Swamped with my own hatred and delusions, I carried on a life with sorrow, lack of love, understanding, authenticity, and connection.
On the very brink of my own agony, I ran away. I sought refuge in a place where nobody really knows me. I found comfort to be nothing. I had some quietness which was more profound than material wealth. It was something I craved but couldn’t sustain.
I knew over time, I had to come back to society and fulfill my “duties”. And, I went back to the same race most of us are in, deluding myself one more time that if I endure a little longer, I can attain the happiness I was seeking. I thought it’ll finally make me happy until I have another episode of running away again.
Suffocation, physically and physiologically, was a recurring thing. It was my primary mode under the strong, “I can do it too”, facade I was deluding myself into.
I couldn’t even look in the mirror because I just saw sorrow and blankness reflecting back at me. The eyes I was looking at were lost, pitiful, and dead.
Helpless, I didn’t want to bother anyone so the best solution for me was to lock myself up for a long time. I stopped running away physically and yet I kept running away even in my sleep.
The darkness within me was eating me alive, succumbing me to the pits of my hell day by day.
I didn’t even call the whole thing as depression until I was almost ready to talk about it. I was afraid if I actually called myself that, I’d be that. Even those motivational videos didn’t help. Nothing that I have watched or read at that point invited me to look within myself.
But hey, I endured dying anyways.
What really kept me alive? To be honest, I couldn’t arrange a good death for myself without bothering my family. I was not gonna break my grandmother’s heart too who had lost 2 of her children by this point. I didn’t want her to think she failed her granddaughter whom she’s been nourishing and giving extra attention to regardless of the distance. Growing up under the care of different relatives, I really didn’t understand what love is.
I knew little of “love” until I finally asked for it.
I asked the unknown for salvation. In my despair and desperation, I begged for it. Little did I know that everything is aligning itself to match me.
And it came to me.
The form doesn’t matter but it showed me my deep wounds. It made me crawl out of my bed and finally look at myself in front of the mirror.
It presented a box of memoirs from my childhood, things I have ignored and not dealt with. As if by some force, I had no other power but to keep digging until I got to the very roots of what I called pain.
Everything in its absolute form started to reflect back to me. My perception of the world and my place in it started to alter, a commencement for something more and bigger.
At my darkest phase, it pierced through my heavy-walled heart and started a spark in there. A spark for life I have forgotten. I knew it was a remembering because I caught glimpses of it but could never grab hold of it. This spark for life which is subjected through realms of time and the materialistic. But the same life that can transcend matters and realize its power by just being.
That spark started a motion of whirling energy in me. Familiarizing myself with the sensation, I clung on to it. My false perception of the world finally tasted its own medicine.