A Day in Grayscale..

I had my first ever meltdown in front of a doctor. After 3 years in treatment..after visiting more than 20 doctors..i broke down in front of my rheumatologist yesterday.

I couldn’t say much i just told her about my recent experiences (when i think i felt i might harm myself and then dosed off in exhaustion)

I don’t even know her reaction as i had my face dug into my hands. And i was pressing my eyes hard, hoping i could stop tears. I was feeling horrible for being so weak.

She suggested me a psychologist for counseling when i told her i don’t want any more meds in my system.

The way she looked into my eyes and held my hand for a bit longer when we were shaking hands before leaving, said more than she could ever say in words.

I felt i undressed a layer in front of somebody and made myself frightfully vulnerable.

A crack in the shell.

A wave of regret and hatred for being so naive ran over me. On the way back i was thinking couldn’t I just be a little more stronger if I had come this far?? I was mad at what i just did.

Have you ever felt a moment when everything goes into grey scale?? It happened..it was depressing.

I knew my meltdown was useless. I am never going to reach the counsellor until something drastic happens. Because in counseling, i know what is she going to advise me in the end. And that advice is not applicable for me.

Well. I came back home and in between the calls to dad and sam i got a missed call from an aunt of mine. My Jolly bubbly aunt, who is more of a friend to me.

She is one of the 2 people i called from the airport coming back this time.

I called her back and told her about appointment. The whole thing. She started screaming and crying abruptly.

There was deafening silence at my end.

Then she unfurled her story. Hours later i felt lifeless. It was the most painful story i ever heard. So painful there were moments i had to stop her.

Every word that came out of her mouth was a new cut on my conscience.

I felt disgusted for living in this world. I was hating every morsel of food i ever pushed down my throat.

I believed the purpose of religion and culture is to have an order in place so that people don’t turn barbaric, and thats what is turning people barbaric now. People have manipulated both to an irreversible Degree.

I asked similar questions about faith to 2 people yesterday:

1. Did you ever feel your faith slipping away?? That person has lost his faith.

2. How do you still have some faith and how are you still alive? Her grief turned her religious.

Once i was talking to a friend of mine and we came up with this “like sponge we soak up stories to soften”

But some stories are boiling hot water with tiny blade running in them, they don’t soften us. They leave us burnt and damaged.

My same friend says that’s the curse of being a good listener. You end up listening to more than you can tolerate.

I was always taught one thing…there shouldn’t be any weight on your conscience..and then i see people bulldozing lives of the weaker human..

Where do their conscience go?? Don’t they fear the same thing will come back and bite them in the ass??

The boulder dropped on my conscience will never be lifted..

I asked her to forgive those people who let it happen to her because when God will punish them that will be a trailer of hell. How selfish of me to ask her to forgive people for something I never had to endure.

Now i will apologize to her for this.

Sorry. A small key that liberates people on both the sides of the bars.

People say, i say sorry alot. Sometimes when its not even required.

The reason?? I am selfish. I do it for myself.

I want everyone to forgive me so that i can live and die in peace. It doesn’t make me a smaller person.

I know lately i am just writing traumatic pieces. This small planet is becoming an eyesore.

But this is important. just look around, maybe somewhere somebody needs you and maybe it wont even take much to be there for that person.

P.s. The featured image is of a charcoal drawing done by me (in case you missed the post about it).

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