Fingers in symphony

Although I wouldn’t wish it upon even my worst enemy, depression helped me survive the first half of a year, almost a decade back. Without it, I would have experienced all the hurt, pain and Kurt Cobain.

My personality could be defined as a high-functioning Zombie, as in, I looked alive, participated in activities neurotypicals did, but I was a Zombie inside, waiting to feed on their happiness at every chance I got, it was the only way for me to feel anything.

I don’t think it was a single cause that pushed me down this feelingless pit, rather it was a combination of triggers that just struck at once, and I never knew anything about healthy coping mechanisms.

I caused utter destruction in my wake, switching jobs and situationships, hurting people, pushing people away. Notably, lost 2 very close friends in those 6 months and 1 great workplace( the only one I am still regretful about cos they were so kind to me).

I was staying on my own in Delhi and never told my family any of it. I was so ashamed of myself, of the numerous lies I concocted to maintain the façade of being okay when I could have just shared what I was actually experiencing.

I wish I knew any better.

I kept doing all of it till I couldn’t and so, one fine day, I just wandered inside the psychiatry wing of AIIMS ( an old man had walked me in believing that I was there to visit someone).

I felt something for the first time in those 6 months- relief. I was finally accepting of the fact that something was wrong with me. I was outside one of the wards and a Doctor came to check on me.

The moment he addressed me, I began to cry ( quite loudly I remember), he quickly took me to his chamber and offered me water and napkins.

Then he asked me questions- questions to determine what drove me there, and I answered with a mix of honest-to-heart truths and some well intentioned lies.

He then asked me to seek an appointment at the out patient department, which I never did.

But thanks to that doctor, I felt immense relief ( because he hadn’t shamed me, which of course doctors are not trained to do).

I, thankfully, found a cause shortly after- a career in the development sector and I felt like I was injected with a fresh lease of life, but the recovery was going to be a long drawn process.

I did not seek help immediately ( I only actively sought help in 2016 after a mini-crisis) but I started reading up about Depression, Anxiety and Personality disorders ( I personally am not a fan of calling any neurodivergence a disorder).

But it was enough to assure me that this is not the end, that I was not unfixable, that I just needed to better prepare myself to fight triggers.

So, as I plunge myself whole-heartedly into a writing career ( actually, the first time I believe it is possible), I wanted to be completely honest with myself and write this experience down in the hope that it can help others, in similar situations. who are scared to ask for help.