April, 2007. I had taken my Board exams and was trying to figure out my career graph post the results. I had topped in my state and was surrounded by the proverbial halo, which follows the declaration of results. Every piece of the dream seemed to be falling beautifully in place except for the person who had nurtured the dream. Those were the initial years. The preceding three years had been not so pleasant — I’d developed an eating disorder, which lasted an entire year and after recuperating, went through occasional bouts of anxiety attacks. Junior college, teen years and a series of juvenile delinquencies did not allow me to ponder much about those occasional bouts of feeling ‘empty’. Given the general lack of awareness regarding mental disorders, no one in my family, including me, could have had the slightest idea that I was going through anxiety and related depression. No, I’d not had any tragic experience, which is conventionally believed to be the trigger.
Fortunate enough to have a doting family, which extended to an even greater network of indulgent grandparents, uncles and aunts, I tried reaching out to them, albeit rarely, being the extremely introverted person that I was. I still remember sitting for hours in the washroom and trying to figure out what that gnawing feeling of emptiness could possibly mean. I would weep and do some compassionate self-talk and then rehearse as to how I could possibly explain and make sense to anybody from the family and let them know that I wasn’t OK. Days, months and years passed.
I graduated from one of the best colleges and by the end of those three seemingly glorious years, had suffered two major bouts of depression, to which neither my family nor friends were privy. My occasional references to a ‘blank’ state of mind were usually dismissed as temporary stress, and career/performance centric in nature.
Eventually, my coping strategies had grown stronger and somewhere along the journey, I’d become a product of the cliché’d belief that there was something inherently wrong with me. And, the silent, at times subconscious, battle with myself went on until my life took an unexpected turn in February, 2013. One of my closest friends was getting married and the wedding revelry ended with my digestive system going for a toss. A seemingly innocuous bout of acidity.
Little did I know that my worst nightmare was drawing closer. In a span of 2-3 days, a bad stomach and fluctuating BP snowballed into an excruciating bout of depression, the worst attack so far. And, that was when I gave up, almost. But reaching the threshold of pain, both physical and emotional, awakened me to the jaundiced perception I had held on to. My mother left no stone unturned to seek medical help and consult a doctor (read psychiatrist) and each and every member of my family proved to be a fantastic support system. My road to recovery had begun but what I realised was far more enlightening. I was fortunate enough to have a strong support system. But most people don’t. Let us do our bit in redefining a healthy state of being. All it takes is a phone call. A conversation. Some empathy (not sympathy!). And at times, just a reassuring hug.
kasturiswain@gmail.com