“It’s easier to stand up against other people who are opposing you, than standing up against your own mind when it is against you”
How it all started
More than a year ago, I started waking up with my heart pounding and hands sweating, convinced that I was running out of time, and that the sand of my life was slipping through my fingers, and I could do nothing about it.
Slowly, feelings of helplessness and self-hatred started settling into me, something I had been trying to push away all my life. Then, my body started giving away; I had no energy or will to do anything at all. I was convinced I would get better, but that didn’t happen.
I started resorting to self-harming, because I felt I needed to punish myself, I needed to feel the pain in order to bear the pain in my chest. During such episodes, I was convinced I needed to seek help, but during the aftermaths, it was hard for me to believe that I went through that spell and that I deserved to get help, but I took the plunge anyways.
The beginning of therapy-
Starting therapy includes bringing out your feeling, scrutinizing your past- all of which may make things worse for some time.
With therapy and a lot of self-reflection, I knew I had to face a lot of things I’d rather bury deep, deep down into the soil.
I can swear nobody can ever hate me as much as I hated myself. I hated every single aspect of me, and I felt I deserved the infliction of all those scars. How strongly can other’s behaviour towards one, be internalized!
Stepping into the past-
Some people don’t believe in dwelling in the past, but sometimes, it is very important to reflect back and see how those experiences shaped you and how you can help yourself.
I remember with my nanny, no day would pass without me knowing how bad I was, how I could never do anything right, and of course I deserved that beating.
Appreciation never existed; I could have always done way better if I had just pushed myself more.
If I complained, fight between her and my mother would flare up which included yelling, once smashing of a glass plate and crying, and I was told I was responsible for that. I was responsible for my nanny not being in my mother’s good books. It was hard to know who to side with, the mother who I did not really know well, or the nanny who I spent most of my day with, and who seemed to be a good person who only punishes me because I deserved it. I was told that if I were in her village, I would be tied and beaten up, or covered in chilli powder and be made to lie in the sun.
My mother was always stressed as well, and sometimes unpredictable.
Of course, none of that is their fault, it was just the situation.
The self-harming got worse, and I eventually had to see a psychiatrist.
The worsening of symptoms-
Things got worse, I was suicidal every single day, the anxiety was maddening, and I really didn’t know I could be so strong until then. I could give anything for the palpitations to stop- just for five damned minutes. I couldn’t read three words together and make sense out of it, and I slogged like anything to pass 11th science, and yet I was a loser in the eyes of some people for quitting science, but it didn’t matter anymore. I knew what I was going through, and was by now well aware of how ‘capable’ people were of understanding the same.
There were times I’d just dissociate, and feel nothing. Nothing felt real, and I felt disconnected, and I would have to say, scary though it was, it was the easiest part of the journey.
The hardest part was going through all this and still pretending that I was okay, still putting up a smile, still functioning like every other human being.
Some people were mad at me for self-harming, for acting ‘weird’ and for not sharing these things with them.
Once I did, it was beyond them why I would suffer like this without having faced anything when people who have faced worse are completely ‘alright’. It is one thing to not be able to understand- it is hard to, but it is quite another thing to still react, still want to intrude and believe that you do, in spite of this.
Soon, I started purging and making myself starve because it would make me feel like I was in control and it was yet another way of punishing myself.
No matter what psychiatric drugs I took, nothing worked.
I found myself yearning for motherly affection, somebody who could hug me and tell me things would get better, and reassure me. Somebody to comfort me when I had a panic attack, and when things didn’t seem to get better. The only problem is, I was too scared to receive that kind of love, and I realized that the love I needed had to come from within.
Taking things into my hands-
I finally had enough. If I had to live, I would rather strive to live without suffering than to just give in to it, and the first step was to quit the medications because they did nothing.
I realized I did not really know who I really was. Most of what I knew was false, things I had believed my entire life just because somebody else had said so.
I suddenly had huge amount of self-respect because of how fiercely I fought for myself.
No matter what life throws at one, it is nothing but a stimulus, and the way we perceive is what is stored as memory, and that in turn instigates certain emotions. One cannot reverse the past, but one can certainly change their perception about it.
“Bad experiences are like harsh teachers who are not very pleasant, but end up teaching the most important things.”
I realized that there were so many things that I loved about myself that wouldn’t have existed had I not gone through what I had. Bad times are indeed blessings in disguise; there is something that you will always learn from it that no book or person could ever teach you. I do not regret whatever happened at all; in fact I am glad I did.
Never let anyone tell you that you are weak because of what you are going through, it just stems out of ignorance.
Honestly, people who tell you that there’s nothing wrong with you and that you just need to smile and be okay- they don’t know what they’re talking about, don’t pay heed to them , it doesn’t matter who they are. You know what you are going through.
A mental illness is just your brain trying to tell you that something is wrong, and there is something you need to change.
‘Those scars-
They remind me of what they call my failures,
Remind me of all those tears,
All those irrational fears.
They tell me I’ve won,
A battle and am ready,
For those yet to come.
They tell me how strong I have always been,
No matter for how long
That strength hasn’t been seen.
They tell me I can do it,
I can survive this,
It’ll get over in a bit.
No I’m not hiding,
Neither the scars,
Nor the things worth confiding.’
Riya has earlier shared her experience on It’s Ok To Talk and you can read her stories, here and here.
