Category: depression

Void: filled with emptiness

If you feel a void inside you, He can fill it. And only He can fill it. Some of us go through our entire lives trying to fill that void. The world tried to replace God with nationalism back in the 17th century. It has been a void in itself since. 

The dictionary defines a void in several ways. The most fitting being “a completely empty space”. How does a void feel? It feels like a million holes drilled into your being, your soul and heart and mind and organs (and for me, especially my eyes and feet). It feels like this filling heaviness which makes you drowsy and keeps jolting you awake too. It feels like those holes are overflowing with black substance ( I feel we’re unfair to poor black, it never did any harm but always has negative connotations). It feels like… depression, perhaps? But not the clinical depression. And it always leaves you wanting more of everything. Perhaps not in a materialistic way ( personally, I always want more food, more stationary, more time, more contact, more words, more books, more leaves and more stones).

This void… How is it so completely empty and full a the same time? It’s full of emptiness. But the moment you prostrate, the moment your forehead touches the ground, the moment your soul turns back, trust me, you’ll find the void gratified. For that moment, it ceases to exist. It’s like Mrs. Ramsay’s moment of clarity and certainty. But better. And it doesn’t have to be fleeting.

If you feel a void inside you, touch your forehead to the ground and talk to Him. He’ll respond no matter how long it’s been.

Life’s a metaphor; give it meaning

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If given the opportunity, I would dig a well with my bare hands tonight. And it would be better than facing the possibilities that loom ahead.

How would it be better? Wouldn’t it really be the same? You’d have to face the consequences of that; Dirty fingernails, stained hands, lost mind, hallucinations in the soil. It might even become a grave instead of a well.

You posed my dilemma better than I did. It’s death either way.

It’s death every way. But there are better ways to get to death than digging a well with your bare hands.

Pray, do tell. And the well was metaphoric.

Even so. Even more so. Buy a spade, get some appliances to help you dig, and then dig. Take your time, let the digging soothe your mind. Then begin placing bricks and make the boundary. Place the bucket, attach a rope, let it swing. Go get your water.

Hah. Okay… And what if the spade is bent or breaks half way through the digging? What if the appliances are excessively slow? What if the digging destroys my mind? What if, in the end, the well never takes shape?… What if, by then, all water dries no matter how deep I dig? What if, when I’ve built the well, the water never comes, or I’m not alive enough to fetch the water?…

If we were to “what if?” so much, we’d sit still and just breathe in one place because what if we’re not able to savour the next breath? What if our next movement kills us? What if? Well I’d at least die content if I had tried to build the well. Death will come every way. Go big or go home.

Our mind is confined to the what ifs. That’s the reflex arc of human mind. We’re trapped. We just go round and round in the whirlwind of what ifs, and it often ends up destroying us. It’s only when we’re through the storm that the wind settles, and even then, new winds begin to rise almost instantly.

We confine ourselves to the what ifs. We can go past them and actually solve problems. We don’t have to keep on banging the latch when there are ways to open the door ourselves. We just have to get up. Go through the door if nothing else is possible. Because in the end, it’s more about our own determination and strength rather than the opportunities we were given and resources we had.

It’s easier said than done. Uplifting words make situations seem brighter than they are when really; the sun isn’t rising anytime soon.

Uplifting words do a lot. Let them affect you. If you’re deflecting positivity, chances are you’re deflecting most good things when they’re trying to get to you.

So… No well?

No well. Go book your tickets.

It will

You can talk about it

You can mutter, you can grumble

You can complain, whine and curse

But you cannot change reality

It will remain stamped on your forehead

It will pollute your blood, your air

It will drill holes into your dreams

It will puncture your lungs

And take you to Oblivion.

~Moniba.

I wonder, I wander

And then, I wasn’t there anymore. I don’t know. I might have been floating in the sky somewhere above Morocco, or I could be resting on the clouds above the Jamia Masid of New Delhi, I might have been sitting right beside this form of me, but I wasn’t here, this wasn’t me. So I began acting like someone who’s not really here, absently doing things, answering queries unconcernedly. I’m not even here so why bother. Except, to other people, I was here, this was me, and I should have acted like myself. How could I, when this wasn’t me, really? How do I act like myself? Act is what we do, in reality. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players”, as the bard puts it so eloquently. So here I was, worrying about how I should act when instead, I should have been worrying about where I am, if not here…

Where am I? Morocco, New Delhi, Karachi saahil, my own home, or have I passed away entirely? Is that why I cannot function the way I am supposed to? This “supposed to” creates a myriad of problems for me. I have this stubborn, twisted muscle which makes me want to defy every “supposed to”. And when I do that, I end up defying all accepted forms of being. And then…. well, then I end up existing everywhere but here. What does it mean to not exist? Does it mean being dead in all senses of death? Does it mean being dead in the heart? Does it mean being wiped off the face of this Earth? Or does it mean doing things not apropos to world?

I’m wandering off-topic. But then, there is no topic. I’m not here. Only this world requires  a topic and a label on everything. I’m not here. I need no topic. But I do wonder where I am, and who this “I” is that I keep on referring to. I do wonder.

c.i.r.c.l.e.s

Her: Try again.. try to sleep.
The other person: I cant.
Her: Try. At least your eyes won’t hurt.
The other person: What about the heart?
Her: It’s not broken.
The other person: Are my eyes broken?…
Her: *silence*

The other person: I feel like giving up on life.
Her: Why so?
The other person: Such depressing feelings..
Her: So you feel like giving up? Because you’re depressed? Because of that one incident?
The other person: No… It has nothing to do with that.

Her: It began there. Deny it all you want.
The other person: It began there, but it’s not because of that.
Her: Just like life began with birth, but that’s not why you want to give up on it.

Finish that jigsaw puzzle.

Two children had an early morning today. They decided not to disturb their parents and played a game of jigsaw puzzles between the two of them.They couldn’t even complete the game, it was time for school. Grudgingly, they left the game half completed, on their dining table, and left for school. Their mother smiled at them from the door, reminded them to finish their lunch which she had prepared like everyday, so lovingly.
But then, they had an early night as well. Hours before night was to come. It is 5 pm. They are not back yet. The jigsaw puzzle remains unfinished. The only difference-they’re a little wet, and very salty.

*****************

Today has been tragic. A school of Peshawar, Pakistan was attacked by some ruthless, heartless, vile militants. A hundred children died. For nothing. A hundred stories like the one above. A hundred early nights. Way too early. Let this not be about a school, a city, a province, a country, or a religion. Let this be about those children. Let this also be about their teachers, about the people who died trying to save them. Let this be about bleeding hearts. Let this be about dead little humans, and about alive little humans. Let this be about this tragedy. Cry. Be remorseful. Depress yourself. Let everything be gloomy. Let the sun vanish, let the clouds go grey, let the dark prevail.
And then think of those children. Think of their rosy cheeks, bright smiles, colourful eyes, beautiful lives. Let that colour your life. Breathe it in. Breathe them in. For their souls are now all around you. Let that colour seep in, absorb it. Then make their deaths worthwhile. Finish that jigsaw puzzle.

In weakness is your strength, and in strength your weakness

Exactly four tears trickled out of her eyes.
“I want to be brave, I want to be brave, I want to be brave,” she silently chanted to herself. You’ll be the bravest person on Earth if you let yourself cry right now. “No, I can’t. I won’t. I’m stronger than this.” Holding back tears isn’t strength. It’s a weakness. It means you’re not strong enough to see yourself vulnerable. “No, I’m strong enough to see my vulnerability and patch it up. I will not cry. That will only increase the intensity of these feelings.” And what exactly is wrong with these feelings? You have done nothing to be ashamed of. “I…. I might have. Why else would I be here? I must have done something. Something I don’t remember. It must be my fault somehow.” There is nothing wrong with your feelings. You did nothing wrong- not there anyway. You’re allowed to cry. Be strong. “How does crying make strong?!” It shows your humanity. Unfeeling human are not strong. It is those who feel with a passion that are strong. Numbing yourself does you no good. It makes you weaker.

“I am not numb.” But you will be. “No, I try very hard to feel everything with a passion,  so I do not turn into an unfeeling being.” Unfeeling being? “Well, yes. Unfeeling human seems to make no sense.” Ah yes, you try to feel everything with a passion. Everything but that which you need to feel. “That is not true.” Isn’t it? “No… I’ve felt it too much for too great a period. I feel that it is now time to let it go.” Let it go? Of course. But by suppressing it? “Suppression is defense.” 

So by numbing yourself to those certain feelings, you’re letting go of them and hence defending yourself? “……yes.”
I see. Cowardice is strength. “You don’t get it….” Oh, I don’t? Why must you assume so? I understand you perfectly.
*silence*
Sometimes the biggest feat of strength is to not be strong…. “I am strong.” Then why do you feel the need to not let your feelings intensify? Isn’t that weakness? “No, that is maturity. That is control over self.” Oh pish posh! You need to get your concepts straight.
“Why? Maturity is learning to control feelings, learning to differentiate between the significant and insignificant ones.” Exactly that. Except, that is not what you’re doing. You’re being immature by insisting that you’re being mature. 
*sigh*
“I’ve spent years feeling it. It hasn’t helped. Now i’m trying to let it go. Let me let it go!” If you were really letting go and if you were really convinced of it, you wouldn’t need my consent. “I’m not…” -Look. Just feeling it is obviously not enough. Feeling too much or feeling too less isn’t going to help either. Honestly, crying for the sake of crying won’t help. But neither will numbing yourself.
“What then?! What do I do?!” Letting go is a lie. Nobody can let go. Not unless there’s something incredibly powerful behind it. So let go of letting go. Cry. It’s okay. Deal with it as it comes. Be strong.

But then, once you’ve cried, brace yourself. Excess of anything is harmful. So it is with strength.

 

Hold, control, withhold

There’s this eagerness in her blood
A quickness in her breath
A pressure behind her eyes
A sea she cannot hold.

There’s this agony in her pulse
A lost feeling in her chest
A blur in her sight
A flood she cannot control.

There’s this promise in her thoughts
A past reminder in her will
A calmness in her wet eyes
An emotion she shall withhold.

~Moniba.

Sometimes I hate exploring

There are times… When I hate exploring. The world, the world wide web, people, myself… It seems to bring out a lot of bad stuff. I explore the world, I see evil, I see difficulties, I see sinister propaganda, I see so many global problems that won’t be solved any time soon. I explore the world wide web, I see dirt, ’nuff said. I explore people, I see depression, confusion, hatred, uncertainty. I see almost everyone lost, unhappy… And then I explore myself. I see the same.

It’s said that that’s what growing up is. My brother always tells me, you’ve seen nothing yet. You don’t know the world. Well guess what, bro? I seriously don’t think I want to know anymore than I already know. And I know much more than you think I do. I’m not that naive. I want to believe there’s a better part of the world. It’s strange that the bad covers the good so heavily everywhere. I’ve done my digging. I know and I see the good. I’m the kind of person that looks for good in everything and everyone. Yes, it can be disappointing at times, but I think it’s better. Better than what everyone else who sees one side must go through.

If I put my clear and positive glasses on, and then see the world, I see beauty, I see passion, I see the wind. I see exquisite distinction in everything; every leaf, every twig, every surface, every creature. The view then, is breathtaking. If I then explore the web, I see benefit. And if I explore the people, I see love, I see warm and beautiful emotions, I see the reasons behind everything, I see care, and need. And then I delve into myself. I see wonder, I see excitement and talent, and I find myself yearning to do everything that I can for the world and its people and then my mind goes into hyperactivity. 

I try not to get discouraged from exploring. It can be a delightful thing. So I’ll keep on exploring the world, its people, myself, because that’s how I can understand everything. Why the world works the way it does, why people are the way they are, and finally… Why I am what I am? I know the answers to almost all these questions. But I want to discover them again, all by myself. I’ll go on looking for all the different shades of the colours of the world. I’ll look into everything the world has to offer. And hopefully, I’ll be able to make my dent here. A beautiful dent. Hopefully, after taking everything, I’ll be able to give my everything too… To the better of this world.

In the end, I reach the conclusion that perhaps… It all depends upon the person. It’s true that we usually see what we look for, or what we want to. I’ll say the cliché thing here: Be the change that you want to see. Peace.