Depression

I have finally come to terms with it. I am depressed.

Been so for quite a while now.

My depression has prevented my self-exploration (in every sense), I had withdrawn into a bubble (like seen in most cases), I had sudden manic outbursts of tears, fury, other emotions which I excused as causal to my (very attentive) boyfriend’s changing behaviour  and the strained relationship between my parents.
I passed Durga Pujo, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, New Year and Saraswati Pujo convincing myself: it’s just a phase, it’ll pass. I’ll only have to ride through it. Honestly? It didn’t help. I wasn’t dealing with my depression, you see. I was afraid of it. Depression, for me, was the proverbial elephant in the room, every corner of my mind bursting with the pain of trying very very hard to contain all of these turbulent emotions, repeatedly giving myself false hopes that IT’S OKAY. IT IS NORMAL. YOU ARE FINE. When all the while I was pushing away the very people I love and those who love me back and could help. Depression has a way you isolating you, you know. It’ll strip you of all feelings, make you go numb and have you wake up in the middle of the long wintry nights leaving you to deal with that sudden, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach whose origin you’ll never quite figure out.
I like to tell people I’m a melancholy person, that I study literature and criticize and can never see the joy in things because I’m busy deconstructing everything. That I’m the hero with the burden of an knowledgeable.

None of that stand true.

I’m human, I like human company, I’m compassionate when I need be, I like attention just like everyone else. It is nice to appreciate and be appreciated in return. And I also prefer my solitude. All of us do.

You see depression takes away the pleasure of both company and solitude. You want to be alone but you don’t want to be alone. You want to be saved because you feel like you’re being suffocated with this opaque blanket of self-loathing and doubt. You wish someone would cut through this darkness with a shining sword and sweep you off to Happyland.

It doesn’t happen.

Because, depression, you see, has a way of isolating you from your saviours.

Your wall of thorns has no rose and unless you shine that rusting pair of shears to cut through and just live, you’ll forever suffocate, alienated.

The first step towards defeating depression is admitting you have it. Then you apologize and reconnect with your loved ones. And: TAKE SOME FUCKING TIME OFF FOR YOURSELF. Don’t validate yourself through Facebook  posts and WhatsApp statuses about how “heroic” you are in your depression. Fucking fight it. Get your ass off that couch. Get going. Go to that seafood restaurant you’ve been meaning to try out with you best friend. Walk around a park, Take some nice fresh oxygen, let out that poisonous carbon. Eat that double chocolate ice-cream,think about your waistline some time later. Cut out all that city noise, go on that mountain trek, jump into that blue lake, drink that suspiciously delicious soup. Give yourself a break.

Most importantly, love yourself. If you can’t love yourself, no one can love you in return.

Seeing

When I don’t watch the world through concaves,

I see.

Lights merge – yellow and green,
Bright reds and calm blues.

They lose their edges,
Men, women and children are the sameness of all things vague.

The world of perfection set aside,
Call it an artist’s impression, if you’d like.

You find the horizon at your feet,
which otherwise you barely can reach.

But then my glasses are, once again, wiped clean,
The fog gone and the distinction unwelcome.

What remains is, the starkness of reality glaring back at me.

What remains is, the starkness of reality glaring back at me.

Vice Versa

I am concealed in destitute
in whispers and in shadows
I am omnipresent
bringing forth hope
in innocence and in radiance

I am a specter that lurks in quiet
frayed at the edges, fading
thriving in the dark.
I am an opaque entity,
distinct and burning bright
reigning in open light.

Where I may never be found
forever elusive
behind an illusion of deceit
Where I may never be shunned
forever brave
as free as wind upon grass

Safe and sound
till the disquiet of the light
illuminates me
Safe and sound
till the silence of the dark
consumes me

Then,
The dark lightens
The light darkens
and there I am!
I am infinity,
living and dying – merging at the seams.
Both lost and found,
illuminated and darkened, I am.

dark_and_light_by_alement-d47729k

Somethings, Nothings and ‘It’

Something and nothing
Somewhere and nowhere
Somebody and nobody
Sometime and never

You often wonder, why? the ‘why’ does not necessarily pertain to something specific, be what it may – a person, a situation, yourself. but there’s this soft, subtle, ‘why’ whispered in the all-consuming darkness, that only you are present to witness.

I hardly want to make a point here, more like rave and rant.

There have been a few things – some things that have left me at a loss, an existential crisis, I hardly complain as these things have let the brain in a constant state of furious overdrive. Then there is nothing(s), just like everything, a point in a vortex that keeps circling, on and on, never to really stop, is it then, is it just this? A circle, a slow, a fast, tumultuous whirlwind.

Sometimes you DO care, sometimes you only care, sometimes you do not care and sometimes you just DO NOT care. Perhaps it is because I try to read too much in between the lines but…I do see a difference between the four states.
Then there is nothing(s), and it’s only a product of overexertion or too much nonchalance, either way it does not really matter because there is nothing, and nothing matters.

But, if it matters, does it matter because you want it to matter so?
or
Does it not matter because you do not want it to matter? Is it an illusion? In that hypothetical context you’d argue that if everything IS an illusion, what is the point of it?like I mentioned before, I do not seek to make a point here, but to merely generalize.

Yep, I’m playing safe.
Hmm…I’d like to call it my Slytherin sense of ‘self-preservation
though I’m much more Gryffindor.

Once I had read an amazing piece:

There were four friends – Everybody, Somebody, Anybody and Nobody
Once a task was assigned to Everybody, Somebody, Anybody.
Everybody thought Anybody could do it.
Anybody assumed Somebody would surely do it and did not find it necessary to confirm.
Somebody, in turn, gauged that Everybody had to do it.
When the date of submission finally dawned the three of the four friends took to blaming one another
and out of the confusion a conclusion was then drawn that finally, Nobody had completed the task.

I read this quite some time back, years actually, but it stuck with me, you can probably see why.
Imagination is baffling, it scares me at times.

Picture this I, you, we are Somebody, you or I may be Anybody and we make Everybody.
Or just a Nobody, drifting along the fluctuating graph of time, that is clearly running out. But I’m not scared, I may have found a closure, a sense of an ending.
Anyway it’s all psychological .i.e it’s all in my head, whether it’s real? well well…what did Dumbledore say?

“Of course it’s happening in your head, but that does not mean it’s not real ” and Dumbledore is never wrong.


My muse is hiding

The alleyway was dark and dank, a centuries old cobbled path
that twisted and turned till it was swallowed by the profound dark
like an unwinding snake,the treacherous night shrouded the other end
from prying eyes.
The brick walls of the old architecture bared it’s broken bones and
the paint, peeling, like the skin from that of a leper
filth! filth everywhere.
cloaking the surround, emanating a wicked sense of foreboding,
like a deadly calm before a fierce storm.
the alleyway led on, innocent gestures concealing twisted desires and intentions
like a naught Emperor leading his lords to
‘the end’

When the lead is over, you turn,
as quiet as a black cat in the dead of this deceitful night.

There you’ll see, a place where:
wicked intentions, twisted desires and ends meet

A vision that confirms your greatest fear.

Well, ranting helps. Really. And, my muse is tempted to come out of hiding.

The Apocryphal Transition

Late into the night willful sleep evades my company. I sit by my study swimming in varied hues of blue and the bluest, contemplating solitude. The thrill in the air does not pass by unnoticed to the mournful eyes, the sorry hands clasped, entwined in patient waiting. The last of the light begins to flicker, for a prolonged moment, signalling an end while the eyes gaze on.

I sense your familiar being, the rough of those toiling hands against my skin, the breathing – tremulous, contradicting the solemn air. Then in a deep kiss the world vanishes, the night dissolves in the distant background, the cold dissipates into an incredible warm, the blues are impregnated with colors of fierce passion. The fullness invading my being is overwhelming, satiating, quenching. Tempest shakes the very foundations of calmness. This is, this is the endless night, the night without an end. The night our escapade will be held , for eternities to come, in the whispers of lovers in the darkness, in the sinful promises of tomorrow.

Deliverance is an impassioned gift of Satan. A tempestuous kiss of the air on the quiet lips of black waters.

Tonight is the night of passing on; to the other side, which awaits, to hold us into it’s arms, this is the night of transition. The demons of the other side are tempting; twisted in his demands and broken in his promises the Devil has insinuated himself in the womb of the desiring Angel, of desires unfathomable, the darkest and the deepest.

” No thirst of ye shall remain unquenched” sayeth the Devil

The dying candle throws coquettish shadows on the peeling walls, the two shadows move in a perfect rhythm, the music of lust is unbridled, never ending;

The candle dies, I look into your eyes, the dark depths of need in mine are reflected in yours and yours in mine. The prolonged release. The perfect union. The ritual is come to a close and the night will soon close on us.

The blades are drawn, Not in fear, but in an unbreakable vow that we have pledged. The perfect union of the night will remain a memory, the night will hold it’s secrets.

Dawn finds an exhausted piece of wax on a tarnished candlestick. Two beings lay in a naked embrace. The white jasmines have turned crimson. The light has left their eyes but the euphoria remains frozen in their smiles.

At the end of our transition the whiteness blinds everyone, but I can still sense your being against mine. The coldness of the night is no more for the light is bright and unblinking. The other side is where we have come. The transition has come to a final close