Have
you ever a met person whom 50% of your conversation is about them? Who heartlessly
goes 20% of the time dissevering their situations, analyzing it as they seek
for the possible solutions. 20% of the time is your opinion about their lives,
which they’ll constantly interrupt as ideas never stop streaming out of their
overactive brain, bringing it to 16%. When they feel philanthropic enough, they’ll
spend the remaining 10% clumsily and inactively listening to how their diligent
listener is fairing on.
That’s
me, to wade off any doubt; I’m a talker, I’m not a good listener. Many wonder how
an extrovert would get depressed since we spend most of our time talking. I’m
dealing with depression. To put things into perspective, it’s not the usual day
to day frustrations but real clinical depression. I learnt to tuck away the
painful, dreadful and horrific parts of my life when I’m around people, only to
go over them multiple times in solitude, thinking them through to the bones.
Dissecting, rearranging, climbing the pyramid and falling right back to its
foot. I was alive with people and dead alone.
When
the bottle was filled up with my hidden emotions, it spilled, unable to contain
the pressure exerted from every area of my life; mostly from within. I could no
longer hide, neither could I silence the voice in my head nor wish away the
numbness on my skin. My secret voice got louder by the day, forcing me out of
my usual pretense sessions to wallow in my sorrow full-time.
I
read through the scriptures to get me out of the bottomless pit. I read the
Bible, prayed, fasted, gathered with them brethren hoping that my dark shadow
will one day stop following me. I read several spiritual books, seeking
spiritual answers where mental ones would do. I called myself stupid, shallow,
unworthy long enough to believe it. Bearing the burden of life situations I had
little to no control over, the guilt and shame of my life choices did not give
me a chance to forget, holding me hostage to myself. Compliments never felt
right, I’d always excuse myself. Ooooh, the beautiful dress is my sister’s, you
think I have a nice body, you should see my colleague’s.
The sad voice in my head was so loud; I could not wish it away. No longer walking
straight, my shoulders, just like my mind, bowed down to it. It robbed me the
stamina for the things I once loved, pushed me to be alone most of the time,
wallowing on the world that was clearly caving in on me.
I’m
learning, slowly but surely, to embrace my shortcomings and acknowledge that conquering
them brings the beams of light come through as I make my way off them like a
caterpillar transitioning to a colourful butterfly. Learning to celebrate my
small victories and not to worry about the things I have no control over.
