BENGALURU: The last two weeks have been difficult for me. I stayed cooped up at home, and my room looked like it was hit by an earthquake that measured 8.1 on the Richter scale. My social interaction was minimal. For you see, I was in D company. Not Dawood Ibrahim, but Depression.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time. Like a suspicious house-owner checking on tenants, I get these visits every few years. The causes are a cocktail of an overthinking overdrive, existential questions, and a work schedule that looks like it isn’t for one person, but all the five Pandavas! My usual response is to drink enough to feature in an ad for Officers’ Choice, and lash out at everybody around me.
I felt ashamed that I was depressed, like I was above these mortal worries. But crucially, I was unable to understand what was going on inside me. I spoke to counsellors, but never was able to convey my point without slipping into a standup comedy set about my mental health. But not this time.
Socrates (or someone) said that it is important to find the root of the problem. In films and books, we are shown that bad breakups cause depression. Or a loss of a loved one. But depression is not loose motions, with identifiable cause and effects. It is unpredictable, and unwieldy. And then, there are the solutions people offer. ‘Go to the gym’, they say.
But depression is not the excess weight you put on during Deepavali. You can’t simply workout your way out of it. The other common suggestion is to meditate. But my mind is like Usain Bolt on a Tesla battery. Every time my mind took off, I would feel like a rishi rusticated from Vishwamitra’s ashram for failing to control the mind. The other solution people recommend is to talk to people. But I often feel like I wouldn’t be depressed if I didn’t talk to so many people in my daily life!
Enough was enough! This time, I would take control of my depression. Like a middle-aged bear opting for Voluntary Hibernation Services, I decided to prepare. With the meticulous planning of a doomsday prepper, I locked myself in with my favourite things, and decided to document my depression. Was it anxiety? Or overthinking? Was I feeling dejected, or suicidal?
Earlier, I used to run away from people and commitments. This time, I politely sent them a message saying I was dealing with some issues of my own, and needed time off. Surprisingly, I was understood by most people. I read a lot. I finished the Dostoevsky book on my shelf – the one that seemed like a crime to pay for, and a punishment to finish. I ate what I loved without feeding the details into my fitness app like a diligent ISI agent. I observed my feelings and wrote about them when I could. I often complain about social media, but I hacked it to my advantage. I started ‘liking’ as many dog videos as I could, and found the algorithm working in my favour.
In a few days, I began to feel better. I wish there was a magic solution that I could recommend. But there isn’t. Unfortunately, depression is a gutter that you have to wade through. All you can do is ensure you have the right equipment and gear. And then, plunge right in till you can see the light at the end of the gutter. So if you feel down and out, just know that there are others feeling it too, and begin gathering your gear to wade through the gutter. As Swami Nityananda would probably say, ‘Only when you clean the gutter, you will feel better!’
(The writer’s views are his own)