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Depression isn't just feeling sad- it a very real, very harmful illness, one that fortunately has a way to treat it, if only done on time, and done right.
Depression isn’t just feeling sad- it a very real, very harmful illness, one that fortunately has a way to treat it, if only done on time, and done right.
The online tests confirm it- I am ‘severely depressed’. However they also diagnose you with brain cancer if you have a headache! So in other words, unreliable.
They do however encourage you to seek professional help but I won’t (can’t) do that so yeah, I am depressed- maybe.
Middle school is an awkward time for most people. There’s acne, braces, weird hair, cliques, and other such fun things but despite that it was, funnily enough, one of the happiest times of my life.
I had a great group of friends, a darling little kitten at home and life was great.
Then we moved.
I was miserable, having had to leave my cat behind and as for my friends, they noted down their numbers on a piece of paper for when I decided to ‘join society’ and buy a cellphone (their words not mine).
I held on to that paper like a lifeline, hoping that someday it could restore at least some of my happy life someday. (If you wonder why a high school girl didn’t have a cellphone- well apparently they corrupt you and cause to to become boy crazy. Don’t ask me for the logic behind that- I don’t get it either!)
Then one Saturday morning my mother burst into my room like the US army breaching bin Laden’s compound, her loyal lieutenant, my younger sister, hot on her heels, turning my drawers upside down and inside out. Before I knew it, that paper was in a landfill somewhere, my lifeline ripped away.
And thus began my career as an Oscar worthy actress- Fatima Ahmad as The Quiet Girl. It worked like a charm.
All throughout high school nobody found out the truth, that I dread going home each day, that I was losing my appetite and my will to live, that I was breaking apart day by day; and nobody gave a damn.
My grades never suffered, my appearance and behavior never changed. I wasn’t loud, ‘difficult’ or rebellious. In fact the only bad thing my teachers has to say about me was that “she doesn’t participate in class enough”.
The campaign of mental torture and abuse continued for the two years that followed, the details of which are best left unremembered. I don’t know why it was how it was. God knows I tried my best to find out- I asked, begged, pleaded “at least tell me what I’ve done wrong?”
I have been accused of living in the past, clinging to it and the wrongs that were done to me. But the truth is I barely think of the past at all, and when I do it’s clinical, detached, as if it happened to some random stranger instead of me.
Psychologists would call it disassociation- I call it staying sane.
I am in a much better place today both physically and mentally, and yet it’s there always there, at two am at night, in the middle of a long boring English class, suddenly at a party – that dreadful choking hopeless feeling that is depression.
It’s senseless and weird and contradictory. Sometimes I want to cry, sometimes I want to laugh, sometimes I want to be alone for the rest of my life. Sometimes I wish and wish and wish that someone would just hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay. And sometimes, especially at two am in the morning, I lie awake and wonder what the heck am I even doing?
I don’t know – I realize that everything I’ve ever been through is nothing compared to what some people suffer daily. Case in point refugees the disabled, orphans etc.
It makes me wonder sometimes if my past was the cause of my depression or if the little monster was always there waiting patiently for the right time to pounce.
Depression isn’t just feeling sad- it a very real, very harmful illness one that fortunately has a way to treat it, if only done on time, and done right.
When I asked to see a therapist at 16, I was taken to an Indian GP (her nationality is relevant because seriously, India, screw your attitude towards mental health) who didn’t even take the time to talk to a frightened unhappy girl, ask her what was wrong, or even give her some privacy. Instead she spoke to and through my mother, disregarded my fears completely, and lectured me about doing chores.
I implore every parent and guardian of a child or teenager showing signs of depression to please please please get them help, because I really wouldn’t like to see another me in the world.
If you or anyone you know is feeling suicidal, here are some of the helplines available in India. Please call.
Aasra, Mumbai: 022-27546669
Sneha, Chennai: 044-2464 0050
Lifeline, Kolkata: 033-2474 4704
Sahai, Bangalore: 080–25497777
Roshni, Hyderabad: 040-66202000, 040-66202001
Image source: Unsplash
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We are conditioned to normalise domestic violence out of fear of abandonment. Thinking that 'trauma bonding' is better than no bonding holds us back from speaking up!
(Trigger Warning: This post may be triggering for survivors of domestic violence. This post has been published especially to honour the International Day For The Elimination of Violence Against Women.)
Everyone said my perfect husband was like Lord Ram…. but this is how he took unfair advantage of my tolerance!
My grandmother was very fond of my husband whose name is synonymous with Lord Ram’s name. Every call she made to my husband started with the bhajan “Aaj sab mil mangal gao, Awadh mai, raam aye hain“. (Hail everyone, sing praises, Lord Ram has come in the kingdom of Awadh.) It was a mandatory welcome song whenever she met him or even spoke to him on the phone. Yes, his attributes were like that of Lord Ram. His attitude, chivalry, persona, fair skin, smile, height, physique and charm illustrate the perfect image of Lord Ram.
Alone in the apartment the whole day, Riya used to feel claustrophobic. She could not imagine anyone living in with just one bunk to call one’s own. She thought about the clean air and the verdant hills of Siliguri.
The Muse of the Month is a monthly writing contest organised by Women’s Web, bringing you original fiction inspired by women.
Harshita Nanda is one of the winners for the November 2021 Muse of the Month, and wins a Rs 750 Amazon voucher from Women’s Web. The juror for this month, Anuradha Kumar commented, “This is truly an unusual, and moving mother-daughter story, set dually in Dubai and Siliguri. This story of courage, determination, and love of the mother, and the growing awareness on the daughter’s part is really insightful and very moving. A very contemporary story, featuring characters not much written about before.”
Kangana Ranaut (like may others), seems to have some misconceptions related to depression and what people go through. Here are the real facts!
Trigger warning: This post contains details of depression and its symptoms which may be triggering to the survivors.
Kangana Ranaut recently made some insensitive remarks about depression and mental health. In the video that went up on Desi Mojito, she even targeted Deepika Padukone who has been vocal about her struggle with depression. She further went on to label Deepika as someone ‘jo depression ka dhanda chalati hai.’ (someone who makes a business off her depression)
Anxiety had been an issue all her life, but it was dating a controlling man that finally pushed her over the brink, and only a clean break helped. A personal account.
It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon, and I can’t get that Carpenter’s song out of my head: rainy days and Mondays always get me down. I am enveloped by a special type of sadness that appears to have no specific trigger, but a general feeling of being suffocated by various elements of my life.
Depression is a rather recent phenomenon for me – I have only struggled with it since 2016, while anxiety and I have had a lifelong relationship. I mark depression by the feeling of hopelessness that weighs me down, and a feeling that things will never get better, while anxiety makes me too hyperactive to do anything effectively and renders my functioning in normal everyday life at a significantly less than optimal level.