Ok, I have to admit, I am not normally this brooding. But a session with my therapist today, paired with my monthly hormonal rollercoaster of emotions (girls, you know what I am talking about), led me to discuss some feelings I have, and have had in the past, about me taking medication. There was crying involved. But we got through the session and now I’m here.
In looking back, I realized I went through a crazy loop of feelings (like the ones down below) for a long time before I finally felt like I was starting to climb out of the well of my mental health journey. “Finally” referring to only 1 year ago, which in the grand scheme of having MDD for 14+ years, is relatively recent. Only now do I feel like I can explain it to people, and have a minor grasp of it myself so I can share and teach it to others. However before that, I was in the dark a lot. I was so confused and unable to seek guidance from anyone because none of us understood it! Neither in science, nor in society, and most definitely not my very Indian family. So to put a long story short, apologies for the brooding of the poem, but give it a read. Maybe it can be enlightening in some odd sort of way.
Alone.
In a well.
Capable of seeing the sky but unable to touch the clouds.
The illness of the brain, its a silent sort of pain.
Like the way weeds gingerly dry out a flower bed, while none is the wiser.
Or the way a dying sun is masked by a cloudy day.
Its still happening. Its still painful. Its still there…
Its lingering. Reckless. And messing with my head.
Making me think I’m weak for not “getting over it.”
Convincing me there’s something wrong with me.
Constantly causing me to wonder if other people can see it.
Can you see it? Can you see the “crazy” in me? Am I hiding it well?
I’m told its mostly attributed to trauma.
That the way I look at others and am constantly aware of others’ feelings and comforts,
its not a trait of compassion but rather a result of trauma,
From constantly being told not to cry,
Constantly having the rug pulled from under me with no stable rock to hold onto,
nor any idea of when it might come. Or when it might end.
So? I’m on constant alert, 24/7, walls up.
Guards up…Trust down.
…
Constantly. Constantly, constantly, constantly.
What good is the word for anyway except to emphasize the incident and make it sound worse.
“Constantly catastrophizing” she told me.
Don’t use words like “always”, or “never.”
“Its too dramatic.” she says.
Well, I can’t argue with that.
I am in fact writing a poem right now and I can’t think of anything more dramatic.
But in the context of “dramatic,” I encourage you to look at the word a little differently.
Change dramatic for empathetic.
Now what’s it look like?
Imagine that you’re in her shoes.
The girl dealing with an illness she doesn’t understand and neither does anyone else.
A lab rat to the medications that have no promise of success
Except through trial and error.
Trying to explain it to other’s while trying to understand it herself.
Imagine for however many times a day you think to yourself:
“Why is she so lazy?”
how many more times must she be wondering the same thing,
And yet feel like she has no control in fixing it the way you can do so easily.
Mental health.
The thoughts of the mind.
It’s not a shared experience.
So? You have to believe…
Believe! Believe her when she says “constant”
and imagine it being constant.
Believe her when she says “physical pain!”
and imagine the physical pain.
Put on a shoe that doesn’t fit,
and wonder how far she must’ve walked in it,
In the discomfort.
How must it feel to not be able to identify the problem,
And still yet, instead be wrongly identified as the problem itself by others.
All I ask is for empathy.
For a little bit of empathy.
To recognize that while you may be able to touch the sky
Some other’s cannot.
While you are making strides on pedestals in the clouds
Some others are:
“Alone.
At the bottom of a well.
Capable of seeing the sky, but unable to touch the clouds.”
~Sakeenah Tahir (The Warrior Within)
The Warrior Within 