Tag Archives: depression

When life takes a turn

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There are many paths in life a man could take
One of them is temptation
The other is resistance

Temptation is sensual; it dresses in red
She holds a cigarette in her right hand and waits for you
Promising to sway you away from the worries of life
Ignore the world that has formed concrete pavements on your chest
Temptation doesn’t promise you life but it promises you temporary relief

Resistance is fierce; it has a silver armor on
He doesn’t have anything but a will to fight
Promising that if you don’t give in then the future might be bright
The concrete world will get knocked down but with time
Resistance doesn’t promise relief but it promises you a good fight
It tells you that there are many things in this world
That would kill you in far worse ways than you can imagine
But you don’t have to be one of them

Temptation makes you a loaded gun
Resistance makes you not shoot yourself
It takes courage to be loaded six rounds straight
And not pull the trigger

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It’s too early for rehab

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Near my house they’ve opened up a rehab center
It’s called “Panah” and the board outside reads
A solace for people trying to turn a new chapter
For addiction is a disease
And if your loved one is an addict then they need us
You know?
To rid of the disease
I see a dull brown building and some people standing outside
My guess is that they have a loved one that needs saving
Because, their loved one has slipped into a spiral of addiction
Where crawling out without help is a utopian concept

So one needs doctors
Nurses
Lots of sedatives
Psychologists, too
And a fair amount of support from family
I can’t guarantee friends
They never stick long enough

But yes, you need isolation
So you can think about the pain you’ve caused
With your habits
You know?
Mixing vodka with amphetamines
Crossing pot with acid then whiskey
Injecting heroin then drinking then smoking pot
All that foolery one indulges in when one is an addict

So you get locked up in solitude to think
Sedated enough to not stir up trouble
But not enough to shut your mind off
Think about why your habits have caused so much pain to your loved ones
So you think and think and think
Oh, God I need a drink
But you realize if it wasn’t for your loved ones
You wouldn’t be in this shit
Not everyone needs care or love
Some people just need a drink
When they are on the brink

Conversations with my therapist

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One time my therapist asked me, “if you know being still won’t get you anywhere, and that is what triggers your sadness, then why don’t you change or move in order to become happy?”

“It’s like ice”, I replied back then, “I’m stripped naked and splayed out on it. The ice is cold and burns. It burns my flesh and I know that if I get up the air will make it sting more. I will be more aware of the burns so I don’t get up. Because, I am afraid. I am afraid of the air pricking my skin and the unknown that awaits me. Lying on the block of ice is all i’ve known and this sadness feels like home.”

He said, “You can move. A momentary lash of air might provide relief, forever.”

“Forever is a long time and the unknown holds promises which don’t always have to be laced with sweet hope.”, I replied.

” So you don’t want to get up?” He asked

“I do. I’m waiting for the block of ice to melt.”

Lovers United

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Depression. It’s like a lover that sweeps me up in its arms and throws me on the bed so hard that I end up breaking no bones but for the next few weeks, I can hardly get out of bed.
No. I don’t want to be yours, anymore. I see it go away and muster the strength to start afresh in life. Every effort against it is a win. I think I’m winning.
But, I am afarid.
I’m afraid that it is still there lingering like a shadow ready to turn into a ghost that will haunt me. It stares at me from outside the window and I am too afraid to let fresh air in because I cannot run the risk of letting it come back.

Depression is back. Sometimes the emptiness in my chest gets so heavy that I find it hard to breath. I end up beating my chest to unclog my lungs in an effort to rid of this disease. It goes away but I’m not sure for how long. I wouldn’t know because last time I spent two months without it and bid it farewell.

What I’m saying is that the dark clouds are back again and like everytime, I fear that there would be no way out of this. I’ll crumple like a piece of paper in the corner of my bed and my bones would sink into the mattress. My chest would be empty and suffocation will be the death of me.
I see it smoking by the door. Depression.
It’s coming at me like a war torn lover coming home.

It’s 2 am and I see no God

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“That is the thing”, the voices whisper, “pretend or give up” and there is an urge to reach out to someone at God fucking 2 a.m in the morning with the words, “Help me”. But, I don’t because anxiety screams, “why the fuck would someone be up at 2 a.m in the morning on a Sunday?”
Contemplating on ways I would like to ask for help without actually appearing weak. For you see, I’ve pretended to be strong for so long that these self imposed restrictions make it hard to reach out or break down.
It’s hard to ask for help when you’ve been on the other end. You’re the helper, not the helpee. You’re the anchor at the bottom of the ocean that does not let others drown. You save. You don’t ask to be saved.
The realization that I’m drowning comes in too late and there is no end in sight. How does one swim against or with the currents when they were made to sink?
But that is the thing, “you cannot drown at the bottom of the ocean” it whispers.
That is the dilemma. You’re going to suffocate but it won’t let you die. You’re going to be in the dark for ages but this won’t let you die.
You sit here at 2 a.m talking about drowning in a nicely lit room but you’re suffocating and the world outside doesn’t know.
The only way to deal with this is to make art out of your personal tragedy. Coping, is the most bravest word in the dictionary because it shows the determination of an individual to survive against all odds. It is a depiction of standing against the strong waters at the bottom of the ocean while every particle is willed to drown you.
Tomorrow is another day. Another day to ask yourself, what is tougher? Pretending to live or trying to die.

I’m drowning. I see no God down here. Is it too late to say, “Help! I think I won’t make it.”

14 days of mania

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“What the fuck”
The voice screams
From the back of my mind
This other half talks sense
As I continue to
Drink and ridicule
A friend sitting in front of me
I feel it
The manic me, you see?
The charmer
Witty woman
Intellectual
Who throws metaphors like ropes
Reeling people in to her trap

This person who screams sanity
Outside the wall of my cerebrum

I ignore

 

Dear, you
Shut the fuck up
You’re not being funny
You’re being cruel

Episodic
I know that this is wrong but I continue
I continue to indulge in wordplay
In luring the other person
Like
A spider dragging in its prey
Being a charmer
Before
I dissect their entity
Raw open
Exploit it
For the inner sinner

Frankly, I enjoy it
As sanity screams to be let in
Inside the house
Where
Manic me, resides
Until next time
The insane one says
As I creep under the sheets
From a night out
Haven’t slept for more than four hours
For the past 14 days
Deeply saddened on what I did
But heck, I was the life of the party
“You’re happy” they said
“I’m always happy”, I lie through my smile
Because I am not
But you see
How do I tell you that I love this
I love the manic me
The conqueror
The winner
The one who emerges victorious

Euphoria doesn’t last
Sadness settles in
“Like always” I mutter to the other self
As I wave to the manic
The hypomania is over
My mind welcomes
Depressive mania
With open arms
As sanity screams
Oh fuck! Here goes another 14 days

Conversations with Charles

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“What matters the most is how well you walk through the fire”, Charles Bukowski had written in one of his books. He turned me into this mess of a person who has a weak heart layered with iron.
“It is okay to cry, you’ve cried it all out of your system” ,I say to myself curling up in between the sheets.
“Oh! Who the fuck are you trying to deceive?” ,said my mentor standing right beside the door.
I like to have conversations with Charles every now and then, usually at 3 am in the morning. It is one of those times where he is talking to me. He’s the only one who calls me out on my sad bullshit.
“You don’t even know how to cry. You’ve only forced this tear droplet to convince yourself that you’re crying.”,he says, sipping on a bottle of beer and makes his way to the corner of my bed.
I sit up and light a cigarette. He takes the lighter from my hand and lights a smoke for himself too. We’re sitting in my cold dark room. “I bet your anxiety is kicking in right now.” He says and smirks, “you’re suffocating, like when someone jumps in a puddle of water and it becomes empty. It’s the same. You’re the same. You’re just as empty with spillage on the sides, kid. A temporary catastrophe of emotions.”, Charles takes a long drag of his cigarette.
“Sadness is a person sitting on my chest making it hard to breath.”, I say and grab the bottle of beer from his hand gently taking a sip. It’s nice to drink with Charles. He makes sense to me on so many levels when the world fails to.
“You get out of breath and then sedate yourself just to numb out the physical dynamics of the pain from your recent heart break. I hope that pill was enough to knock you out when you felt like reaching out to him.” He says and I nod in affirmation, “A pink pill is always helpful in controlling bouts of loneliness. It puts my heart in a cage when all it wants is to barge in through the door. I know that the doors are open and a single knock would lead me to back. Resistance is hard where the love is mutual, Charles.” I repeat to myself, “Resistance is futile.”
“But you’re lurking in a state of mind where you try to move on and your feet are running back. You still wonder kid, how can that be?” he laughs now and throws his cigarette bud on the floor, “A heart in the wrong place and a mind at the right. But, these two had declared war long ago before this person came into your life.”
“They have been at war since the past fourteen years, Charles.” I exclaim, “Don’t you remember the past wreckages of loving impulsively?”
“Ah! What lured you into the realms of heartbreak isn’t the longing for another soul. It is your addiction to the chase of wanting what you cannot have and putting in efforts to attain it. A blaspheme to the God above.” He says and I look at him wanting to refute his argument but unable to do so.
“It has reeled me back into the pit, again. I’m wondering if I can get out of this or not?” I ask him.
“Want to know a secret? You will survive this and make it out alive because you have made it out alive before. Remember, if you’re going to swim there will be times when the tide will be high enough to drown you. It takes even the best to perfect their swim against or with the currents to survive. I hope you learn to swim with the current or walk through the fire. Just keep going” He says and places his empty beer bottle on the table and before I could, he walked out the door.

The Cyclic Meow

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Nobody gets me, you exclaim
A bit isolated
Alone in everything
From your thought process to your actions
“I feel so alienated in this alien society,” you say

Fifty feet under the ground, you scream
Tick tock, time is running out
Among your friends
Your peers
Nobody gets it
You long gave up explaining

It doesn’t bother you
Now
As much as it used to
You’re still figuring out, though
How can someone be so blind and ignorant
But this time you won’t voice it out

Answers come with time
Like peace did
In time
With time
Of age
So you don’t bother
Except for when something concerns you
Caring for others wasn’t worth it
And kid
You learnt the hard way
But, I’m glad you did
So you only think and care about yourself

Your heart sometimes
Feels like a helium balloon stuck on the ceiling
Out of reach
Mocking
But you understand things now
Like the time you fell down and scraped your knee
And your mum said how you fell on an ant
That was on its way home carrying food
So you forgot about the bloodied knee
Instead, looked for the ant that dropped its food

You understood that distractions are a blessing
Some people never grow up
And age isn’t a factor
That defines maturity
You fall down a couple of times in the day
Now
You don’t look for the ant that lost its food
You decided to grow up
Not that you wanted it so badly
But because you had seen
What happens when you don’t grow up

I’m better, you say
I will not turn out like her
I will not turn out like him
I will not be in this perpetual fear of being
I will not be like them
So you hide away things that you do not like
In yourself
Under the rug and over the moon
Perfectly, designed
No more difficultties
Or
Open ended questions
Dead or alive, until the box is open
Schrondinger’s cat screams
But you never open the box

Curiosity killed the cat
Little kitty don’t let the monsters
Trample you
And gnaw your flesh
You should stay away
From Schrodinger and his poisonous box

You can’t change it
You’re pragmatic, now
Idealism is for the daydreamers
More informed and concerned
But you’re helpless and accept it
You aren’t in a doubt about your identity
You’re more clear and justify options that appeal more
That is all
Your conversations are well thought
A cyclic process

Pop your pill
Turn the lights off
Go to sleep
Tomorrow is another day
Where nobody will understand you
But you’ll tell yourself to make do
Because, you’re here
And not there
And time is in-built in this world
With no escape

The plague

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Sadness is a lot like plague. One day you wake up to realize that you have the deadly sickness. Something in my body hurts. The pain has no source as I coil up in between sheets and cry. All I utter are empty prayers to a God who I only crawl back to when I’m down with the plague.
Have you ever seen smog in mid-winter covering the city? It feels a lot like that inside my chest. My bones have become hollow and crooked. The dim sunlight steals a glimpse into my room through the curtains as the fan sings a familiar tune. The plague paints everything in shades of sickness. Lost friendships and broken bonds ooze out of my veins like blood gushes out as it meets the blade.
Suddenly, all that I have ever tried to hide stares me in the face. Monsters under the bed and skeletons in my closet come out to dance-they dance under the sun. Demons don’t hide in darkness, that is a myth. They walk and dance under the shining sun.

Sadness is a lot like plague, love. One day you realize that you have been cured but still wait for it to creep up on you someday soon.

Wonderful, isn’t it?

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Sometimes the walls close up on me

And then by the door stands sadness

As I curl in with my sins

Sometimes the walls close up on me

 

It seems like a carousel

A kaleidoscopic pattern of future dreams

Hanging in between hope and despair

It seems like a carousel

 

Am I alive or long dead?

Questions that cannot be answered

By the living or the dead

Am I alive or long dead?

 

I would chase down my demons

It is a pattern of loathing

As I run away farther but only come close to myself

I would chase down my demons

 

I think that the world inside is more colorful

Never coloring within the lines

Telling myself more truths than lies

I think the world inside is more colorful