“The sickness I felt had reached a crisis; it was not turning back as I had hoped, but was rather, advancing steadily. What to do? Whom to turn to? Where to go?” – Sylvia Plath
My mind has a grotesque habit of pouncing on me the way a hungry predator attacks its inattentive prey. It flusters me every night before I sleep and every the morning right after I shower, then the battle intensifies the moment I watch the sun rise through a rose-tinted glass of a slowly moving wheelers. However, it does not only attack when it is expected to: it also happens at 3 in the afternoon when I am laughing my ass off with a friend, when I am listening to a joyful music or when I’m just doing undemanding activities like sitting quietly on a chair and trying to enjoy a meal or a movie or a short literature. It never gave me a plausible explanation why it does what it does though; 0ne day, I just woke up and started living under its mercy, which, I’d say, is not and will never be fair.
I am always angry as hell, empty or exhausted as a result of my double-crossing brain activity. There are times when I prematurely manifest arbitrary outbursts of emotions with varying intensities that often make me think of my mythical impending doom. My unreasonable anger had me ignoring everybody and blocking every potential friendship I could have built and I was mistaken for putting the blame solely on my introversion, although being an introvert partly played the part and really made it extra hard for me to initiate even a simple dialogue. My hands are usually ice-cold, my eyes are set in a default dead stare, and I usually talk with a tinge of peevish displeasure undertones: a few indications that I crave the alms of the sun.
Every so often, I also find myself irrationally jealous of anything that is not me: I am jealous of a merrily galloping deer. I am jealous of the grasses in my hometown that feel the warm sunlight and gentle winds on a daily basis. I am jealous of the birds that don’t have to be fed up before they are allowed to wing their way to places they decide to be. And the thing that sits at the top of my list is a flower that does not lose its felicity when she reaches her own demise. If there is a single thing that causes all these– other than my phantom pains, depression and crippling anxiety– I hope to identify and deal with it.
You know, I did my very best to fight the brute inside my head. I tried to help myself; I tried to block my thoughts, engage in mirthful conversations with my friends and feed my mind with pretty things but at the end of the day, it only goes back to its usual sick state, leaving me feeling perpetually defeated and spineless.
I wish I could display a glorious persona or a positive facade but it’s a tragedy I am not able to control my own facial muscles at times and force my eyes to glow like they’re actually a part of a living, agile human being.
For now, I can only promise two things: to never stop fighting til I reach my own heaven and to be here when it finally happens.