I went out today. Yes, it’s Tuesday and I feel like I want to remember this quiet historical day yea
Because I went out—it took a whole of world wide web though—to college, to the secretariat room. I met people, friends. I had an appointment with a certain pal. Months ago she told me that she was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Until today she said that the psychiatrist did never diagnose her that way; she put the label on herself.
I do not want to forget this particular Tuesday because I had made a progress, or so I thought. I immediately went back after having meals together. I was elated, for the first time, since almost like weeks—months.
At first, I was hesitant to see her just because. I knew that I could handle it, everything. I knew I could be strong, God would never leave because I was just too precious for Him; never doubt that He loves. I don’t think that He forgets me, nor banishes or gives me any cold gaze.
Maybe it was I who went away. I feel degraded still more, with great vengeance. Swearing and cursing felt good on my tongue as if it were made so. The prayers almost mechanic even though I knew it very well, in my heart, how to do it right: the takbir to salaam. The reciting of ayat felt empty and hollow, it barely scratched my soul just like happiness would deny me these days. The feelings were crushing me more than I could ever remember, it was far more hurtful when you could distinguish what was right and wrong yet you still condemned yourself the ruin. You did not know why, you just did.
The devil inside of me whispered, at this very moment, maybe it was because if I hurt myself then I could God as well, my parents, my friends, so I could inflict them with my pain, so they would never leave me, so they would reach out on me their hands. I do not want them to escape this. That I do not want to be alone even if physically I do. God is inside the veins, in the very heart of me; yet, here I am.
Right now, I feel the need to capture every feeling and moment of today because it is critical to me. I want to seek the way out of this.
She said that perhaps I should try the psychiatrist since she never went to any therapist before. I do not want the drugs, I should never want to depend my life on them. I’m not such a nut case.
But, I know, maybe, I am.
So I got a contact of this particular psychiatrist from my mentor. I contacted her. She said I should contact her again tomorrow to make an appointment. Now I do not really know what to do: I insist that I am not a nutcase. That was also what my friend had felt, back then, when she went to a doctor when she got sick, physically and mentally.
I feel like I continue on to dwell, keep on saying that I shall put an on this, yet after weeks—months barely did anything nor even lifted a finger, then should not I seek another help? Maybe God had intended this way of life—had written this on the parchment of fate thousands years ago. Please, make me strong. I know that I am. If I am not, then this record would be a permanent mark on my path, a perpetual excuse for every single problem I have.
To the people who keep on complaining, mentioning, that they are enduring a depression: dude, you do not know. You do not freaking know. I am breaking into pieces, emotionally, inwardly, mentally. I preserve to keep my physical health on dwelling to rigorous training: run, jog, healthy food. Because I know, I have seen it—her, my friend, she was torn. As I was never weak but fatigue does break the strongest. I was elated a few moments ago, but now when I am alone, the laughter was only knocking on my door.
We had chat, my friend and I. We laughed. I feel better than okay. I did not tell her everything, it would kill me. And I would not take myself getting killed TWICE since I had to see the psychiatrist if we ever made the deal. I thought it was only our way of coping, the self-defense mechanism to survive, was it not? I had forgotten moments and strings of memories so I could stay alive and snatch the life away, but when I had to remember, when the data leaked, I was torn again. To put it simple, I do not want to remember.
My oversleep came back again, it has been two days. I do not know, I am still afraid of getting to bed; on the other hand I still have to make the motivational letter on that youth camp. I cannot comprehend why I made the deal, was it a mistake? Whatever, I thought that maybe it could be some kind of refreshment.
I told my friend that I despise those people that I used to be happy to hang around with.
Because they did not look up for me. I was kind of sure, that, perhaps, at least, one of them knew, if not exactly, of what happened to me. They read my journal, they knew I had been missing for weeks, from our social circles. Was it because it was holiday and people just needed a freaking moment to take breath so they decided to look away? I told her that since I could not make myself to reach at them, I wrote this, I posted stuff on my social media, so they would know. On the other side, I was adamant to show the world that I am okay, with capital O; I put my lipstick on, I updated my Path and Twitter on my daily/weekly activity, so just I would seem normal. Is not that what any other young girls do, the normal ones?
I guess I do not really know what I want. If I want the world to turn away on me, to see that I am okay, why would I strive for their attention? Pray, God knows better.
Maybe they just do not have the essentials: care, thoughts. Perhaps what we had shared, in words (simple chatter, posting on social media, of course) and laughter did not mean as much to them as to I. That dandy matter of ‘my dear friend, I ask of you, to seek out for me if thou doth not see me in heaven’. That I could not comprehend. Utter bullshit. At this very moment I could care deeply of others just because I do not want anyone to feel of what I feel. Because it is horrible, terrible. There is a profound dysfunction in my life, a disorder. Even feeling okay would mean half of the world.
I was pretty astonished at first. There were seven billions of human beings in this planet called Earth and I found one person, out of the others, who were like me; we had been dancing the similar damn shoes. No, I do not know exactly what she had been through, what kind of shit she had to endure, but I am able to understand. There are more than a thousand students in our faculty, from our batch, and I found her, who had come to me, told me a tale that seemed like a gory story, a bedtime stories gone awry; it was because you do not want to get any piece of this shit.
You would not believe the number of OUR friends who had this condition, the worse case. No, maybe I am just like a piece of cake, a cup of tea. Not the whole cake, nor the teapot and boiling water.
And from a thousand, there were none who came for our rescue. It was a freaking irony, a mere tragedy. What would we do if the sick did not find each other? Should we build up a league of nut case, the alliance of mentally unstable? It is damn hilarious in a sad sad way. But I pity that people, scorn, yes, perhaps, slightly, for a while, I hope.
Do not you dare to put on any words like: “OH! I’m on a goddamn depression, can’t you see it? I’m suffering!” “I’m going crazy, what should I do?” “I feel like to die, I’m depressed!”. Stop exaggerating if you do not know a piece of this shit.
And you know what? In my case, any reasonable and logic sentences would not work on me. So there would not be any use should you ask me to come to you and tell. If I have been behaving strangely, like a real pain in the arse, all silent and bursting in full wrath or vengeance all of a sudden, please do forgive me. That is one of the reason why I manage to avoid people when I do not feel like it; I feel like a ticking bomb waiting to be detonated and dropped. And secondly, I dislike any questions when I do not desire it so that kind of set me off too. Thirdly, I do not feel like seeing anyone that would cause me any pain, you know, the trigger.
Yes, I am on top of selfishness at the time. Also, keep in mind, I still can be a wonderful buddy to chat with, share things, talk about stuff, goofing around, well when I feel like it. The problem is, you and I just cannot point out when. Usually I can, sometimes.
I am not a nutcase. Sometimes, I am. I do not want to put any labels on, do I?