Part II: State of the Mind
Read Part I here.
"I'm fine" is often the most common lie we say. But it is the most convenient response to someone asking you how you're doing. On occasion, depending on the person and your circumstances, you go into detail and let the other person know. But it can get a little ridiculous when the person is an acquaintance who asked you "whazzaaaaa" for formality and you end up with a word vomit: "Honestly, I don't know. I want to go to Amsterdam and do that solo trip and not care for permission but the timing to plan it doesn't seem right. Then again, should I quit my job and venture into assisting someone as a wedding photographer or travel write like I always thought I would - if only to realise I have zero skills? I think I would have been so much better at being in my 20s during the 1990s - no social media, a slower pace of growth of a lot of things than right now. Maybe folks at work are being polite by not firing me but everyone knows I'm incompetent. Or should I take up admin/secretarial work? Wait, I just remembered I don't like talking to people anymore. But then I find it weird if I'm too quiet and get conscious about it. I want to meet my friends while not meeting them at all. Wouldn't it be cool if I could just spend my days reading books, sitting at Perch in Khan or something. Wait, whataboutaPhD! Should I have figured that out already? But then Trump and and and Theresa May I think cut down number of visa quotas? Maybe I should have headed out for undergrad itself. Anyway, whazzaaaaaaaa yourself?"
My wonderful sister-in-law forms the intersection between a trained psychologist and a close family member in my life. One day, I found myself writing to her - possibly the most unstructured, unorganized set of words ever. I struggled with expressing myself. This was about a month after my aunt's passing when I realised my feelings had accelerated out of control. Grief does that, I guess. But like I mentioned in the previous post, I didn't get why it made me feel that much more worse. Maybe the grief triggered and amplified all these feelings. I told her I felt like running away because I bursting at the seams. I felt helpless - like I wasn't productive at work or outside. I felt bad about not keeping in touch with friends and coming across as rude. I wondered if I should go to a therapist. She responded to me promptly, comforted me and asked me to think on certain lines. She said she would help me find a therapist if I felt like I wanted to go to one. This little outlet was helpful briefly. It was probably the first time I acknowledged to someone that I was going through something. But I couldn't for a while after that. I may have mentioned it to a couple of friends. However, admitting it felt scary.
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| https://www.facebook.com/DoodleTimeSarah/ |
"I'm fine" is often the most common lie we say. But it is the most convenient response to someone asking you how you're doing. On occasion, depending on the person and your circumstances, you go into detail and let the other person know. But it can get a little ridiculous when the person is an acquaintance who asked you "whazzaaaaa" for formality and you end up with a word vomit: "Honestly, I don't know. I want to go to Amsterdam and do that solo trip and not care for permission but the timing to plan it doesn't seem right. Then again, should I quit my job and venture into assisting someone as a wedding photographer or travel write like I always thought I would - if only to realise I have zero skills? I think I would have been so much better at being in my 20s during the 1990s - no social media, a slower pace of growth of a lot of things than right now. Maybe folks at work are being polite by not firing me but everyone knows I'm incompetent. Or should I take up admin/secretarial work? Wait, I just remembered I don't like talking to people anymore. But then I find it weird if I'm too quiet and get conscious about it. I want to meet my friends while not meeting them at all. Wouldn't it be cool if I could just spend my days reading books, sitting at Perch in Khan or something. Wait, whataboutaPhD! Should I have figured that out already? But then Trump and and and Theresa May I think cut down number of visa quotas? Maybe I should have headed out for undergrad itself. Anyway, whazzaaaaaaaa yourself?"
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| How I looked like in the 90s instead. Hoping to get some of that swag back. |
My wonderful sister-in-law forms the intersection between a trained psychologist and a close family member in my life. One day, I found myself writing to her - possibly the most unstructured, unorganized set of words ever. I struggled with expressing myself. This was about a month after my aunt's passing when I realised my feelings had accelerated out of control. Grief does that, I guess. But like I mentioned in the previous post, I didn't get why it made me feel that much more worse. Maybe the grief triggered and amplified all these feelings. I told her I felt like running away because I bursting at the seams. I felt helpless - like I wasn't productive at work or outside. I felt bad about not keeping in touch with friends and coming across as rude. I wondered if I should go to a therapist. She responded to me promptly, comforted me and asked me to think on certain lines. She said she would help me find a therapist if I felt like I wanted to go to one. This little outlet was helpful briefly. It was probably the first time I acknowledged to someone that I was going through something. But I couldn't for a while after that. I may have mentioned it to a couple of friends. However, admitting it felt scary.
Admitting felt like I'd be indulging myself (and not in a Donna and Tom "treat yo'self" way #parksanrecforever). Admitting it also felt like I was giving myself undue importance when I had other family members going through tough times. I would have one good day and I would wonder what was wrong with me the previous few days. I would try to convince myself that it was "only in my head". And that's precisely it!
Week 2 of 2017, I had a breakdown. Things had been good - my sister and her father were visiting us. I'd been having fun. And one day, it gripped me out of the blue. I couldn't take it any longer - the anxiety at the thought of interacting with people. Without informing anyone (but my sister-in-law, because someone had to know, even if she was halfway across the world), I left home and set off by myself. I found myself in a fancy restaurant in central Delhi - one I had not much "aukaat" to be at. Ordered myself expensive waffles (they were a let down, though) and read on my Kindle. Next, I thought I'd buy a book or sit at a cafe with WiFi and do some figuring out of life decisions (interests, future studies, etc.). I thought I'd write like I had never before. The WiFi failed me horribly at that cafe. I thought I'd get myself a hair spa and a foot massage. Clearly this was the beginning of the month or all these aspirations would be constrained by my income. But the whole time, I had a nagging headache. I almost considered booking a room at the aforementioned fancy hotel (thereby draining whatever was left of my salary) so I could rest. I was incredibly lucky that some good sense prevailed (and I didn't have an address proof on me) and I headed home much earlier than I had planned. I kept this day to myself, very uncharacteristic.
One evening, before my sister headed back to New York, the conversation Ma, her and I were having pushed me into melting down and telling me what I'd done. They were great about it - even though I'm sure they were upset I hadn't told them earlier. I contacted my sister-in-law, asking her to recommend a therapist to me. I felt it was time.
The minute my then future therapist picked up my call, I started tearing up and blubbered my way through the short conversation. I was asked to call back in a couple of weeks' time because of scheduling related stuff. I thought I'd skip calling back. Because I'd been having 2 good days when it was time to. And wasn't it all in my head? Plus, I'd have to spend money. I thought I'd call and schedule an appointment but not go. I don't remember now if I had a bad day right before the appointment which made me to decide to go, but I somehow kept the appointment. I felt comfortable talking and I probably cried the whole time for the first 4-5 sessions.
I still have some way to go, healing to do, figuring out to do. I still have off days. I still have anxiety about people. But I feel light once in a while - like I haven't in a very long time. I have spoken about these things to a few friends over the last couple of months. It heartened me to receive the positive and supportive response they gave me (also the support and love for my post yesterday - thank you). A few have mentioned how much they relate to it and are going through this or have been considering getting help. And I get that it is hard to acknowledge it and then seek it out. I hope this helps anyone reading to figure this out. Therapy is expensive too but there are options - some NGOs offer free services. You need to find the right person, someone you're comfortable with. I don't know how I convinced myself to get help. I didn't think I would share this experience of mine on my blog or in any form of writing that many people could read, for years to come. In the past, I may not have thought a lot before sharing thoughts and feelings with people. But I've become a little reserved over the last year or more - perhaps a function of age and experience or just becoming overly conscious.
Yesterday, however, I felt like I would write it out, not publish it. Then I published it, thought I wouldn't share it. I had never felt as vulnerable before and it was scary. But the response to this has given me some confidence - it has helped me. And while I can't claim to be any sort of authority, reach out if you're reading this and want to talk about it. Here's a crowd sourced link to mental health professionals in some cities across India. If you know a name that should be there, enter it. If you find someone you'd like to get in touch with, go for it.
"Of course it is happening inside your head, (Harry), but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" -- Dumbledore (rather, J.K. Rowling).I considered myself to be fairly well exposed to the importance of mental health - I know people working in the area, I work in public health, I know of people who have gone through intense issues, my immediate family never stigmatized it. Yet, it felt like it was not a legitimate concern. I figured I would solve it on my own. Positive thoughts, inner strength and all what not - after all, I'd managed fine all these years. I tried to start doing things for myself to feel better - online retail therapy was an easy choice. I decided one morning that I wouldn't wait to adjust and compromise to other people's schedules because I wanted to watch a movie and so I went all by myself, not informing anyone. I ate desserts. I thought I'd spend more time dressing myself and maybe feel better if I "looked good". I tried to talk - something I would have done "normally". But I wasn't able to every time I tried, and so it got buried. I'd try to be the fun-nice-sociable-helpful person I was told I was - sometimes going out of my way to keep up the facade. I thought I could habituate my way back to where I used to be. But anxiety would grip me the moment someone, as part of a normal conversation, asked me "so, what plans for today?". My mind would immediately spin out of control - wait, how should I reply? I want to seem unavailable but with a legit reason so I won't seem to be a jerk because the thought of making plans and exchanging schedules would feel like so much work. I would try to take a deep breath and respond after 5 minutes instead saying, "dunno yaaaa, I have so much to do but tell me? maybe we can figure something out."
Week 2 of 2017, I had a breakdown. Things had been good - my sister and her father were visiting us. I'd been having fun. And one day, it gripped me out of the blue. I couldn't take it any longer - the anxiety at the thought of interacting with people. Without informing anyone (but my sister-in-law, because someone had to know, even if she was halfway across the world), I left home and set off by myself. I found myself in a fancy restaurant in central Delhi - one I had not much "aukaat" to be at. Ordered myself expensive waffles (they were a let down, though) and read on my Kindle. Next, I thought I'd buy a book or sit at a cafe with WiFi and do some figuring out of life decisions (interests, future studies, etc.). I thought I'd write like I had never before. The WiFi failed me horribly at that cafe. I thought I'd get myself a hair spa and a foot massage. Clearly this was the beginning of the month or all these aspirations would be constrained by my income. But the whole time, I had a nagging headache. I almost considered booking a room at the aforementioned fancy hotel (thereby draining whatever was left of my salary) so I could rest. I was incredibly lucky that some good sense prevailed (and I didn't have an address proof on me) and I headed home much earlier than I had planned. I kept this day to myself, very uncharacteristic.
One evening, before my sister headed back to New York, the conversation Ma, her and I were having pushed me into melting down and telling me what I'd done. They were great about it - even though I'm sure they were upset I hadn't told them earlier. I contacted my sister-in-law, asking her to recommend a therapist to me. I felt it was time.
The minute my then future therapist picked up my call, I started tearing up and blubbered my way through the short conversation. I was asked to call back in a couple of weeks' time because of scheduling related stuff. I thought I'd skip calling back. Because I'd been having 2 good days when it was time to. And wasn't it all in my head? Plus, I'd have to spend money. I thought I'd call and schedule an appointment but not go. I don't remember now if I had a bad day right before the appointment which made me to decide to go, but I somehow kept the appointment. I felt comfortable talking and I probably cried the whole time for the first 4-5 sessions.
I still have some way to go, healing to do, figuring out to do. I still have off days. I still have anxiety about people. But I feel light once in a while - like I haven't in a very long time. I have spoken about these things to a few friends over the last couple of months. It heartened me to receive the positive and supportive response they gave me (also the support and love for my post yesterday - thank you). A few have mentioned how much they relate to it and are going through this or have been considering getting help. And I get that it is hard to acknowledge it and then seek it out. I hope this helps anyone reading to figure this out. Therapy is expensive too but there are options - some NGOs offer free services. You need to find the right person, someone you're comfortable with. I don't know how I convinced myself to get help. I didn't think I would share this experience of mine on my blog or in any form of writing that many people could read, for years to come. In the past, I may not have thought a lot before sharing thoughts and feelings with people. But I've become a little reserved over the last year or more - perhaps a function of age and experience or just becoming overly conscious.
Yesterday, however, I felt like I would write it out, not publish it. Then I published it, thought I wouldn't share it. I had never felt as vulnerable before and it was scary. But the response to this has given me some confidence - it has helped me. And while I can't claim to be any sort of authority, reach out if you're reading this and want to talk about it. Here's a crowd sourced link to mental health professionals in some cities across India. If you know a name that should be there, enter it. If you find someone you'd like to get in touch with, go for it.
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