The lepers in my head. Chapter X
Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus,
to the lepers in your head?
- One, U2
I woke up this morning and smiled.
Over three decades of struggling to get out of bed until I exhausted both my demons and myself, there were the odd once-in-a-quarter days that resemble today, but today is better because I don’t fear tomorrow. I’m light and I’m here.
The cliched depression lines “i feel like i am tied to the bed” and “nailed to the bed” are both true. Snapping out of the morning darkness isn’t easy. It certainly helps if friends are around and if there is something to be done. After struggling with emptiness, regrets, pain and fear, I’d go about the rest of the day with whatever energy i had left. My depression wasn’t obvious because I dealt with most of the damage before I met anyone. I also managed to make it through the rest of the day with relative ease, so it wasn’t easy for anyone to see my suffering. I’d cut out things, meetings and people that drained the precious energy I had left.
This had its pluses because I could get some stuff done, but the flip side was that people thought I was uncaring. It is not like I didn’t want to wake up at 5.30 and do yoga, play a game of cricket or help that little bit around the house. I just couldn’t. I had optimised the hell out of my life because my depression constraint left me very little space. When you’ve spent 60% percent of your daily energy before you get out of bed at 11 am although you have technically been awake for 4 hours, you start the day well behind your peers and friends, both in life force and in time. I had to optimise for the things that would make me smile before I did stuff for others. And yet, I seem to have done well enough for more than a hundred close friends.
I’ve been berated, bullied and craftily pushed out of spaces because of all this shit. All this by otherwise compassionate people who would have cared if I had a chronic physical ailment. But alas, my wheelchair isn’t visible.
It is not easy to start the day with the thought of killing yourself and then attend meetings for the rest of the day. You look at others and think “It’d be nice to feel that way”. It’s not easy to get into the ring with one hand tied behind your back, especially when your opponent is the Mike Tyson of life. And yet, you roll with the punches, take the jabs and the upper cuts and bounce back from the count. Time and again. You are battered alright but that one punch that you land, keeps you going for days.
I’ve lost friendships, romantic relationships, career, promotions and a lot of other good shit, but i’m still standing thanks to the immense goodwill I have from some amazing people.
I wish I was less anxious. I wish I was less depressed. I don’t wish that I was a better person. I am a fucking champion.
It’s gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day!
