get and do what needs to be done to survive.

Over the past year, a lot has changed, mostly inside my head. What used to overpower me, does not, anymore. You know that last scene in Gerald's Game when Jesse faces Joubert and says "You are so much smaller than I remember."... that is what I have achieved. I have my treatments to thank for that. And yes, my seemingly limitless ability to survive.

Don't let the abuse you suffered define you. You are so much more than that. Say it, believe it and practice it 🙏

Toxicity

Being mentally ill can be draining. Having darkness within you and feeling it pressing on your chest and weighing you down for hours on end while you try to crawl out from the bed that is swallowing you is exhausting, yes. It strips you bare and leaves you feeling either too much or nothing at all. Neither of which is the least bit comforting.
And in our despair we sometimes turn to others. And anyone who has someone who looks out for them during an episode or on a daily/weekly basis is lucky. You honestly have no idea how lucky you are to have even one soul who gives enough of a shit to check up on you and take care of you. 

And sometimes we don’t realize how draining we can be to them. Granted, we don’t have anyone else nor do we know of any magical method to just "snap out of it". But does that justify being toxic to the person or people who love you and want you to be better?

There’s a thin line between being dependent on someone and being toxic to them. And it is up to us to recognize that line and steer clear of the latter. If you have someone in your life who is consistent with their support and the act of simply being there for you, it is on you to not let your despair seep into their lives as well. 

In the past, during those episodes where I feel everything whirl around me and I'm unable to stand upright or make sense of anything in my head, I have allowed myself to plunge into it even further. And I have been toxic to my friends and my family. It wasn’t that I felt I was entitled to it, no. But I simply gave in to despair instead of fighting it. 

Because I didn’t know what else to do. Because I wasn’t strong enough. Because I just didn’t know any better.

And that is where therapy and medication comes in. The pills, they calm you. The therapy teaches you how to handle yourself in those situations. And you learn to disassociate from it long enough to realize you're crossing that line with the people who love you. And that it's not right.

It's not right to expect someone who is not mentally ill to understand everything you are going through. Someone who does not have Depression is incapable of comprehending the depth of it. But they still try to understand you, don’t they? And you have to give them credit for it. I do. A lot. 

But I have also learned that sometimes I am too much for some people. And that they are fighting their own battles and cannot take on any more. And I learn where the line is drawn and I steer clear of it now. And things are better. Those friendships are healthier and stronger. I don’t have unrealistic expectations from those who care about me. I learn their limitations and I steer clear of it. 

I know you're hurting. I know that some days are impossible. But you need to take responsibility for yourself and make it your priority to get help when help is needed. Realize that they are normal people who have their fair share of problems and not professionals who have studied how the brain works.

I hope you understand what I'm trying to say. Get the proper help when help is needed. From trained professionals who are equipped to deal with the depth of your illness. Don’t expect more than anyone can give. And don’t be toxic to the people who love you. 

Believe me. I'm still trying too. I hope this helps. 

Seeking Help

So here I am, sitting at Gloria Jeans again, having their delicious Seafood Aglio Olio Spaghetti and yes, to answer your question, I've sat up residence here. The view is great, the food is delicious, the toilet's clean and friends drop by often. Ahah. Ah, man I wish. I just love it here, having a drink or some food, content with my solitude. The occasional company of a good book or a good friend is nice too.

I wanted to talk about therapy and relay my experience of what its like talking to a professional about my demons and dysfunctions. I began therapy with much skepticism. I spent the beginning of my first session sitting in the chair listening to her talk with this wry smile on my face. At least until she switched to asking me questions.

Before I knew it, I was spilling it all. Cunning, how they get you to talk without you realising that your inhibitions or defensive mechanisms are no longer a steel wall constructed high around you. I left the session, drained. I went home, hugged my sister and cried until I was numb. And that's what you should expect at first. The initial sessions are brutal, but only if you allow your therapist to get the answers she/he desires.

I suppose it takes a while to get used to having your brain picked. Having to face your demons and learn how to deal with them knocks the wind right out of you. The beginning was impossible. Especially without the medication to sustain me. But I kept going.

The hardest part was learning to deal with CPTSD, which is usually accompanied by sleep paralysis. Back then I wasn't able to sleep like I do now. (I'll get into that later.) I rarely slept back then. So it was me and my thoughts all through the night, until dawn, when I finally dosed off, exhausted... and managed to get a few hours of restless sleep.

Therapy teaches you how to cope. It teaches you tricks that would  interrupt and deviate destructive thoughts and behaviour. It teaches you how to coexist with your demons. Because your demons will always be in you. So what we can do is learn how to deal with them.

Three months after I started therapy, I finally managed to get an appointment with a Psychiatrist. Anti depressants and anti anxiety pills and therapy combined helped CPTSD greatly. I am no longer consumed by those thoughts. They do haunt me. But they don't consume me anymore.

In my earlier post, I mentioned that my therapy sessions were suspended. Unfortunate turn of events where last October my therapist had to move abroad. It hasn't been easy and I have been erratic for a while. But the year of consistent therapy had taught me skills that come in handy now. And I've just started seeing a new therapist at the Mental Health Center at IGMH. Fingers crossed.

So, those of you who are skeptical about shrinks, I hope I've convinced you or at least motivated you to seek therapy. As far as I know, the therapists at Institute for Mental Wellbeing are quite good. Yes. The fee is a huge factor. Therapy isn't exactly affordable. So I'll let you know about IGMH later. I hope this helps.

Simple Pleasures

Sitting at my usual cafe, staring at the view outside; a crispy clear sky and a whimsical ocean. Little speedboats zoom past, turning ripples into froth, while larger ships loom dormant in the blue horizon.

Sun beams make the ocean shimmer and the light bounces off the windows, casting the shine onto my spectacles and I am momentarily distracted by the snorkelers that surface and dive right back again into the expanse of the reef and I wonder when I'll ever muster up the courage to tackle my biggest fear. Maybe someday.

I have music in my ears and a book in my hands but I take pleasure in simply sitting there, enjoying the scenery... like I enjoy my own company. There is an inexplicable contentment one can derive from enjoying one's own company. A sense of peace, of independence.

A hearty breakfast is set before me and I indulge, putting aside the book for the time being. Potatoes wedges, sausage, grilled mushrooms and a tomato topped with pesto sauce decorate the plate while three plump slices of bread sit lavishly at the centre. I savour every bite.

I pick up my book, sit back and start reading... and all is right with the world. For now.

Mad World

The heat makes it unbearable. My scalp leaks and trails down my neck, my back and between my breasts. I loathe this heat and this brightness.

I saw a post on Twitter that said that people who suffer from depression experience lower retinal activity, making the world appear more dull, more monochrome.

To me, the colours are too vivid. The world around me is bleeding and brimming over with bright hues...and my eyes cant take it. I need the comforting blanket of grey skies and the occasional chill to stay sane.

The sky is too blue. The sun, too bright.  And the noise is deafening. The world isn't dull. It is overwhelmingly vicious.

And my mind cannot take it.

Therapy

A few weeks ago, I was having dinner at Gloria Jeans Cafe. They have the most delicious Penne Arrabiata, it's insane. The sauce has just the right amount of flavour, tad spicy but tolerable, and there are these juicy cherry tomatoes on the side and greens sprinkled over the top and damn...

Anyway, as I was leaving, I overheard a conversation that made me want to turn around, step in and throw in my unsolicited two cents.

Three millennials sat conversing over some drinks and the subject of their discussion was dum dum dummmmm... Depression. I didn't catch most of it but the one part I did manage to grasp was one of them stating that if you have Depression, what you need is just one person who understands you and accepts you as you are, to be there for you. Which is true. As someone who has a wonderful support system, I can vouch for it.

But then, he announced, like it was set in stone, that relying on medication will only make one develop an addiction, worsening one's plight.

Ok. I know what you're thinking. At that point, I wasn't just "overhearing" the conversation. Clearly, I was eavesdropping. I wasn't proud of myself. But it's Depression. And I've been a Depressive for as long as I can remember and the bold statement he made, triggered a primitive defensive tendency inside me.

I don't claim to have all the answers. Far from it, actually. But here's my experience, and I hope it helps to change the perception of taking medication for Depression.

I was a wreck before I started meds. A complete wreck. I had a rabid creature with frantic wings flapping inside my chest ALL THE TIME. I had no control over my emotions. Panic attacks were my default response to anything that was remotely stressful. It got to the point where I found myself in an ICU clogged up to machines and two years later, on a ledge. Clearly, I survived both.

I started going to therapy. And soon after that, I started taking pills. I am fortunate to have people who care enough to urge me to get the required treatment, some even footing the bill for some of my sessions. They have my gratitude forever.

I have to take pills in the morning. I started nodding off at work. I could barely keep my eyes open. The pills made me so drowsy I found it terribly hard to concentrate on anything. By the fourth month, my body had learned to adapt to the condition it was in. I would steal in a few winks at work or I would go home during break just to take a nap.

I felt less hysterical. I could breathe again. My mind was clearer. I wasn't making irrational decisions the way I used to. Sometimes my thoughts did drag me down into my pit but the pills helped to calm me down and the therapy taught me to deal with things I wasn't able to, before. I was feeling better than I'd felt in a long long time.

I haven’t been feeling my best lately, owing to lack of therapy but that's a story for another day. But my point is, medication isn't a big bad monster. Depression is an illness. It needs to be treated. Just like any other illness needs to be treated. A support system or even one person who stands by you is great but part of the treatment might be taking medication. Granted, it comes with certain undesirable side effects but it helps you sleep and calms the chaos within you. Couple that with therapy and you can actually function quite well.

Shit happens in life. That is unavoidable. And yes, it does derail you. Despite the medication and despite the therapy. But getting treatment for Depression when I did is probably the reason why I am alive today. Just my two cents. I hope it helps.