I Am Alive

It is said that writing things out, or talking about them, usually help. That writing down your feelings and thoughts feel like a weight being lifted off; but you know what? Writing doesn't always work that way, at least not for me.

When I write, things get out of my head and onto the paper, but as soon as those things are out, new thoughts and feelings start to take their place; in this way, I'm never truly empty. There's always something to feel, always something to think about.

Sometimes, when you really want some peace and quiet, this can be a terrible thing, because there really is no peace and quiet, there is no escape.

These past few months have been some of the toughest in my short life. The depression reared its grotesque, ugly head, and bit by bit, it entirely took over; there was no part of me that was spared.

It had been truly years since it was this bad, and because it had been so long, I'd completely forgotten how to fight it. That's why I didn't fight it; I didn't bother with it, I didn't have any fight left in me.

So I just laid there. I laid there, until it got to the point where it was hard to discern when the days changed into nights, the nights into days. I just knew I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything, except pathetically cry into my duvet; that's all I did.

I did absolutely nothing, and I felt nothing.

Well, that's not really fair, because I did feel something, just one thing: I felt hollow. I felt empty. There was nothing left in me, even as I scarped the bottom of the barrel that were my emotions.

I couldn't face anybody without breaking down in tears, I was that bad. I was constantly excusing myself, turning away from people so that they wouldn't see my eyes fill-up with unwanted, unnecessary tears.

There came multiple points where even my tears would run out. Even my own tears abandoned me, that's how pathetic I was. Even my own tears didn't want to be around me.

Nothing brought me joy anymore. Everything I did felt meaningless, like I was just going through the motion of doing it just because that was what I was supposed to do.

I stopped eating, I stopped showering, and if it was up to me, I would've very happily stopped existing too. Nobody should ever have to feel this way, so why did I have to? I could make it stop, I could make it go away.

My head told me nobody would remember me anyway, so why not?

Even though I was completely gripped by depression and depressive thoughts, I guess there was still some fight left in me, because even though I thought I had nothing to give, I still fought for months.

I fought, because for months I never let the suicidal thoughts get to me; I never let them come into my head, and if they did, I did my best to pay zero attention to them.

I always told myself that no, it wasn't that bad yet, that it didn't have to come down to this.

Until one day, after keeping everything inside me for about two months, without having any kind of an emotional reaction to everything, I finally broke down. Boy, did I break down.

I remember crying, unable to stop, even though I couldn't breathe. There was just too much inside, and it had burst at the seams, finally spilling out so much that try as I might, I couldn't secure it back up. There was too much, and I couldn't stop it; it had nowhere else to go but to just come spiraling out.

That was when the first unwelcome thought hit, and that's when I knew it was bad. It was going to be bad, and even in that state, I tried to prepare myself to stop it from happening; I clenched my fists, even as my hands shook.

It is truly amazing and equally horrifying to know what your mind is capable of. It is terrifying to know just how much your mind can have a hold over you, over your entire life. A single thought can mean the difference between living and dying.

It's true when it is said that you don't know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice. It's true because I am still here, I am still alive to be writing this post. I am strong after all, and as much as I want to believe otherwise, I know now that this is the truth.

I made one promise, just one, years ago, to stop self-harm. I made this promise to someone very dear to me, and I'm very proud to report that despite all the close calls over the years, I've kept my promise still.

Even though I know it is an addiction; I know I am terribly addicted to that peace, that quiet that comes with self-harm. It doesn't last very long, but it still brings peace, no matter how little.

But even though that peace, that quiet, that contentment is something that I terribly crave, I've somehow always known that it's not worth it. I know what broken promises mean, and I know what pain they can bring with them.

That one measly promise is what has kept me from doing it all these years.

Obviously I'm not okay still, and I don't think I ever will be, not completely; but the fact that I am still here means something, no matter how little. I am still here, I am still alive, and I am still breathing.

Slowly but surely, I'm picking up the broken pieces from all these months, and I'm starting all over again; I'm building myself up again, piece by piece.

I realize I've done this exact same thing countless times, but you know what? As long as I keep doing this, again and again, without ever making that final decision, I am still here.

I am still alive. And sometimes, that is more than enough.

Too damn true.

Depression

The majority of the time on this blog, with a few exceptions, we've maintained a positive vibe, happy thoughts, and encouragement to get all of us through the day, week, month, or year. I've tried my best to turn my bad days, bad thoughts, into life lessons, made them into things with a positive outcome.

But the simple truth of the matter is, it's not always rainbows and sunshines. It's not always happy, and it sure as hell is not always positive.

I've suffered from unhappiness throughout most of my life. I've struggled with trying to keep my outlook on life a positive one; I'm cynical, negative, and terribly sarcastic, and that is how I've been for the major part of my life. I'm not positive, I don't have a positive outlook on life.

The only thing that ever kept me positive, was writing the blog posts on here, and friends that pushed and pulled me along; not only friends but sometimes even friends of friends.

They kept me going, they forced me to see the good side of life, and how sometimes, happiness is forgetting about everything else, and just living in the moment, laughing about the dumbest of things. For that, I am forever grateful to all these people; if they ever read this, I hope you are able to identify yourself, and I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Everybody feels sad sometimes, yes, but not everybody feels that sadness constantly, hovering over them like a dark, extremely condensed cloud; a big ball of dark sadness. It taints everything, every living, breathing moment; it's always there, constantly, staying at the edge of every moment, even the happy ones, and you're always hyperaware of its presence.

You're afraid even, that the happy moment that you're experiencing at that second might get too close to this particular dark cloud, and then be ruined forever. A happy moment, filled with colour, tainted with darkness, until it turns completely dark, and absorbs it until there is no colour left within the happy moment.

It's extremely difficult to live with this feeling, constantly. Like I said, it taints everything. It's difficult to enjoy the happy moments, because you're aware of the fact that every moment is temporary, everything is fleeting; you won't be happy forever.

The happiness won't always last, and this lunch with your family, this phone call with your best friend, this good moment, will end sooner or later. You can't quite keep this feeling captured within you for forever.

The sad part is, you never realise or think about the fact that your sadness is also not permanent; nothing in life is ever permanent. Things change, feelings change, people change; so then why is it so damn difficult to realise this when you're feeling sad?

Why is it so difficult to remember the good within you, but so bloody easy to go through your flaws again and again and again, until you've memorized them until you know them better than you know your own self?

Another lie that depression tells you? You need people to survive, to pull through it; you need your friends, your significant other, anybody who is willing to become your crutch, knowing or unknowingly. It makes you think you need people to help you, to fix you; what you don't realize or understand, is that you never really need anybody but your own self to get through it.

You need to be there for yourself, you need to make that effort, better than anybody else can.

There's only so much others can do for you; you know yourself better than anybody else knows you. Friends, family, nobody can do it like you can, because nobody but you is in this situation; nobody but you has walked in your shoes. You are, and have to be, your own savior, because while people might give up on you, you can't give up on yourself.

Sure, you are your own worst enemy, but just like you never tire of reminding yourself of your flaws, you should be the last person to give up on yourself.

Nobody will ever be there for you like you can be there for yourself; trust me, I've had this theory tested again and again and again. There's only so much pushing and pulling the people around you can do for you, until you learn to get up and walk again; nobody can take your steps for you.

That's a feat that you have to accomplish on your own, again and again, and again, regardless of how many times you have to do it.

I have the worst habit of doubting myself, doubting my work, doubting my skills, and it gets ten times worse during my depressive bouts. I deleted this blog even, all because it got too much, and the doubt in my head was louder than anything else.

It's a horrible combination really, the doubt and the sadness; I mean, can you imagine the conversations between the two, going on in my head? It's truly awful, and I wouldn't wish it even on the worst of my enemies.

However, through all of this, I know one thing for sure. Every day that I live, every day that I'm alive, I'm trying my hardest. I'm trying my hardest to not let the sadness win, and I'm trying my hardest not to let the doubt win; it'll be truly chaotic if both those things schemed against me and won.

It's difficult to be positive in such a confined environment, and it's difficult to be truly happy, especially when you're so aware of how fleeting it truly is.

But you know what? If the happiness is fleeting, then so is this life, and so is the sadness. Life is short, life is fleeting; it'll all be gone in a flash, and you won't even know it, because you'll have wasted all this precious time being sad and upset.

Yes, I'm not happy, I feel trapped and suffocated, and I want out, I want to go away for a while. Yes, I'm also bound by responsibilities and family, and I'm dependent on them for everything.

But trying means fighting against the odds, and I think I haven't been fighting the right fight. Someone once told me, you can either fight small, unnecessary fights within a war, just because you can't focus on the bigger picture, or you can pick your battles wisely and win the war. I'm guessing that's what needs to be done here.

I'm hoping this is going to help me, and I hope this helps anybody else who needs this too. I hope you're enough for yourself, and I hope you get through this too; I hope you realize these things too, and I hope you pick and choose your battles wisely, and you win them too in the long run.

If you need help, or are going through suicidal thoughts, please get help. Know you are loved, and that you can get through this too, no matter what.

http://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/#

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/suicide-prevention/index.shtml

http://www.aasra.info/

Giving Up

I thought I would start off this post with a quote, seem all professional & fancy, but you know what happened? I was going to write that famous quote about finding what you love & then you won't have to work a day in your life. But then I found an article that stated all the reasons why that theory doesn't work, & because they do seem like legitimate reasons & because I understand & agree with some of them, I decided to completely trash that idea.

So here we are, with nothing to soften the blow that might become this less-than-positive post. Oh, well. At least I tried, right? At least I kept up my promise of posting another blog post today.

So let's dive straight in with this. If you've read my previous post, which I hope you have, you'll know that this is partially related to me completely screwing up my exam. Actually, my hope that you've read my previous post kind of puts quite a bit of pressure on you as a reader, because then I'm expecting & assuming that you're a regular reader of this blog.

It won't be right to question if this blog even has any readers in the first place, because the page views & stats of this blog say otherwise, which, to be quite honest, is pretty amazing in itself. Not going to lie, I'm genuinely surprised that many people are reading & coming across this blog. It's pretty cool, actually.

Anyway, I digress. So the reason why I haven't written much until yesterday/today morning is for two reasons. One, I had my midterms, & I was working hard, & pushing myself to get everything done on time. I pushed myself hardest than I ever have; I gave up multiple times & then told myself that it wasn't an option to give up; I couldn't. I can't.

So I went on & on, pushing & pushing & pushing. Two, after that was done, I didn't know if I should write about something that wasn't motivating, or positive. I didn't know if I wanted this blog to be a positive-only zone.

I never did come up with a decision to that last one. I'm not writing this because I decided that this isn't a positive-only place; I'm writing simply because I wanted to let it out, because it's been driving me crazy, constantly, for days now. I doubt writing about it would make much of a difference, but whatever. At least I'll have written about it.

Maybe it would help someone else, maybe they'll realize that somebody out there is experiencing something very similar to what they're feeling or something. I don't really know. I'm honestly just rambling now; I apologize. Moving on.

For two weeks, I hadn't slept or eaten properly. I was getting 4-6 hours of sleep maximum, for days, i.e. 4-6 hours in two days. Not per day. Per multiple days. I had a constant headache, & the constant question, nagging me in the back of my head, that why am I doing this. Why am I showing so much commitment to something I knew would not even matter? I knew my ideas, my design, would not be considered even above average.

I knew this. Yet I pushed on anyway. I had to get the work done, no matter what. I can't sacrifice on this, no matter what. I can't make myself stop caring about it, or get sloppy, even if I absolutely hate it. I just can't. And that is so,so, so frustrating to me. But it is what it is.

So I did that. There was a day where I worked for 12 hours straight, stopping only to eat dinner; that too only because my sister got angry with me about it. I gave it my all. The first two exams were a breeze for me, because they were theory based, & also because one of them was Leadership. We all know here how much I love that damn course.

So it was great, & I was very happy about it. Though that day, I remember, I wasn't feeling up to my usual self; but regardless, the exam went great. The next day, I had Business Simulation & Marketing. That went pretty well too, & I was feeling pretty good about the midterm week.

Then came the 12-hour day, & working constantly. The third exam, for Lighting, apart from a few nicks, went good too. It wasn't as bad as I'd prepared myself for, & I was thankful for that. That 12-hour day & hard work paid off; I was happy. Next day, it was AutoCad, & I already knew I was going to be screwed, simply because I can't work in a set time. For that, I need time, & my own space to work through that time.

So I knew it wouldn't be smooth-sailing at all. But I was okay with that, I guess. I mean it was okay. It wasn't something to get upset over, because it was nothing new; I already knew it was going to happen, I had no expectations. So that went okayish, nothing above average. It frustrated me a bit still, to have done comparatively poorly, when others did better. But that wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it would come the next day.

So I left for home, reached in the evening, & after being forced to have lunch by my mum, I got back straight to work. I stopped multiple times to tell my sister that I was giving up, that I didn't want to do it; she very cheekily told me okay, don't do it. She knows damn well that I wouldn't do that, that I wouldn't give up. Such a frustrating quality to have, right?

So obviously, I kept working anyway, soldiered on anyway, regardless of the fact that I was beyond tired, my head had been constantly & insistently pounding for about two weeks then, & I had absolutely zero interest in what I was doing. It didn't matter, & I kept going on.

Next morning, I had another written exam before the actual design one. I wasn't very hopeful for that one, but I tried my best anyway. Though before both the exams, I had the Principles Of Leadership class early in the morning. I was happy, & I was in a good mood that morning because I was genuinely proud of myself, & I was proud of the quality of work that I'd done; I was proud of myself for having finished it all on time, despite the short amount of time we actually had.

I was proud, I liked my design, & I didn't care about the fact that my professor might not like it; I was set on the fact that I loved it & was happy & satisfied with it. I was chirpy, & I was in a better mood than I had been in for days; also, it's worth mentioning that it also was the last day of midterms, so obviously I was excited. (For some reason, I just pronounced that as egg-cited in my head. What the hell, brain?) So I spoke up more than usual in class, (I'm a completely different person in uni. Think introvert vs. extrovert; think a complete 360.) & I interacted more than usual.

I discussed the upcoming submission with one of my classmates, & I told her that I would show the professor my work first, so that he will have high hopes from everybody in the class. Big mistake; I definitely should not have said that. That was the first step of me jinxing myself, I suppose. So then anyway, I gave my first exam of the day, the written Philosophy one, & after that, I sat with two of my classmates, outside the studio where the design exam was supposed to be held.

We all talked, & I, very happily, & probably stupidly now that I think about it, told them all about how I wouldn't care if he doesn't like it, because I'm happy with what I've done. Jinx number 2, Hera. I literally ruined it for myself, didn't I?

So long story short, (This is already pretty long. That's what she said. Heh. Sorry.) everything I spent weeks doing, was wrong; it was in wrong scale. He refused to look at anything else, complained about my colour scheme, even though I'd showed him my mood board twice before, & he'd said nothing then. So now I have to repeat every single thing that I spent weeks working on. It was a huge disaster, & it upset me greatly.

I called up my sister, & I cried. I cried a lot. That rejection, that realization that everything I'd worked so hard for was wrong; it broke me. It ripped off all the subtle band-aids that I'd been sticking on every part of me & my brain to keep myself in check & to keep going; it broke me. That dreadful realization came back, that I've been working so, so hard, despite the fact that I have zero interest in it, that I am beyond miserable being stuck in this undergrad degree, that I am still trying my best to be better than average.

Why? Why am I doing it? I hate it with everything I have. I am not interested in the least to be an interior designer. My designs, no matter how unique or different, have never been approved or appreciated. I've been told that they are not good enough, constantly. Three years, three major projects; not one of them has ever been told even a measly little "good". No. It's always been criticism & constant rejections.

Do you know what that does to a person? The toll it takes on one person? I'll tell you what it does; it takes away their self-confidence. It makes them doubt themself. It makes them always look at the bad side of something instead of good. It makes them think they are not good enough. It gives them countless sleepless nights. It makes them cry out of sadness, out of frustration. It BREAKS them. That's what it does to a person. That's what it's done to me.

People tell me to be more positive, to look at the bright side, to be thankful. But what they fail to see & to understand, is that when you constantly tell something to someone, over & over & over again, they WILL believe it. Repeat something enough times, & you will believe it. Unfortunately, this same thing goes for both negative & positive things; tell someone something negative repeatedly, they will believe it. Tell them something positive again & again, eventually they will believe it.

Right now, it has been a few days since last Wednesday. I still haven't gotten over any of it. I am still very depressed, miserable, & frustrated over it all. I still randomly start crying, because I remember what has become of me. I still pretty much want to run away somewhere, leave everything behind, start fresh somewhere. I do not want to stay. I do not want to continue.

That day, that cursed Wednesday, I definitely wanted to stop living altogether. I don't want to do that as much now, as much as I want to just run away; to just get away from this, from here. I haven't been on any social media, I haven't spoken to any of my friends; I don't want to. I just want to go somewhere where nobody knows me, & I don't know them. They don't know what I've been through, & I don't know what their life story is.

I just really, really, really want to get away from here as soon as I can. I can't go on anymore. I give up on this.

Famous Last Words

Let me start this post off with a question: if you had a friend, a family member, an adored teacher, even a stranger that you saw every day & had grown accustomed to, & you knew you would never see them again, what would you say to them? The person you last spoke to; would you change what you last said to them if you knew you were never going to get the chance to speak with them ever again? Would you regret what you last said to them? Does thinking about it now make you regret what you said?

Imagine, there is someone that you really, really love. Or someone you are really fond of, & you are glad that they exist in your life. You think of something you have to say to them. Maybe recount something that happened to you today, or tell them about a song you heard that you would like them to listen to too. Maybe you want to tell them that you appreciate their existence in your life, appreciate all the things they have taught you, how much you value them. Anything.

But instead of telling them right then & there, you think "oh, I will tell them later, when I have the time", or "I will tell them tomorrow for sure". What happens if that tomorrow never comes for them? For you? What if instead of all these good things that you actually feel, you had an argument, a fight with them, & you said nasty, vicious things, & those were your last words to them?

Too often, we forget. We forget that these people around us, family, friends, acquaintances, strangers even; everybody is fighting an unknown battle. We forget, that they may not be telling us the whole truth when they say "It's fine, I'm fine". We forget, that human beings have a natural tendency to hide their emotions, so as not to "burden" others with them. Though we all do the exact same thing at one point or another, we still forget. We forget when it's not us. We forget it all, all too often.

Why do we not question it, show more concern than we do, when we KNOW that someone close to us is feeling a certain way? Why do we not push for more information, when we know they are not feeling well, be it emotionally or physically? Is it because it is more comfortable to accept the apparent truth? Even if we know it's technically a lie, a cover-up? Is it because it's easier to accept their lie than to press for the truth? I'm not limiting this post to depression, self-harm, or any mental illness. But that IS what compelled me to write this. A thought I had about a few days ago is what compelled me to write this.

A few days ago, I saw this status on Facebook that one of my friends had posted, & had asked for it to be reposted instead of shared. So I did that exactly. Now, I know what you must be thinking. What does that have to do with anything? Thing is, that status talked about suicide. The gist of it was how most people consider it a very cowardly thing to do, & how it actually isn't cowardly. It obviously had undertones of emotional appeal to it, like most things do to make them more appealing. Nonetheless, I reposted it because I agreed with what it said. I didn't make any changes to it, didn't add or give any context to what it was, nothing. I literally just copied it & posted it.

I did not expect anyone to think too much about it, or try to read between the lines, because frankly, at that point in time, there really was no underlying meaning to it. I didn't post it because I was feeling suicidal, I didn't post it because I was depressed. I put it up because I agreed with it, plain & simple. So I did not think that any of my friends or family would think too much about it. But guess what? Someone did. Someone cared enough to try & read between the lines. Someone cared enough to worry about me.

This person is one of my closest friends. An hour after I'd put the status up, my phone pinged with a Facebook message. I was out with my family at the time, & I wasn't feeling my best self either. So I took out my phone, & looked at the message. It simply said "Hera, I saw your status that you posted. Are you ok?". Not going to lie, the genuine concern in that simple text made me smile. I texted her back to tell her that I was okay, it was nothing to worry about, & that it meant a lot that she cared enough to ask me about it.

This was where I expected her to question me further, because of the "tone" of my message. It wasn't my usual self, so I thought she would pick up on it & question me about it. I wished she would. I really wanted to talk to someone, but because of the exact thing that I mentioned above, I did not want to bother anyone. I also didn't think anyone would understand me, but that didn't quell the need to speak to someone, anyone.

Sadly, she did not enquire further about it. & That is what made me think about this. It made me wonder about why we never question someone that we know has had incidents in the past, someone we know that struggles with different emotions. We know, we KNOW that things have turned bad for them before, we know they've struggled with simple, everyday things. We, as friends, as a family, know. Yet we never question it. Why? Why do we never question it? Why do we not show that we care, that we will listen, no matter what? Why do we not show that they can trust us? That we will be there for them? Why do we never reassure them?

How many suicide attempts, fatal or otherwise, could have been stopped, if only more people showed that they cared? How many people could have been saved, if we'd just been kinder? Not only suicide but how many homeless teens could have been saved? If we'd paid more attention to our words? Literally, just our words could have saved them. How we treated them could have saved them. Maybe they wouldn't have felt so irreparably broken inside. Maybe they would have tried a little more to come out of their protective shell & actually speak to us. Maybe that would have helped them.

Bottomline is, you never know how much what you say to someone, could mean to them. You never know if your harsh, angry words are the last thing they hear before they decide on a drastic, life-changing decision. Maybe if you had been nicer, if you had shown them that you really do appreciate their presence in your life on time, they would rethink their decision. Something as little as hearing them out could have changed their whole outlook on life. It could have made them want to keep on living, to keep going.

Your belief in them could have become their belief in themselves. You could have been their reason to live, just with a gesture as simple as you telling them that you believe in them, in their abilities. The fact that there exists someone that has faith in them, even when they have none in their own self, could be a huge deal for them. You never know.

Please be kind to everyone you meet, everyone you see. Don't turn away when they need you the most. Please, please don't do that. Question it. Question their cover-ups. Let them know that there is someone that is willing to question their cover-ups, because they care. Because they genuinely care about what happens to them. Because they matter. Make your last words to everyone you see kinder. Tell people you appreciate, you appreciate them. Tell people you love, you love them. Listen to everyone, listen to friends, family, acquaintance, listen to strangers. You might be the only person that does. Your one action can make their mind up. You might be the reason they decide to try one more day. You never know.

What would you say?