The Spiral

I was taught by my parents growing up that it’s always my fault. My mother had a rule. If I fought with any kid, I’d get beaten. ( by her when she found out, of course). If any kid hit me and I retaliated in self-defence, I’d get beaten. Needless to say, to my young impressionable, gullible mind, I took that lesson to heart. To the point I’d get beat up at school, but never tell anyone, lest I get in trouble with my mom. No matter how old or young, I wasn’t allowed to raise a finger. That was the first beginning of my, let’s just say issues.

I, like all teens, had acne. It was mild at first. A zit here. A pimple there. I didn’t think much about it. After all, I had more important things to mind. But, like a wildfire, it soon spread. And, with that, my attention to it increased. I was going through puberty. I didn’t understand what was going on. Everyone had their opinion about it. From random people on the streets to Ruskin Bond, everyone seemed to have their own cure, which, contradicted each other. I went to see a dermatologist. I tried antibiotics, benzoyl peroxide, medicated soaps, and many others, but none ever did the “miracle.” Meanwhile, I could see my friends with their flawless, smooth skin and, I began to believe that I wasn’t good enough as them. It was the worst feeling, and I tried to fight it constantly, but it seeped into my subconsciousness. I began losing friends. Losing self confidence.

I began hating myself. I hated my face. I actively stopped joining group photos. I avoided letting others take my picture. If someone did, I snatched their phone to delete the picture. I hated my face. It was about then my grades started slipping. It was in 11th grade when I the hate I had for myself matured into something dark. I hated going to school. I hated everyone in my class. I hated how they had better grades than me. How unblemished their skin was. I hated how close they all were, all 40 of them. I hated my teachers. I hated my life. I hated everything about myself. My mind kept telling me I was a nobody, I was nothing. I didn’t deserve any kind of happiness and that angst was my fate. And I believed them. I believed any happy emotion I felt would be repaid later in the form of more angst.

I wasn’t beaten up by the other kids at this point, I was too old for that. But they had noticed something was wrong, something was different. And that’s when the name calling started. Constantly belittling me, mocking every single word I said, 24×7, on social media after school hours. I had a burning rage inside, but I had a black hole that sucked out everything, making me feel numb, powerless to defend myself, powerless to stand up for myself. I started thinking of ways to escape. Ultimate escape. That’s when suicide first manifested in my mind. Suddenly, I found myself to be the guy with lowest grades, the guy constantly made fun of, the guy who never fit in. And no matter how hard I tried, my mind went blank and all the dark thoughts clouded my mind, and I never performed well in any exam, or a understood anything written in textbook.

I could survive not having friends. I could live with an ugly face. But being stupid and not understanding anything in my textbooks was too much for me. I knew I couldn’t live like this. There was no point in living anymore. I tried other thing to feel better. I started learning music. I joined a sports team. But all of them were temporary. When I finished up my classes, my depression would come back again. I had no way out. I had to see it though. But the worst part was, the bullying my classmates did to me, my dad started at home. It would start as an offhanded comment. A snide remark, a veiled threat about my academics. And the more he did it, the more distant, the more hesitant I grew. I stopped telling him the problems I had. I stopped communicating. My grades slipped lower and lower. His final ultimatum came when he said he’d stop my education after I finished high school.

That was when I made a concrete plan to kill myself. For me, academics was the one thing I felt good it, felt comfortable. Learning, knowing and growing. I was already falling behind at school, and to have it stopped ultimately, was the last straw. I had no intention to live. My plan was simple. To jump infront of a train. Quick, painless, messy. But it didn’t matter. We weren’t in America, where guns were more accessible than alcohol. I was determined to enjoy what time I had left in school, then, decide. But obviously, that didn’t happen.

I didn’t do anything. I kept taking one breath after the next. Yes, I was still stupid when I passed high school. A true testament to our public education system. I might be in a okay place for now. But the things I’ve felt, for all these years, they left me in a constant state of doubt. I eventually did seek therapy but it wasn’t much help. I still live with the ramifications of these events. I question myself every time I laugh, every time I’m enjoying myself.

For the longest time, I tried fighting whatever this is. Depression. Mental illness. I refused too be called a depressed person. I used to be a A grade student. Yet here I was, struggling with the basic of things in high school, a time when other kids were getting into relationships, and changing the world.(both unrelated ofcourse). But then, somewhere, I began accepting it. I began accepting it for what it was. I was stupid. I was a failure. I was a disappointment to my father. I was nobody. At first, the words pricked my skin like needles. Then, slowly, I watched, as their impact hurt me less. When my father told me how much of a failure I was, it hurt less than before. And, like that, I began, what I feel, was the healing process. I stopped fighting, and let it wash over me. I let the taunts, the mockery, wash over me. I accepted it. It took a toll. But I got better at hiding them. I got better at burying my memories. Then, I started joking about it. And more than an year later, I felt closest to normal than I’ve ever felt.

My depression is more like PTSD of that 3-4 years of high school. Short, but those years continue to affect me everyday. I don’t know if I’ll ever be normal. And I don’t know if this was the worst. How long can I bury the dark and the angst, and pretend everything is okay? But I’ve no other choice. The moment I stop, my regrets and failures over power me and I feel worthless to live. John Green described it as a spiral, and till date, I think it is the best description to how it actually is. It’s a spiral. Once you fall, there is no way you’ll ever be the same. Yes, you can climb back, but the spiral takes as part of you that you can’t get back. All you can do is look forward, and hope you don’t fall into another spiral again.

I still have pimples on my face. I still get teased about it. I still have self confidence issues because of my pimples. But these are things I’d never say out loud because I’m not limited to my pimples. Maybe these pimples would stay with my forever like a nasty parasite. I have a routine that keeps them at bay. But it doesn’t affect me like it used to. There is nothing to be done, except to accept what it is, try and change what can be changed, and hope for the best with the rest.

Depresson, social anxiety, self esteem issues, these are just the some of the problems that I still have. But experience has taught me, not to let them hold me back. And the best thing to do is laugh and joke about them till it becomes a problem no more. I still second guess any social media comment I might post. I still go through all my pictures, looking for the one which I don’t look too bad. I still get made fun of by my peers, but now, I laugh at myself along with them. As long as I have a safe place to talk about what’s on my mind, I’m alright, mostly. If you are, or werr in my place, yes, you will feel terrible. Everyone has their own coping mechanism. Mine, like many others, is humour. Jokes about it till it has no power over myself and I can’t distinguish a joke made from real life. Yes, this attitude has cost me inter-personal relationships, but after trying everything, in my experience, humour is the best solution there is. The moment you laugh, you are taking power away from your tormentor. Be it a bully, or your own mind. Accept it. Laugh about it. And one day, I promise you will feel normal again.

If you like to read more posts like this, click here