An Excerpt from the Diary of a Nineteen Year Old Depressed

It hits you, all of it, all at once, on a normal Saturday evening, while you sip the green tea under the sky so vast and the one with the perfect concoction of blues and violets. Your world, it shatters, it crumbles under the colossal burden of your hopes, aspirations, expectations & the love you deserve but the one which never finds its way to you. The next thing you know is the world you spent your life building up, filling up with petty peeps, thinking it’ll always remain intact even if you don’t; your very own small world is falling apart so rapidly yet silently and you can’t even help it. The chaos within you is unexplainable, it’s so devastating yet the outside world seems so ‘normal’, so ‘unreal‘. You break. You suffocate. You want to breathe but you can’t. You want to live but life is so dull. You want to make something out of yourself but you don’t find the strength in you anymore so you just break down with no one to hold you. Your broken pieces, they just lie on the ground, right in front of you whilst no one comes for your rescue. Everybody is busy attending a party, hanging out with friends or getting ready for a sleep over and you just sit with a cup of green tea in your hand and wonder where exactly you went wrong. The same torturous questions wander through your mind. They take up the every corner. They push out the happy memories. It’s their kingdom now. You’re stuck in the realm of your unanswerable questions. Why isn’t life the same for you as it is for others; colourful, vibrant, eventful. Why do people end up doing you wrong. Why does nothing fascinates you. Why do you feel hollow from within. Every day, every moment why does the agony only increase. How do you call for help. Where are your friends. Did you even have any in the first place. Why can’t you recall the last time you were really happy. What are the things which make you happy. Why are you stuck. Where are you stuck. You wonder and wonder until you can’t anymore. A white invisible cloud of sadness overwhelms your whole being. Everything’s hazy. The whole world seems murky. You seem nonexistent, insignificant and all the things people don’t aspire to be. You seem worthless. You’re tired. There’s no point in going on. There’s no point in fighting for this life, for yourself, for ‘your people’ anymore. Everyone is happy in their respective world. You couldn’t give yourself the happiness you deserve so you give up. You give up because there’s nothing else you can do. You want to end the misery. The sadness is killing you, but for all you know, you won’t let it. In your heart of hearts you know, you’ll kill yourself before anything else can kill you…

It’s high time we talk about depression and put an end to the stigma associated with it in our society. Believe me, when I say depression is as real as your existence. We’ve lost so many peeps to depression and it’s really time we accept depression as it is i.e: a mental illness. HAVING SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IS NO JOKE; NO DRAMA. Brown societies need to realise that this is very real & very destructive. Please watch out for the ones you care about. Depression is such a toxic illness; you won’t even realise when your dear ones are suffering from it but it’ll eat them up from inside. If you’re someone or you know someone who suffers from depression, I urge you to seek professional help. DON’T HESITATE PLEASE. DEPRESSION IS NOT OKAY AND YOU CAN’T JUST SNAP OUT OF IT. I repeat, DEPRESSION IS AS REAL AS OUR EXISTENCE.
It’s okay to seek help if you think you’re depressed. No one deserves to have suicidal thoughts and if you do have, you’re not mad; ‘depression is an illness just like Diabetes or Asthma’ and yes, everyone deserves to be treated.

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Incessant

I wanted to write something for the people who lost their lives in Bhawalpur and Parachinar incidents recently but I knew no words could do justice to their misery so instead there’s a piece for all those individuals who feel broken at these unfortunate incidents. It’s Chand Raat but the thought of their agony takes over my excitement for Eid everytime I think about ‘celebrating’. May the deceased souls rest in eternal peace and may their families be blessed with Sabr-e-jameel. Ameen. Don’t forget to send a prayer their way In sha Allah and Jazak Allah khayran.

To the little child who feels everything a little too much. Who sobs silently at their apathy and gets frustrated for being helpless. The one who feels sorry to be so empathetic and sympathetic at the same time and who’s still finding out the meaning and purpose of life amidst all the craziness:

O child of mine,
What they say is true,
Indeed the world never stops
Even if your muscles don’t contract anymore
Or you get one of those convulsive tetanic movements too often
And your bones stop pressing against your skin
And your nerves no longer help you
While your hormones conspire against you
And your heart becomes obsolete
The blood in your veins agglutinates
Even if your whole life does
The world goes on,
Just like it’s styled to
But hey my child,
Don’t you worry
For nothing will stop for you too
Until that one piece of flesh
Resting inside your chest
Keeps on doing it’s job;
Pumping blood to your organs
Infusing life within your lifeless body.
Your world will go on too
Just like their world goes on;
Unhindered and untwined.

Being Human

I’m tired
Tired of this world
And the people who dwell here
Cladded in embellished silk
Chattering and laughing in their lofty mansions.
I’m tired of this world
And its ugliness
No, not the one you see in slums
But the kind you only see
Behind their closed gold doors
And royal gardens
And sick mentality
And punk social sertup.
I’m tired of carrying the weight
Of merely being a human
It’s so nerve wracking
It’s so stressful
And helpess too
When I see a child
Across the road
Begging for money
A wretched sight indeed
His obnoxious presence
Makes them frown
They say his vile odour
Contaminates the air
That child I can see
Is deprived of love, food and decent clothes
His torn shoes
Give me goosebumps
But I must not go near a ‘thing’
So dirty and scarred
I must keep my distance
So the ugliness keeps its distance from me
That’s what they say
So I take their word
I hand him a 10 rupee note
As if he can buy
A whole meal with that
Shaking the thoughts I go on,
Look out the window again
Only to see
Another child
Yet another one,
More of them,
Children;
So many children
Then widows,
Diseased,
And drug addicts
And then I see myself
And Wonder
If I am really different from them
I know I’m not
I’m torn like them
The only difference is
Their brokenness is visible
Mine, I keep it hidden
I must keep it this way
So that they never know
So that no one can ever know
How convergent we all fundamentally are
Yet we fake as if
We all can never be equal
Indifferent entities
Indifferent humans
Drunk on the ideas
Of superiority and pretentiousness
A pity indeed
But also
A heart-breaking spectacle
For all I know
Afterall
I’m a human too
And I’m tired of it.