I’m no Padukone, and the world doesn’t give two fucks about
what I feel and how I am, yet I decided to talk about it for the heck of sheer
documentation so you’d know why I died, if I do. No, I will not kill myself. But
do people die of depression? It certainly feels so. Anyway, this monster wouldn’t
leave me alone. Never. Worse than pados ki aunties. It sleeps with me and wakes
up with me. It pulls me down every opportunity it gets. EVERY. Right now I feel
like I’m falling in a bottomless abys at the speed of 1000 kmph (Please be
sensitive and don’t point out the technical flaw and impossibility of this, I
FUCKING KNOW). Everyday getting up from the bed and showing up is the hardest
task. I cannot, just cannot participate in real life, I cannot laugh at your
jokes and smile for courtesy, I cannot indulge in small talk. I fucking don’t
care. Yet, every day, every day I drag myself out of the bed, put the
make up on and prepare myself for the world outside for yet another tamasha. It’s the hardest thing I’ve
ever had to do. I could use a mountain and reach the top to shout my lungs out
or slap Uday Chopra (fine, I’m sorry) or cry my heart out. I have tried one of
these three things and no, it did not doesn’t help. One might ask, what
the fuck is bothering me, while I might say that is a very good question and a
very relevant at that, I have no answer to it. None. In all probabilities, it’s
me. I make people bother me (Lol, what a fucked up thing to say, right? THAT’S
my state of mind, Yep.) I feel like I’m in the middle of deep waters, with my
eyes and ears shut, and all I can see is jet black of nothingness, you know
what I mean, dear non-existent reader? I really hope you don’t. My parents probably
think I’m plain sad and generally broken, and oft get irritated about this
state, I don’t blame them. For the past one year I refused to acknowledge the
fact that I fucking need help because after all you are the master of your
brain, it’s all in your control and all that bullshit. 13 months down, turns
out the joke is on me. It gets worse every passing day, and I cannot control
it, No. I will have to grow some balls to see the damned shrink and hope to get
back to normal recovered. It almost feels like a shenanigan; I mean why
would I be depressed if I have every fucking thing in place? Parents by my
side, a job to pay my bills, amazing food and right education, what else do I
need? A zillion dollars? I concede. I need somebody to figure that out for me.
It’s sad and incredibly frustrating to realize that it’s out of my hands now. Having
said that, I have to have to seek help. I cannot waste another year of my life
sulking. No. There are bigger, better things to do. This is one life. Till
then, I will try my best to get back to the surface even if it takes everything
I’ve got. I’ll try not to drown deeper.
