In my life of less than 20 years I feel that the circumstances I have been in have pushed me to the boundaries of emotional experiences. I’m not saying I have a special life. I would never suggest such a thing because this article is for every one of you out there who relates to what I have felt ever since you became conscious of your surroundings and yourself – such as at the age of five. The beginning of conscious thought when you started analysing situations and experiences. These analogies, often complex, have shaped you so strongly that it is infinitely difficult now for you to mould in any way else. This is where the wreckage begins; we don’t and definitely shouldn’t expect the people around us to be responsible for our emotions. It is their freedom, their right to behave in any way they want as long as it’s not criminal. But people often unknowingly cause irreparable psychological damage which in the later years ends up affecting every little thing you do. You get conscious about your flow of thought, your actions and your abilities and worst of all – you blame yourself for it all.
So if you’re reading this you shouldn’t be surprised if I tell you that I found myself bawling my eyes out on the bathroom floor, screaming and crying with a blade in my hand. I had blood oozing and running down my thighs from the cuts I gave myself. I even tried killing myself that day and before it too. It’s just that more and more I looked at my reflection in the mirror, the more worthless I felt and my loathing for myself grew to skyrocket. I just did not want to live anymore. Did I go through something that most people don’t? Was I somehow the little “snowflake” I thought I was for going through it? So many questions I wanted answers to but at the same time I wanted to die clueless because the answers would just hurt me even more. Everything hurt. Everything.
Growing up I was always a conscious and observant child. I was always conscious of everything around me and even myself. So I was there watching – an eleven year old child – watching my dad doing certain objectionable things. Maybe my dad knows. I know but just like every member of my family except my mom, he was too scared to confront it. All this shook me to my very core. Nevertheless I grew up watching these things from the sidelines. Watched my mother and father fight – while my mom showed compassion and expressed her sadness, my father kept attacking her with usual pangs of acid-talk. Over the years my hatred for him kept growing and growing, inflating like a balloon that just wouldn’t burst. That’s right; I was never able to tell anyone although probably most of us knew. The first seeds of hate, anger and insecurity were planted. I started bottling up everything I felt. Maybe it was because I was too young and scared to answer the questions that would follow, or I just did not want to see my family fall apart because I loved my sister and my mother so profoundly. I just decided that in life, I wanted to be as loyal and hardworking and honest as my mother was. I just wanted to keep her happy. Mind you; I was eleven.
So time flew by the same way. Loads of things happened. The four of us used to live in a rented three-room apartment on the second floor on a beautiful street. My sister and I used to place two planks of wood on the grills of the balcony and lie down there and watch the seasons go by. My mom used to return home late at night after her night shift. I used to miss her a lot when she left in the evenings. She always established a sense of comfort for me. One fine day my maternal grandmother and her son, my uncle, came to stay in that house. In a matter of months I saw my mom being physically pushed out of the apartment door by my uncle. The screams all drowned in my head but I stayed silent because the concept of violence was new to me. I couldn’t simply believe what was happening so this image got cleared out of my head; it confused me too often so I let it go. So now, we were homeless. We went back to live in my dad’s old house with my grandmother and aunt. Then about a month or two later we shifted to another rented apartment. It was a huge space, situated beside the train lines so the house always shook when the trains passed by. This house is where I started having nightmares and such things. I had no idea why. I kept looking back to the times I was bullied and scolded and embarrassed and hated by one and all. Even my first costume party in school haunted me because everyone said I had to be pretty and fair to dress like a princess and I believed them because I thought so myself. All I could do was laugh it off. Year: 2007, I found myself my first true friend. I loved her so much. She had been through almost the same things as I had except she even had worse happened to her. We understood each other on a cellular, more organic level than most of my classmates ever could. We had a tough ride because the world hated us. We were, of course, the delinquent duo who didn’t really cause any mischief but definitely hated the system so we broke a bunch of rules no one could even think of breaking. Our names and identities became synonymous. We scared people with our unity. I would say that I owe most of what I am today to her. I am heavily indebted. Or rather, I was. Because the school had to yet again mess up something I held sacred. Our classes got shuffled, our friendship grew toxic and distant, I made newer more toxic friends, they left me heartbroken and reduced my self-esteem till I was absolutely devoid of all feelings of happiness and I entered class nine a sad, dejected, rude and aimless child.
So after all of this another wonderful addition: I fell in love with a friend’s boyfriend who I later realised had just used me limitlessly for his own emotional support and stability. I used to trust him as a friend. I was never one to ruin his relationship because I wanted to see them happy, but they grew distant too so I was left more unhappy. By this time, I totally loathe myself. Top to bottom; I hate myself.
So time went rolling. I made new friends who demeaned my mental problems, my family grew stressful, my boyfriend increased my insecurities to the nth level and I took the blame for it all. I blamed my rude behaviour, I blamed my blatant sarcasm and cynicism, my physical features or as most people refer to it, my “puberty”. My self-worth was drowning day by day. I spent sleepless nights crying over the smallest of things but for some reason the crying did not stop. Coming to the point, I wrote this article because I felt that all of you girls out there, who do not feel good enough to live, trust me and thank God that you are alive and breathing. I target this to especially girls because sometimes we aren’t confident and hot and the best-looking. We aren’t sweet or loving and warm. But we just want to be so. Sometimes we just need someone to hold our hands and pull us out of the mess we made. This, my readers was my experience of depression and suicidal thoughts. All my life I just remember being sad and socially anxious and inexpressive of my feelings and clingy and a bunch of other inexplicable feelings I felt when my dad scolded me, when every time I felt mental pain I held back the urge to slash my skin and make myself bleed. I couldn’t live with the thought that instead of being strong and beautiful and helpful like my mother and sister, I was becoming acidic and mean and sarcastic and selfish like my father. My friends abandoned me, my partner grew sick of me and my family felt intimidated by me, even my therapist made me feel uncomfortable. And yet still reaping the results of my actions, I continue on the same path of bottling up and exploding from time to time except now, I do it alone. I am growing bipolar and it scares me but I’m trying my best and this article should remind everyone that NOBODY’S PROBLEMS ARE SMALL OR INSIGNIFICANT. They matter a great deal because they are shaping you. Learn from the mistakes I made and go out there and speak your mind, make your honesty your strongest point and learn to love yourself. Because son the world is going to get tougher day by day and even though I still cannot face the reality, I will be satisfied with the thought that this article made you change your mind about “that ugly and lonely girl” or made you want to live. I want the world to change.  I’d rather express all my feelings in a letter for people and help them than let anybody hurt me even more. It is because people don’t just listen but take it upon themselves to judge you and demean you instead of just showing an ounce of comfort, a sense of belonging. That’s how one loses their will to live and I request you sincerely to at least try, not to please everyone, but just to accept them as they are because they might die trying to change themselves for you.
This is no way means that killing or hurting yourself is an option. I know that it is extremely hard to live in certain circumstances and deal with certain things. Talk to people who really care. No matter what you go through, face it because I trust you and have faith in you. I know that you have the power and ability to deal with it all and come out strong and fearless. I believe you and know that you deserve so much more. You my friend deserve the world. One day everything will become better. You will find what you truly deserve . Remove all those aspects of your life that hurt you and if removing it is not possible then learn to ignore.
Depression is a real issue and it is high time that we start addressing it. Each voice needs to be heard. Your experience might just help another troubled and disturbed soul.
If you want to talk and discuss your problems then please talk to your friend/parents/siblings or contact as –




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