A friend suggested that I write a journal. He said it would be awesome one day to publish it as a novel....
DEAR DIARY
A friend suggested that I write a journal. He said it would be awesome one day to publish it as a novel. My reply was “Uh, no. No one would want to read the sappy stories of a hormonal chic. Also, I would rather write a journal and set it on fire instead.”
It’s 2:17 a.m and I am lying in bed knowing very well that I will fall asleep by 5 a.m - not a minute before, no matter how hard I try. I cannot help but think that maybe he was right. Not about the novel part, but the writing part. Writing has always been one of the things I am mildly good at, so maybe it can work as a therapy as well.
There are so many things going in my mind right now. It’s like an aandhi in a local town. You know there is sand flying around and filling your nostrils. But there are also plastic bags and lightweight metal objects whose presence in the storm was not anticipated. In fact, they can turn out to be more harmful than the actual sand, and the wind. My stupid brain works the same way. The sand and wind fail to make an impact, but the plastic bags will clog up every healthy neuron. It is hard to think clearly and positively when your neurons are full of crazy thoughts comparable to crappy plastic bag.
That’s exactly what is happening right now. I was told to get professional help. I am soon going to be a healthcare provider. I know depression is a real disease. I know I need help, but it is hard. It is hard to declare that you also need mental healthcare when a family member is already suffering. It is hard enough for the family to deal with that issue. And being the slightly saner one, it becomes my responsibility to take care of my own emotions and keep them in check. I have never shared this particular piece of thought with anyone. And now I am writing it down and probably will send it for publication. I like to get my thoughts published because I know many of us face the same problems in different forms. Reading about someone going through the same thing gives me the feeling that maybe I am not alone. There are people out there who feel the same things and see the world the same way I do. Maybe I shall never meet them or befriend them, but maybe my words will help them feel warm like their words once made me feel understood and cosy.
I am going to end today’s entry in the journal with these words:
Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also harder to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say ‘My tooth is aching’ than to say ‘My heart is broken’ -C.S. Lewis
