How bad is it?

You want to know how bad it is. It is so bad that if you tell me that my mom is going to be fine after I leave then I will leave.

What do I mean by leaving? Exactly when you’re thinking. I don’t like the s-word anymore. It’s so overused that it has lost its meaning and kids tend to throw it around like it’s a joke. It’s not. At least not for me.

You know I don’t really care about my dad. He is a strong independent man and he knows how to conceal his emotions. He will be okay even without me by his side.

My brother? My baby brother. He is only 18. He will grow up to be a great man and he will tell people about me and how I was the reason he turned out to be that great guy.

My sister? She’s trying to get pregnant. She’ll have a baby. That baby.. my niece or nephew s/he will distract her. She’ll be over me soon.

But my mom, my mom she’s gonna spend the rest of her life thinking where she went wrong. She is gonna struggle to sleep at night because she is gonna keep thinking where did she fall short that her baby-girl ended up in a hospital bed and finally six-feet under.

So now you know how bad it is.

It is so bad that if you tell me my mom is gonna be okay when I leave then I’m gonna leave.

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Loneliness

Loneliness is that one feeling that I have experienced my whole life. Sometimes because I was alone but most of the times when I was with a crowd of people.

I remember feeling lonely on my ninth birthday. I can still recall hearing at least 17 people in the room singing happy birthday to me and all I could feel was sad because I felt lonely. This feeling followed me throughout my teenage years. I waited for University to begin so that I could escape from that gloomy little city of Muzaffarabad and live in the happiest place of Pakistan, Islamabad. But the feeling didn’t go away even when I started university in Islamabad. Despite having the best English language teachers in the country who commended me for my performance in class and living with three wonderful roommates who made me laugh so much that my tummy would hurt, I felt lonely.

The only time that I didn’t feel lonely was when I was reading a book. Because by reading a book I could be someone else for at least three hours every day. Those books taught me if I wait patiently and fight bravely, I will get my happy ending. I thought coming to U.S would be the beginning of my happy ending. It’ll be a chance for me to be the protagonist of one of best stories that I will be the writer of. But all I feel is lonely. I guess it is true that you can’t expect to feel whole by changing your home because wherever you go you take yourself with you. The loneliness lies within you not around you.

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Heart breaks even when You’re not in Love

Sometimes the broken hearted quotes that we repost aren’t for a lover
Sometimes they’re for;
A friend who was your human diary but decided to spill your secrets
A parent who left but should’ve stayed
A parent who stayed but should’ve left
A sibling who grew up too fast that he forgot the times you used to fight dragons together.
A cousin who died in the same OR he was supposed to come out of cured.
A neighbour who made you feel less lonely.
A roommate who decided to change rooms unable to keep up with your bipolarity.

Hearts break… All the time.

Stop associating your made up assumptions with someone else’s heartache

Masochist; when it comes to your Love

I write to let go

What is it about you

That writing only doubles the ache?

Your presence is like a barbed wire around my neck, the more I try to liberate myself from the thought of you the deeper the wire cuts into my neck, I feel it piercing throw my windpipe and every night I end up on the cold hard ground trying to gasp for air__ that you stole from me.

I’m unsure if it’s you or the pain that you put me through that I’m addicted to. After all, the melancholy residing inside my head and the tragically graceful scars carved on my skin have become my identity. What will remain of me if one day I decide to let go of you? Let go of the hurt, pain and suffering you put me through?

Maybe, I’m just afraid of change. Maybe, I’m afraid of being happy as I’m a virgin to the sensation of felicity. I’m scared of leaving behind the mass of imperial affliction that you used to fill the void inside of my heart with. Maybe, I’m just afraid that once I get rid of this ache the void will be reformed in the very centre of my heart.

You know when you’re drowning, you hold your breath because you’re aware that if you let go the water will fill your lungs and it’ll stop hurting once and for all. Holding on is just agonizing the pain but you don’t wanna find peace instead you wanna prolong the suffering so that you have more time to be rescued. Just like that I’m drowning in your love and I know holding on is more painful than letting go but I’m just not ready to find peace.

Being in love with you is like watching all the four walls caving in on me but there’s no escape so I just stand here waiting to be crushed. I’m a masochist when it comes to your love. I’d rather breathe in the cancer ridden cigarette smoke of your existence and die as an addict to the malady that you are.

My best friend wanted me to write about addiction to a love that hurts like hell. I tried to feel every word that I typed, hope you guys will like it.

I feel like this is something a drug addict would say… but isn’t love kind of a drug?

My History with Depression & Anxiety

I write to let go; hence, I’m writing my painful journey to let go of the pain that has been crushing me since I was 12.

As I got really positive feedback from you guys in response to my last post; So, here it is, my story unfiltered… No beautifying fragments, no strong vocabulary, no artificiality…

I remember when I was in 3rd grade I had to change schools. I went from one of the smaller, less popular schools to the most popular one in the city. Everyone was so rude and so self-absorbed making me feel so inferior. I think this is where everything started going wrong. Anyway, being the kind of person that I am I made my place in that school, soon I was also one of the popular students and everything was fine… till it wasn’t.

I remember my first suicide attempt it was in 6th grade, I was only 12  y/o … I’m not sure how I was triggered or how long I was this messed up I just remember kissing my little brother thinking it would be the last time I’ll see him but fortunately it wasn’t. My second suicide attempt was in 8th grade, to be honest I shouldn’t call these “suicide attempts” I simply thought that  I was committing suicide but the things that I was over-dozing were not as poisonous as my parents bragged about them being. Anyway, from my second attempt I accidentally developed a practice of self-harm which up to this day remains.

I remember in the beginning all I thought of it was a cathartic practice, later on I watched a documentary about self-harm and I realized it wasn’t actually good. Even my religion was against all sorts of self-harm. Now I was living in guilt, thinking that I was sinning and making myself vulnerable to all sorts of skin infections and diseases but I just couldn’t stop; I was just so used to cutting myself every two weeks.

Other than cutting I used to;

Scratch my skin, cut the tips of my hair, hold pointy or sharp things in my hands and pressed them until I couldn’t bear the pain.

It wasn’t until I was 16 y/o that I finally met someone who helped me get through this tough time. My rate of self-harm from twice a month reduced to twice a year. I was happy about it but you know like everything in the world, human relationships and friendships also come to an end, and I went back to that dark place where I suffered from insomnia, depression and very occasional anxiety. That’s when I first started taking Xanax without a proper prescription. I didn’t know the proper dose I was supposed to take so I started with a 20 mg pill (which is too much, now I know) it helped me sleep but later I increased that dose to two pills and I even took three pills. It was about time I realized I was getting addicted to it and it took me almost two months to get off that addiction by lowering my dose by half pill every week.

This was during the time I was also applying for a medical college; I was one of the A+ students so my parents, teachers and classmates were expecting me to easily make it in a medical school. Flash-forward: I tried twice and still couldn’t make it. This again led me to drown even more into the well of self-pity. Even average students who studied for two years in pre-medical made it in the med-school and I didn’t even make it in three years. My family kept reminding me how I was a failure and seeing my friends go on and live their lives at fullest was agonizing. I wanted to be happy for them, and I was but I was just too sad for myself.

I decided to join a university and pursue BS-honors with English as my major as I was good in literature.

4th February, 2017 =My birthday

The worst birthday ever! I got into a fight with both of my uncles and I wasn’t ready to bow down this time in front of their egos so I stood 6 feet tall and told them to Fuck off. They did leave me alone but my relationship with my dad got pretty messed up.

5th February, 2017

I started university with still swollen eyes, bloody wrists and insecure heart. My father didn’t call me for 4 months and that made my state even worse that I had to go to student counselor three times a week. When she wasn’t able to help me she sent me up to the student therapist. I only took two sessions with her and I was like “I’m out!”

First semester was okay because I was staying with friends that were from my hometown but later I got into the university dorm and I was left alone again.. All alone with a blade, judgmental eyes, an aching heart and no will to live. At least not until I went to the university doctor, who happened to be a professional psychotherapist, to get my limb tremors checked.

There I made a friend and she made a client.

This was getting too long so I decided to divide it into two updates. This is the dark part, bright part is yet to be published. Thanks for the support guys. ❤

Update

I never wanted to be a writer and I still don’t find myself capable of becoming one. WordPress is a platform where most of the users are struggling everyday and their course of recovery isn’t linear. So, I joined WordPress to read about those struggles and learn how people overcome these problems everyday. I wanted  hope and a reason to not give up.

Writing helped in the beginning but eventually I started drifting away from it.This turned out to be a bad idea because writing my diary and occasional blogs was somewhat cathartic and therapeutic. Now that I wasn’t doing that it caused my anxiety to build up.

Recently my mental health started deteriorating so rapidly that I immediately went back to the state of depression that I thought I had overcome about 2 years ago. So I thought maybe I should return and write about it. Maybe I can rekindle the bond of empathy that I had with various friends that I made here. So in my next post I probably will give a proper update on my anxiety issue and sessions with my psychotherapist. Maybe someone will be able to relate and that’ll make me feel so much better because the best part of WordPress is knowing that I’m not alone there is at least one person who feels the same and kind of understands what I’m going through.

 

Self-care or Self-harm?

The abomination I have developed for myself, after realizing the kind of person I have become, is prodigious. As if being devoured by the tormenting desire to liberate myself from the rage inside I stumbled into a dark ditch of indifference towards the sufferings of the people around me. I’ve tried to justify my sudden indifference to the people’s problems and inability to offer them a shoulder by telling myself that when a selfless person starts indulging in self-care that doesn’t mean that he’s becoming selfish.

Now I’m just not sure if making efforts to scratch my own skin off my body, letting the dark cascade of blood flow from the very depth of my veins & allowing myself to be addicted to cancer-ridden temporary beings that are nothing but a malady to my health is actually self-care.

I Wasn’t Transforming I Was Hating (Part-1/2)

8:25 am

A chill ran down my spine as I approached my friend who just collapsed on the floor without a warning. I try to pick her up but she slips from my embrace back on the ground making a thud sound. Helpless, I move back as other people help her up. I just stand there shivering. No one knows what I know. The doctors had said that due to a non-operatable cyst in one of the critical parts of her hindbrain she won’t be able to live for long. I know this other people in the room don’t.
Is she dying?

9: 15 am

She survives.

She’s fine now.

I’m focusing on keeping my breathing normal and I keep staring at the teacher not hearing what he’s saying.

2:00 pm

I go back to my dorm, lie down on my unmade bed and try to disappear in the sheets. I fall asleep and I’m floating or it’s just a dream.

4: 30 pm

I’m at the bank of a river holding on to something, I’m coughing as if I was drowning & someone pulled me out of the water. I look back and I see my family drowning. 

I’m helpless once again.  

I wake up. 

It was a nightmare, a recurring one. I think it’s because I can’t recover from the time I almost drowned but didn’t.

I get up make myself a cup of tea and go out for a walk. 

5:00 pm

There’s something stuck at the back of my mind it seems to be there since the night my sister’s friend died right after taking her very last examination of MBBS. (Dr. Arooj I hope you’re at a better place) 

As I take another sip of my tea I realise what’s bothering me. It’s a comment someone left on my blog.

What was the comment?

Something about hate.

Who hated whom?

Then it comes to me, a vivid recollection of a comment saying there’s too much hatred in my writing.

“Rubbish!”, I whisper, ” It’s not hate, I tell people to keep their guards up that’s not hating.. that’s protecting. I don’t promote hate, do I? It’s called playing safe.”

Now, I’m not sure if I believe this or am just trying to make myself believe this.

So was it all hatred that I developed inside me that I proudly called my transformation?

Part-2 ahead.

Yes, I have cancer.

On February 1, 16 we were given the results of my biopsy. My mother seemed quite disturbed. I, on the other hand oblivious of the medical terms being used was quite confident that my mother was over-reacting over some sort of ordinary infection as always. (Mothers I tell you!) Till three days later when it was revealed to me that torrents of torment were about to flood my life alongside chemotherapy and a year off from college.. 

Reflecting back, I was as thankless as a serpent. A rebellious teenager telling my parents I hated them and how my life was pathetic and now? I long for one chance, just one chance that I know I’m not destined to be granted. How for once I want to be my old self again just to make things right but I can’t.. How I desire what every human being takes forgranted.. health.

– While I’m sitting here hairless, smelling like a whole damn hospital, they’re flaunting their Victoria’s Secret merch.

-While all the people my age are staying up till midnight, flirting with their crushes, my internet search history comprises of some dark and twisty things that end up relating to death one way or another.

-As the world goes to sleep promising a better tomorrow, I sleep wondering if there will be one for me or not.

-Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night.. Oh! Not by the vibration of a text but by the affliction caused by myriads of hypothetical wrecking balls set on fire blasting my body.
-While they are complaining how their friends have turned out to be traitors, I can’t even commence to elaborate what it’s like to have your own body betray you in comparison.

-While my family is telling me sleep fights cancer I no longer want to fight cancer. Let it win already!

Next time you cry over someone  who doesn’t notice you or because you can’t afford the latest iPhone remember there’s always someone fighting a tougher battle than you. I have everything in my life from love to wealth. The only thing that I’m deprived of is time and I’d do anything to be anyone but me right now but unfortunately I can’t.

You think life is unfair? Wait till you have cancer. ( I hope you don’t though) *sighs* me and my sense of humor. 

EDITED:

After my previous article Yes, I was raped. I decided to use the first person narration again to make it more effective for the readers but as everyone in the comment section is asking me about my health let me clarify.

This is the story of my maternal aunt who was the same age as me when she went through this. She was diagnosed with leukemia and she lost the battle against cancer on 3rd February that year ( REST IN PEACE).. she left a void inside my chest and I wrote this article using first person narration to make it more affective for the readers and to see myself in her shoes.. Thank you for showing concern it means a lot. ❤

Whereas me? I’m living a healthy life..

Depression Isn’t Sadness

​Depression isn’t sadness.. 

It’s being stranded on an island oblivious how you got there and how you’ll get out of there..
It’s not being able to sleep because of the urge to cry the tears that never seem to leave your lashes..
It’s feeling like a hypocrite everytime you laugh because you can find something funny but you don’t deserve even a second’s happiness..

It’s knowing that everyone can see how broken you are but being proud you passed another day without falling apart in front of them..

It’s a thick fog that bounds you to a dark place and blinds you to the light around you.

It’s like a broken television that has a pitch black screen that you can’t help but stare at.

Depression is that kid in the playground who pretends to be your friend but steals your toys.

Depression is being sad about being sad but not knowing why you’re sad..

yet depression isn’t sadness.

Life isn’t about finding felicity it’s about obviating melancholy.