

31 Days of Depression

(Inside the depressed mind)

Owaiz

Table of Contents

(Inside the depressed mind) 1

Dedication 4

Depression: Battery Low 7

Day 1 – Why I Deactivated My Facebook 9

Day 2 – Sleepless Nights 10

Day 3 – Narrowing It Down! 12

Day 4 – Malala! 14

Day 5 – Zoloft! 15

Day 6 – The Magical Walk! 16

Day 7 – There and Back Again 18

Day 8 – You're Not You! 20

Day 9 – Why I'm Avoiding Anti-Depressants 21

Day 10 – Surprise! 22

Day 11 – Changes? 23

Day 12 – Promises Piss Me Off! 24

Day 13 – The Servants in Pakistan 25

Day 14 – An Infinitely Lazy Day! 27

Day 15 – Flu! 28

Day 16 – Perfect Storm! 29

Day 17 – Cluelessness! 30

Day 18 – Ungrateful! 31

Day 19 – Flu Sucks! 32

Day 20 – Hating the Bed 33

Day 21 – A Better Tomorrow 34

Day 22 – Politeness is Overrated! 35

Day 23 – The Flight 38

Day 24 – Perpetual Disappointment! 39

Day 25 – Nightmares, False Memories, and Craziness 40

Day 26 – My Heart 42

Day 27 – SONY (Same Old New Year) & The Depression Dilemma 43

Day 28 – Depression: The Choice We Have to Make 44

Day 29 – Tomorrow, Today, and Now of Zombies 45

Day 30 – An Eternal Moment of Nothingness 46

Day 31 – Here and One More Time 48

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the people out there who struggle with

depression (and the other diseases that come with it),

and to those who put up with them.

About

Depression is a terrible disease of the mind. I say 'terrible' because it takes away your happiness and makes the world look bleak and hopeless. It is not just a mental disease; it is very physical. It pushes people over the edge and drives them to suicide. According to WebMD, "Over 90% of people who die by suicide have clinical depression or another diagnosable mental disorder."

What makes things even worse for the people suffering from depression is the stigma, misconceptions, and the inability to understand of the people who care. I've had depression for over a decade and I know how hard it is, that even when people care, no matter how well they wish us, they say things that are downright ignorant and piss us off. Why? Because they simply have no idea, and while they try to help us, they make things worse because they don't know.

I came across a writing challenge that I willingly accepted, being an aspiring writer. The challenge was simple: I had to write 500 words for 31 days. There were no rules so I didn't have to write everyday. As it happens, I started this challenge when my depression was picking up pace, so my 31 days were mostly about depression, how I felt, or what went through my mind.

Now, for me there are two types of people. Those who have depression and those who don't. The one's who don't have it can't understand what it is like, and the ones who have it can understand it all with the least words said.

But as I went through the challenge, I would get messages from people who read my blog. My sister, my brothers, my friends, and whoever came across the blog or saw the link on Facebook read it. The best things that came out of it was a lot of people began to understand. My sister told me, "I think I have some idea now. At least I understand that I can't understand what you go through, but I do have some idea now." That was it, that was what inspired me to turn the whole thing into a book.

The only purpose of this book is for the readers to get an idea of what goes on inside the mind of a depressed person and what they go through, so that they can understand and relate. The struggle is different for everyone but the problems are mostly the same (not always.) When you read these days, or chapters, in the end you will be able to see how depression changed me. How it began, how I started getting tired, missing work deadlines, became unable to work, and ended up fully crippled. You will notice the changes, my fear of the harsh anti-depressants, my unwillingness to take them, becoming suicidal, and giving up and realising that I needed anti-depressants. You will see how I set my mind to do something, to write 500 words daily, and how my resolve to do that broke as my depression increased. You will see how I changed, how I started getting frustrated easily and at the littlest things, and started having mood swings without realising.

Don't limit yourself to the chapters, instead, look at the whole picture. When you've read all the chapters, you'll see how depression affects the mind and how the outlook changes. I've also added notes so you know what was going on.

I do not claim to have any scientific or medical knowledge. Any medicines mentioned in this book are what I've been prescribed but that does not mean you should take them without consulting a doctor first.

THE SOLE PURPOSE OF THIS BOOK IS TO HELP YOU UNDERSTAND, so you know what it is like and can be more considerate, that's all. Here you'll find 31 days of my personal struggle with depression. Come, take a walk with me, then.

Depression: Battery Low

Note: This was when the depression started. At times I didn't know I was depressed, I wasn't sure, but the depression continuously increased in intensity over the next 3-4 months.

12th September 2014

A little less than a month ago, I went to another city with my family to visit some relatives. We visit them at least twice a year, and I love that city. Majority of the people I know find that city boring because there isn't much to do. I, on the other hand, absolutely adore it for that very fact. There is a lot to do, too, if you know what you want to do and where to go. The city is quiet and serene, filled with beauty of nature and silence. The moment we got there, I started choking. It became difficult to breathe. I wanted to get out of there right away but it was midnight, so I spent the night. In the morning, I got up and left for home. That's when the depression started.

I'm going to write about it here because I want my readers to know how it is, what it is like, how difficult this struggle is, and also because I need to rant and to let it out. I need to say things that I can't say in real life.

So, contrary to the popular belief, there isn't always something that triggers it. Sometimes it just happens.

When I went home, I felt fine, just a little tired. I spent the entire day in bed, sleeping or watching TV, and only got out to get something to eat or to use the restroom. I'm not a TV person, but I felt so tired, so drained of energy, that I found myself in bed for the next 4-5 days, until my family got back.

I wasn't really sure if it was depression. Usually depression brings nightmares, negative thoughts, hopelessness, and sadness. This time, though, I just felt tired and weak. I started skipping the gym because I had no strength left. I thought maybe it was weakness and starting taking multi-vitamins. No results.

Then I started feeling something different. When I walked, it was like my body was too big for me. I started feeling small in my own skin. I don't believe in souls but it felt like my soul and body were of different sizes. When I walked, the movements felt a bit awkward. And then, for no apparent reason, I wanted to die. I wasn't suicidal, but I felt too tired to live.

When the battery is only 5% left, you know your phone won't make it to the next day, and that's how I felt. How do I charge myself? I don't know. A few days later, I got in touch with my psychiatrist and he said that I was depressed, and showed symptoms of de-realisation and de-personalisation. What are they? I told him that nothing had happened, no triggers, then why? He said it just happens without a trigger sometimes.

I couldn't work. I just sat on the sofa all day staring at the computer screen, trying to work, but couldn't write a single word. I could take meds, like the doctor said, except I didn't have the strength. My university was going to start in a few days and I had to move to another city, and I thought I'd be fine once I get there. The change would do me good. Except that it didn't.

I couldn't talk about it at home because even though I'm the one who suffers, I also have to put up with people who tell me that they worry about me, are sad because I'm depressed, and want me to get better soon. Yes, normally it is good to know that people care. But when you're depressed, it becomes hard to put up with that. Man, I can't control it. I can't just get better. I'm the one who is suffering and I don't want to know how worried or sad you are. It adds to my burden. So, instead, I just say that I'm fine, only tired. I don't want your concern and sympathy, thank you. Depression makes me bitter, and the sweetness and sympathy only irritates me.

They tell you that being around others helps. I think it only makes it worse. When I'm depressed, I'm mostly zoned out. I can't keep up with conversations. It takes too much energy to force yourself to listen to what others have to say, to nod, to agree, to feign interest, to ask questions, and to make sure that they don't get offended. The thing is that when a person has depression, they have a small reserve of energy, and instead of wasting it on small talk, they prefer to save it for a time when it might be needed. Carrying a normal conversation leaves us exhausted and we need rest after that; it's not sleep or anything. We need some time alone. I need a lot of time alone. I prefer getting in bed and staring into nothing, or just lying down with my eyes closed. It doesn't give me more energy but it takes away some exhaustion.

Day 1 – Why I Deactivated My Facebook

I deactivated my Facebook account. Why? Because it was choking me. I'm a free bird. I like expressing myself, saying what I want, standing up for what I believe in. On Facebook, we have our family, friends, acquaintances, and all sorts of people. What I noticed was that I couldn't decry something I don't like. If you say something, people can criticise you or throw in their two cents, and that's okay, because everyone has a right to their own opinion, and, freedom of speech. But, if you want to speak against something religious, no matter how stupid and senseless that thing is, you get attacked. People want you to respect their religion, while they are okay if you denounce another religion. So, is religion an exception to the freedom of speech?

Anyway, there was too much hypocrisy there. And I was depressed. Deactivating my Facebook account did not cure my depression, but it did make me feel better. Later on, I found an article that explained how Facebook and other social networks contribute to depression. People only share their best moments, good times, etc., or their petty problems and issues. No one shares the real deal, now, do they? No one will update their status to tell you how the marriage of their parents is falling apart. What is this obsession with appearing perfect? Why not be honest? Why not say it like it is? I don't know.

Anyway, when you're depressed and you see all this perfection, you compare it to your own life and feel even more miserable. The truth is that even you wouldn't share anything real. Everyone knows it, we only share the good stuff. So, when you're depressed, and even if you know how it works there and that you wouldn't share anything bad yourself either, you still compare your life to the picture perfect lives of others and feel awful. Do you get my point? Well, that's what the article said.

But that is not why I deactivated my account. I deactivated it because I felt like I couldn't be myself there. It's like whatever you do, everybody is just waiting to pounce and shred you to pieces. Now I'm thinking of doing a little experiment. I have this picture of me that is objectionable according to Islamic standards. No nudity, I promise, but I'm tempted. I want to see what people say, how they react. It is something they all do, but never own it; in fact, they denounce it. Secondly, I need to reactivate my Facebook account. There are these writing groups I need access to, and I can't access them unless I reactivate it. But then there are all those people. I don't care, I really don't, but I don't want to answer any questions either. Why do we have to think about what people will think? Why should I think about what my brother's fiancée will think about me if I do this or say that?

Day 2 – Sleepless Nights

I have university three days a week: lab on the first day, and lectures on the others. I skip the lab. I believe my university is sub-standard. Scratch that. I go to a sub-standard university. The lab has more students than the computers, tables, and chairs needed. It is a good thing that some students regularly skip the lab, still, less chairs and more students. I tried attending the lab in the beginning, twice. I couldn't. The lab instructor teaches with as much enthusiasm as I have when I have to get out of bed early. The three hours I have to sit there for are an absolute torture. The teacher reads from the manual that all the students already have, then goes back to his table and chats with his colleagues. He reappears when the lab is about to end, but doesn't really make sure that anyone learned anything. Everyone spends time talking, chatting, whatever. Since I don't get along with anyone, I just sit. I'm not into messaging so my iPhone is of no use either. I still keep it in my hand to check the time twice a minute. There aren't any games in it that I can play. There's some music, but I have no interest in music anymore.

I used to love music. I believed it was the food for my soul. I needed music. I had everything, I think, probably the biggest collection. If I liked a song, I downloaded every album by the artist. Whatever mood I was in, I had something for it. Music helped me fall asleep on sleepless nights. But it all changed 22 months ago, like someone flipped the switch. Music became noise. I removed all the music from my phone; it was clutter. Now, on the sleepless nights, it's just me and my thoughts.

Last night was a sleepless night, just like the night before it. The night before, I slept around 4 in the morning and woke up around 12. I wanted to sleep but I forced myself to stay up, because I wanted to sleep on time last night; I had to wake up at 7 in the morning so I could go to uni. I took a Lexotanil around 11:30 and went to bed at 1.

Lexotanil helps me stay asleep and keeps the nightmares away. I don't take it regularly because I don't want to develop a tolerance for it. When you develop a tolerance for it, you need it but it doesn't do anything. It's my saviour, although it did nothing last night.

I just couldn't fall asleep. There were a million thoughts and voices in my head. Cigarettes help me with that. When I smoke, I get a little 'high,' a headache of sorts. The headache takes over the thoughts and helps me fall asleep. I think I smoked 5-6 cigs and I just didn't get the headache. So, at 4 in the morning, I decided to get out of bed. I'd stay up, go to university, and sleep when I come home.

By 6:30 in the morning, I was super fatigued and exhausted. I decided to close my eyes for 30 minutes. I had 8 alarms in place and missed them all. I woke up at 9:20. The lecture would be over before I'd get to the university. Missing a lecture is not that big of a deal. I've only missed 2 so far, including this one. The thing is that I have only 2 lectures a week, so even if I miss one, I feel off. I keep beating myself up about it. It just doesn't feel right, even though I hate going to university. Wednesday was a holiday so I only had one lecture to attend this week. And I missed it. I keep trying not to think about it, but, damn it, I can't stop. It's just not in my control.

I wasn't able to work today either. I spent the entire day in bed. I am always tired, so tired. But I can't tell anyone that I'm tired, because they're gonna say the same thing: Tired because you've been in bed all day? Yeah, why are you tired, what did you do? Nothing! It's nigh impossible to make them understand, so I don't even try. How can you make someone who doesn't have depression understand that depression makes you tired? I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I'm fatigued. And I can't sleep. When I do sleep, it is full of nightmares. I don't mind the nightmares; I'm used to them. They wear off in minutes, but when you have nightmares, you don't actually get any proper sleep, and you don't wake up relaxed. It's like you never slept.

Since I'm way over my 500 words, I can stop wherever I want. And I'll stop here. Oh, the power I have. I'm in control! Wait, that was sarcasm.

With great power comes great responsibility, along with an opportunity to exploit it. I'll exploit my power. I'll write on!

I decided to add an image to this post and found the perfect one. The photo you see above, I took it. I love it! It's of a room I'd be happy to spend the rest of my life in. I'd draw the curtains, turn off the lights, and enjoy knowing how beautiful it is outside. During the cold winter afternoons, I would keep the curtains drawn and the lights off. I would lie curled up in a duvet, surrounded by cushions and pillows, in the cozy bed, and watch the light bleed in. I'd watch the day transition into the night from the intensity and brightness of the light that pours in, until the light dies and my thoughts take over.

Come to think of it, I'd never be comfortable there. I'd never be able to live there and enjoy the serenity. At one point or another, the paranoia will set in. I'll want security and safety. Security and safety will ruin the beauty and the tranquility. Some dreams will remain dreams, but I'd happily dream this dream, over and over.

Day 3 – Narrowing It Down!

These posts are not only a part of the 31-day writing challenge, but also the #intentionalblogging challenge. I'll try to keep up with both. The email I got from Jeff today was about giving a focus, subject, and theme to your blog. My blog will remain a personal blog, but if there's anything I will focus on, it will be depression. Since my own struggle was difficult and continues to be, I'd like others to get a glimpse into what it's like, so they can understand better; not that they will ever fully understand it, unless they have depression as well.

"If you have ever lost a loved one, then you know exactly how it feels. And if you have not, then you cannot possibly imagine it." ― Lemony Snicket, The Bad Beginning

I read the aforementioned quote once. Back then, I thought it was wrong. I knew I had a wonderful imagination and I could picture the best and the worst. I had a list of people I loved the most. Up until then I hadn't lost anyone in my life, so I imagined what it would be like. The thing is that when you imagine, you can evoke feelings too. You can actually feel it and see it happen. I can, at least. So I imagined the death of the person on top of that list, from receiving the news to the aftermath. I couldn't imagine a life. I thought I'd faint or have a breakdown when I'd get the news of the death, cry my eyes out, not eat or drink anything, stop talking, and end up a zombie.

Unfortunately, 22 months ago, that very person died. It's what I call the first death in my life. It was the first time a person I knew so well, so personally, was loved by and loved so dearly died. When I got the news, I had no reaction. I was standing with my friends and I ran away. It was all I could do. When I got there, I couldn't cry. I had to force a few tears out. When I went home, I refused to eat, but I hadn't eaten all day and was famished, so I ate something. And then I couldn't talk about it. I still can't talk about it. I still can't say that person's name. I can't think about it personally and block out all the feelings.

The death sent me spiralling into depression. I didn't take any anti-depressants. The person I loved the most left me, and left me with nothing but pain. But that pain was very personal. I knew that I wouldn't be making any more memories with that person, that the person wouldn't make me feel good or bad again, that I'd never be able to do anything for the person again. It killed me, pierced my heart and soul, every time I realised that I would never hear the person's voice again. I'd never hear the person call my name, in the sweet way the person called it. I'd never see the person's beautiful smile again, or be able to touch them. Everything killed me. It was all too painful, but pain was all that person left me, so I couldn't numb that pain. I knew it was the last thing I had from the person, so I chose to feel it, every bit of it. It was excruciating, and I suffered, but I felt every bit of it, because it was all that I was left with. It changed me and the pain faded slowly, very, very slowly.

I started waking up in the middle of the night, had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen to that person, had to call the person and warn them. I would reach for my phone, but immediately realise that the person was already gone. And I would die again. The pain would start all over again. I had to live that nightmare for over a year and a half, until I desensitised completely.

So, I was wrong. You don't know what it is like until you've lost someone.

It's the same with depression. You don't know what it's like until you have it. You can't possibly understand the feeling of being doomed, the wish to die, the desire for peace, the lack of energy, the hopelessness, the lost will, or anything else that comes with depression, until you have it. I now classify people into two categories:

– People who have depression

– People who don't have depression

With the latter, I don't bother explaining. All I can tell them is that I'm fine. That's all they want to hear and that's what they can understand, because they can't possibly understand it even if they try to. But what they can do is try and be there. We deny it. I deny it. But, somehow, when I look back, it matters who was there and who wasn't. Don't cling to us. Give us space. But, be there. Support us. Tell us it will be alright. Don't tell us to be positive and hope. Look up the meaning of the word 'depression,' and you'll understand that positivity is impossible. It is impossible for me. I write ebooks and I've made it very clear to all my clients that the one topic I will not write about is positivity.

The image attached to this post, or one very similar to it, used to be my display picture on MSN about 8-9 years ago. It was cool and I liked it, but I never understood it. I understand it now. It makes sense now. This is why people with depression can't really describe how they feel. We don't feel like this stupid line. We just feel weird, meh! And just like that, all those stupid profile pictures started making sense, like the ones about the pain behind a smile and stuff. Also, I woke up super tired because I couldn't sleep. I'm still tired. I haven't done anything at all, but I'm tired. Happens when you have depression.

Day 4 – Malala!

Then there are days when I'm just okay - This isn't about depression, but this is one of those days. You can skip reading this one if you want.

So, Malala won the Nobel Peace Prize! Congratulations to her! I sincerely hope she is not surprised, shocked, or disappointed by how her own country has reacted. After all, it is just a prize. People still refuse to believe that she was shot at all, so, yeah, it's just a prize.

I came across two pictures today. One showed Malala as a puppet of Israel, and said, "Malala, this is why we hate you." I don't get it. Why do we blame Israel for everything? I won't be surprised if someone tells me, 'Israel is the leading cause of cancer in the people of Pakistan.' I mean, come on! Why is everything a conspiracy? A big international conspiracy against the Muslims of Pakistan (of all Muslims.) When Gaza was being bombed, we talked about humanity. 'You don't have to be a Muslim, you just have to be a human being.' Remember? Well, why do you have to stop being a human being when it comes to Malala? What is that poor girl getting from all this? What are we getting from all this?

Yes, she's living in UK, but, really, is that the dream life? A few friends of mine who hate Malala, also happen to be the ones trying really hard to get out of Pakistan. I'm going to assume that they are just jealous because she ended up somewhere they are dying to be. At what cost? A bullet to her head!

Let's put all the conspiracy theories aside. Let's take a tiny moment to look at a little girl who was shot. Can you imagine the pain and the trauma? Try to be a human being now.

Now, what is she fighting for? Prince Harry? She's fighting for education, something this country desperately needs!

I'm not going to apologise to Malala for the hatred she receives from her country, because (a) I'm happy for her and congratulate her, and (b) this is the reason she needs to fight!

Educated people see things the way they are, and do not mistake everything for a conspiracy. So, go on, Malala, fight harder! This is the reason you need to fight!

The second photo I saw asked a lot of questions. I'm not at my best right now, probably at my worst, but I'll try to respond to them.

The questions were about why Malala got the prize, and why not Edhi, or the teacher who died saving students from a burning bus, or the boy who died tackling a suicide bomber, or the children who died in Iraq and Gaza, or Aafia Sidiqqui, etc.

Well, probably because the Nobel Peace Prizes are not reserved for Pakistanis or Muslims only. I think it is a disgrace to even make these lame ass comparisons, and, quite frankly, Aafia Sidiqqui is probably a terrorist. I don't think a country like America would keep an average woman in jail for no reason. You can call her your sister, mother, whatever, but her activities were questionable.

Ugh! I don't even know what I'm writing. But, 500 words, hurray!

Day 5 – Zoloft!

I gave much thought to what I should write about today. I wanted to write something deep and profound, but I'm pretty blank right now. So, here's what happened:

I slept early in the morning, around 7. I don't remember when I woke up, but it was sometime in the afternoon. As usual, I woke up tired and achy. The first thing I go for after waking up is a cigarette, but I ran out of them last night, so I spent an extra hour in bed. Mourning. (Not really, I was just tired.) Then I mustered up some strength, pushed my self (groaning) out of the bed, and had breakfast. Weetabix! It's hard for me to make small decisions, so I spent some time thinking whether I should have a glass of warm milk or Weetabix. Settled on Weetabix, obviously. Then I had to decide whether I wanted one biscuit or two. Two. Then I had to choose between nuts, fruits, and honey. That's a lie. There were no nuts, I forgot about the fruits, so I just had to decide whether or not to add honey. I do love Weetabix without honey, but all the calories and energy and stuff you get with honey won in the end. I had good breakfast! Then I called my best friend because I'd missed her calls earlier.

We talked about our lives and stuff, and she told me that I should start some treatment for my depression. I've been told that before by other people, but when she says something, it matters. She knows me really well and understands. Anyway, I decided to give it a go. Sometimes all you need is a little push. This was my push, and only she could push me. So, I called up my psychiatrist, and he told me I should start Zoloft. He told me the same thing in August but I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready three days ago when he told me the same thing. I'm not ready now either. I don't know what it is that is stopping me, but it just doesn't feel right. I pushed through and made progress though. I bought the meds. I don't know when I'll start taking them. I try but I can't bring myself to it. I don't have any explanation for it. I thought about it and found a reason, to satisfy myself at least. Insomnia is one of the side-effects listed and I don't want that. It's super-difficult to fall asleep, it is impossible to not wake up twice an hour, and I don't want anything making it worse. I just can't take the risk.

But I also know that I have to. I know that I need to. Because I deserve a normal life. I'm not a hero or a warrior. I'm a stubborn & insubordinate asshole! And I'll be damned if I let depression win. Now I'm just gonna prepare myself mentally and physically for this and then kick depression's ass! I know, I know, what's with the mental and physical preparation; it's depression, not cancer. It's a med, not chemotherapy. But when your will is lost and you don't have the energy, which happens during depression, then you need to prepare. I've constantly battled depression during the last 9 years and now I'm exhausted. All I need is a minute to catch my breath...

Day 6 – The Magical Walk!

Yesterday, I wanted to tell you about the walk I took in the park. I didn't because there was nothing special about it. I had my earphones plugged in, it was dark, and I walked for about half an hour. I was zoned out and it was a bit difficult to walk. The end! But why did I start walking?

On Saturday night, I decided I needed to start taking walks. It is super difficult to get out of bed and do the normal things, so the walks are going to be my little victories. And, today, the walk was amazing.

It gets dark shortly after 18. I left maybe 3 minutes before 18. It was drizzling outside. The cold wind pressed against me like an unwilling embrace. My earphones were already plugged in, but nothing was playing. As I entered the park, a guy standing by said something. Lost in my own world, I didn't quite catch what he said. Probably wanted to know what time it was. Pretending not to notice, I walked past him. The park was nearly empty. The rain danced on the leaves as the trees swayed with the wind. I could barely see two guys hiding in a gazebo behind the trees. Then there were the other two who were walking in the opposite direction, crossed my path every now and then.

The sun was nowhere in sight, and the sky was covered in patches of blue, black, and peach. The playground was empty. No kids. The wind swayed the swings and it reminded me of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I took two shoddy pictures from my phone. The wind was ruling the park today, making its presence known. I pressed play on my iPod. The music drowned the wailing wind.

Walking with my head down, oblivious to the music playing, I noticed the pavement. I don't know what my iPod was playing, but my mind was playing Chasing Pavements by Adele. I chased the pavement for a while, till my iPod made its presence known.

Astronomia – Tony Igy. The beats drum with my heart.

I press next.

Fireworks – Katy Perry.

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag,

Drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?

Do you ever feel, feel so paper-thin

Like a house of cards, one blow from caving in?

The sand slithered on the roadside as the plastic bags took to the air.

You just gotta ignite the light, and let it shine

I look up and stare into the sky.

'Cause baby, you're a firework

Come on, show 'em what you're worth

Make 'em go "oh, oh, oh!"

As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Right on cue, the sparks fly from behind the Colosseum-esque buildings, like shooting stars. And suddenly the entire sky lights up. Fireworks ensue from all sides. I look at my surroundings. A glowing white dolphin jumps out of a raindrop and swims upward. The leaves all light up like emeralds. Tiny blue creatures start popping out of the bushes, neon blue, like electric sparks. I notice a tree with three benches surrounding it.

Adele starts singing. I shake my head. The brilliance disappears. I marvel at my own imagination. It's all I need.

Daydreamer

...

A jaw dropper

Looks good when he walks

Is the subject of their talk

He would be hard to chase

But good to catch

And he could change the world

With his hands behind his back, oh...

Day 7 – There and Back Again

Today was an awful day. For me, an awful day is a day in which things do not go as planned. It causes me great mental distress. Today I was mad enough that I'd decided I was gonna commit suicide. I didn't, though. Yay?

Here's what happened:

I'd been up since yesterday, couldn't sleep all night. Had to go to university in the morning. By the time I got ready to leave, it was raining. I decided not to go, but we are having finals this week. I had an exam on Thursday, and I wasn't sure when the lab exam was going to be. I texted the Class Representative to ask whether they were going to conduct the lab sessional today or next week. He sent back a hurried reply: "Exam in room#203, come quick!"

Apparently the Thursday exam had been rescheduled and I wasn't informed. He turned his phone off after that. I rushed to the university, mad that no one had informed me, and knew I was going to miss the exam. Not my fault. When they make changes like these, they are supposed to inform everyone, and I'd already given them my number. I left within 2 minutes. The cabs charge more on rainy days so I had to pay an exorbitant amount because I didn't have the time to negotiate or argue. The cab drops me halfway and from there onwards I've got to take a bus. The bus takes anywhere from 5-15 minutes to arrive, and is the fastest. There was no bus in sight, and I had to get in a van. The van guys are assholes and the van doesn't move until it is full. More than full, actually: we travel over-capacity in Pakistan. Anyway, I sat brooding in the van, but then the bus arrived and I left the van.

There is a saying, I don't remember exactly what it is, but it goes something like 'anything that can go wrong, does go wrong.' In an episode of Grey's Anatomy, they said it was called a 'Perfect Storm.' Today was turning out to be my perfect storm.

Remember I said the bus is the fastest? Well, today it wasn't. There's a train track on the way. In the 4 years I've been travelling to my uni, I've seen the train 5 times only. But, today, it came up! I love watching trains, trust me, I really do. Just not today. God! A train had to block our way today. No, wait, it did more than that. It didn't just pass. It stopped before passing. The gates closed and the train stopped, sneering at me, working me up into a rage. Then the fucking never-ending train moved.

Another thing about the bus: you have to get on it really fast. The bus stops for less than 30 seconds and everyone has to get on and off it in those 30 seconds. Most of the time they don't even stop the bus. They just slow it down so you can get on or off it. I like it. It's fast. Today, however, an insanely large family got on the bus. The bus stopped for another 5 minutes so they could get on, settle, and get their luggage in place. Awesome. Fucking Brilliant!

I have a suicide pact with my best friend. The deal is, whenever we seriously think about committing suicide, we've got to call the other. We both know what this means: we'll either talk the other out of it or go with them. That was the original plan. Now we've grown, so the latter is not really an option. I mean, I wouldn't want my friend to do it for me. Screw it!

I kept telling myself I don't care. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care, but DAMN IT! I'm in a fucking shithole here! It doesn't matter whether I care or not. The shit clings to me anyway. Tell you what, ENOUGH! I've had it! I was gonna call my friend as soon as I got home and I was gonna do it. Depression makes my life suck as it is, I don't need more shit. Why, when I do everything right, does shit happen to me? Why the fuck on earth was I not informed? Why did I have to rush to the university? I was gonna commit suicide today. I was gonna hang myself or slit my wrists. I was done!

Except, 5 minutes before I reached the university, I got another text from that guy: "Sorry, it was the EMT exam." EMT is not my subject. Can you imagine the distress you caused me? Do you know your stupidity almost threw me over the edge? Then I started laughing. I'm going fucking crazy. Did I overreact? Maybe. Happens when you have depression.

So, yeah, that's what happened today. Today was not my day. Today was an awful day.

Day 8 – You're Not You!

In August, my cousin nominated me for the Ice Bucket Challenge. I had 24 hours to do it, so I did. In those 24 hours, I also took a few minutes to learn about ALS. I learned that it was a degenerative disease and that it was also called Lou Gehrig's disease. That's it, that's all I learned, then I took the Ice Bucket challenge, posted the video along with the links for donation and information about ALS. Then I forgot about it. I did not take the challenge because it was trending; I don't like making videos of myself. I did it because I have a mental disease that millions of people suffer from, and billions are still ignorant about it or unable to understand. And this was another disease that the world needs to know about, to help, and to understand.

Today, I was browsing movies and found 'You're Not You.' The description caught my attention. It was about a pianist who gets ALS. I decided to watch it. I did. I learned a lot about ALS and saw how it affects people. The movie is heartbreaking and depressing from beginning to end. It could have had a happy ending but that's just not how the world works. The movie would have been a lie if it had a happy ending.

Today, I realised (not for the first time) how much the world sucks. Why does it have to be this way? What if I get ALS tomorrow? I wouldn't even be able to commit suicide then.

–

The second thing I want to write about is sleep. I can't sleep. In the last 50 hours, I've had 8-9 hours of sleep. Sleeping is difficult for me. I wake up like twice an hour. I thought it was awful, but now I can't really sleep at all. I find myself in a stupor of sorts. Sometimes I want to do something, I want to work, I want my energy, but I just don't have it. It feels weird and the world around me is a blur.

I'm not afraid of anything except people. I ruled out the existence of demons and ghosts long ago, and since then I haven't allowed myself to be afraid of them. I'm not afraid of the dark either. I get nightmares but I'm okay with them. I wake up scared but it goes away within minutes. But the problem now is that the nightmares are not letting me sleep. I tried sleeping today, but literally woke up every 3 minutes. Then, I don't know how, I got 2 hours of sleep. It wasn't without nightmares either. I wouldn't really call it sleep. I was awake the whole time, only frozen. In the end, I decided it just wasn't worth it. I've been taking energy drinks and Panadol Extra since the past week. While I'm not able to sleep, I'm not very active either. That's the thing, you can't sleep but you can't stay awake properly, so I need the extra energy.

Day 9 – Why I'm Avoiding Anti-Depressants

I have depression and it is severe, I know that. It makes it hard for me to work and do the routine things, so I need to get rid of it. There is a part of me that doesn't want to let go of it, though. I don't know why but I've had depression for so long that I'm not sure I want to part ways with it. I feel like if it goes away, I'll be empty. I feel that my creativity stems from my depression, and if depression goes away, I won't be creative anymore; I won't be able to write. I think that when I'm depressed, I can write better. I can't write with a clear mind. When I have a clear mind, I have to keep smoking until I reach a certain level of mental haze. A slight headache that enables me to focus. I can't write when I'm super depressed either, so what I'd like is to be moderately depressed. A stage where I can write and do the everyday tasks easily as well, but I don't think that is possible, so I want to hold on to my depression for as long as I can.

There are times when it gets so bad that I want it to go away immediately. Panic attacks suck big time! But once they are over and I'm okay, I don't want them to go away completely. Sometimes I anticipate them, but when they strike I curse myself for wanting them. It's a love-hate relationship, a distorted thinking, a confused state of the mind. But it is also what sets me apart from everyone around me. It justifies, in a way, that I'm different. There are times when I want to be normal, like everyone else, but mostly I do not.

There are so many things that set me apart from the people around me, like not having faith and being open about it. I can't be completely open about it, of course, because there are extremists and psychos working on the orders of the illiterate and ill-informed clerics, on the hunt for the heathens, ready to kill them. It is suffocating, too, like being in a cage. I can't openly express my annoyance at the holy things and at their stupidity and ludicrousness. The other day I found a post about holy water, and how some holy guy said he drank only that for 40 days and ended up with layers of fat in his stomach, proving the point that this water is very healthy. I just roll my eyes in my mind. What can I say? If this water was so healthy, wouldn't the entire world be after it? Come to think of it, a water that makes you fat in just 40 days is not healthy at all, is it now? But who can argue with the holy, after all, religion is something that justifies all the wrongdoings in the name of god. The other things that justify such wrongdoings probably come under "Extreme Mental Illnesses."

Day 10 – Surprise!

Today, I went to class early. I didn't want to be late so I ended up being there 35 minutes before the class started. That sucks because I hate waiting. Waiting is the weirdest thing that happens to me, because I don't know what to do. All my friends have already graduated so everyone around is new, though I do see a familiar face here and there, but I don't wanna talk to them. People talk to each other. Normally you graduate when you finish your 8th semester, but there are people around who're in their 12th semester, which is their last chance. They are okay with it, everyone is.

But when it comes to me, seeing those familiar faces bothers me. It bothers me that I didn't graduate on time with all my classmates. We weren't great friends, though. In fact, we were barely friends. During our four years together, I learned that crass as they might be, they were good people. Hospitable and all, which was surprising for me, because I'm not hospitable at all. It was good to see that some people go out of their way for their guests. I wouldn't though, I never have. What's the point?

I'm sitting with a glass of Milo. I love Milo. During the winters, soup is the only thing better than a warm glass of Milo. Today, I had a drink too many, and suddenly I woke up and realised that I haven't written my 500 words, so here I am. Before I got started, I made myself a glass of Milo. I though about putting it in the microwave, but I took a sip and it tasted really good cold, so I ditched the microwave. I also slept better today because I took a Lexo. I mean, what the hell, no nightmares at all! Unfortunately, I can't get started on it. Once you develop a tolerance for it, it stops working for you, and I don't want that. It's my last resort, my safe haven, so I want to keep it that way.

I bought a pack of Milo powder earlier this week so I could have a warm glass of chocolate milk everyday. That didn't happen. So, today, I made half a glass of Milo and poured the rest in a bowl. I'm gonna eat it, yay! I love Milo and Cerelac. Hey, don't judge me, yeah? I know many adults who love Cerelac but don't admit it. The whole cereal-y taste of Cerelac is so good. Two or three times I had proper Cerelac, with water and all. It was absolutely delicious. I also like powdered Milk, the one you use for tea.

I'm tired and sleepy, so I'm waiting for this post to be over so I can finally go to sleep. What else? Oh, yeah, I installed the new OS X Yosemite. It's pretty cool and has the iOS7/8 look. I liked the previous one better, but couldn't resist this because of the awesome features it brings, though I'm still trying to get a hang of it.

500 words, yay! I'm off to sleep. Maybe I'll write something better tomorrow.

Day 11 – Changes?

I'm pretty indecisive. I used to be really strong-willed, knew what I wanted, and went for it. Now I'm a confused mess. The other day I decided to trim my beard because I haven't trimmed it in weeks. It looked bad, I think. I had been thinking about trimming it for over a week. When I trimmed it, I looked better, of course. But I just kept going back to look at myself. Why did I trim it? I shouldn't have trimmed it. Now it's bothering me again because I can't accept this change. I want my scruffy beard back!

I don't take care of myself anymore, not like I used to. I used to use some expensive shampoo, conditioner, hair butter, hair cream, hair oils, serums, etc. And that was just for the hair. I wouldn't use anything else so I had to take that stuff with me. But then it stopped mattering, and I am okay with it. I use whatever shampoo is available, and ignore everything else, except for a face-wash.

Anyway, I found that I was out of shampoo, so I bought another one. I don't care because I always have some matte in my hair so my hair is always rough. Normally I just shower, use shampoo, use matte, and blow-dry my hair. That's the routine. So my uncle had to go somewhere and he took the shampoo and the hair-dryer. I was like yeah, okay, whatever. But it just unsettled me. I think that was because it changed how I had to do things. I had to use another shampoo and couldn't dry my hair. It unsettled me so much that I went to the mart to buy myself another shampoo even though I knew they were out of stock, but I just had to try. I don't know why. I think it is because changes are too much for me, no matter how minor they maybe. Today, my uncle returned and I feel peaceful inside, because a shampoo I don't care about is back. I still look at myself and curse for trimming my beard.

How do you decide? Why is it so hard to stick to your own decisions? Why did I trim it? There's a lack of will. A lack of will to look better, to dress better, and to try. I wasn't always like this, I used to do so much for myself, but now that I look back, I think I'm glad that phase is over. I have an event to go to, the whole family will be there, and if I didn't trim my beard everyone would've asked me a million questions. To avoid that, I trimmed it. That's how I am justifying it to myself. It makes me feel better momentarily.

Changes just suck! I hate changes of all sorts. I want to stick to a routine and I want things to go as planned. I go crazy when things don't go as planned. What the hell, lol!

Day 12 – Promises Piss Me Off!

I vividly remember my childhood. I have a very good memory, and I remember everything I shouldn't. Sometimes I get flashes in my mind, things that didn't make sense, some still don't.

Anyway, back to promises and childhood. Back then, a promise was something that meant something. Even the children knew not to break their promises, and would put aside everything to do what they promised, no matter how clever, cunning, or innocent they were. A promise was a promise, no one went back on it. It helped us trust each other and know that if the other kid/friend promised to do something, they would do it.

Back in school, when we misbehaved, got caught, and said "I'm sorry," our teacher would say, "Don't say sorry. Don't Apologise. I'm sorry means I'll do it again." We were just kids, but she was right. We didn't really mean we'd do it again, but we ended up doing it again. That's how children are, and it's okay, but what my teacher said still resonates in me. What's the point of apologising when you are going to do the same thing again? Children didn't know they were going to do it again, whatever it was, but the teacher did. Sorries probably pissed her off, like promises piss me off.

I've been promised a lot of things. Promises gave me hope. With an imagination like mine, promises came with flashes. Like when someone promised me that they were going to send me on a trip, I could actually see it happen. I could see and feel everything already, from booking the tickets, applying for the visa, checking in, the flight, the hotel, my room, exploring around, etc. And when the person failed to keep their promise, it came with a lot of disappointment because there was so much I'd already been looking forward to. This is just one instance, but the broken promises have been many.

Now a promise is a big 'Fuck You!' to me. If someone promises me something, I get mad. Promises annoy me. I don't want to hear them. Because after all those broken promises, I don't want new promises anymore. It's like all those broken promises have become wounds, and when someone promises something now, it's like they're spraying salt and chilli all over those wounds. It doesn't hurt or anything; It is simply infuriating. I don't wanna hear promises anymore and I don't want to know how good a plan someone has for me. I don't care and I don't wanna hear. You know what? Don't promise. You wanna do something for me, do it! Don't tell me in advance, unless absolutely necessary, like absolutely you-need-to-sign-a-paper necessary. Do it and I'll see. It's safe that way. Why have unprotected sex with someone and ask them to wait for three months so they can see for themselves that you're clean? Why not get tested and bring the results? Don't promise, show it!

I get it, the world is a shitty place and things do not always go as planned. I get it that you're a human being and human beings make mistakes. I get it, I do. I understand, too. But I have no room for promises in my life. Now when people make promises to me, I interrupt them mid-sentence. No sir, I don't wanna hear it, thank you! I'm glad you want to do something good for me but I don't need to hear it right now. Why promise, like, honestly, why? To show that you mean well? To show that you want to do something? See, meaning well and making plans doesn't really do anything, except harm, unless you're actually able to fulfil your promises.

Day 13 – The Servants in Pakistan

Then there are days when I'm just okay - This isn't about depression, but this is one of those days. You can skip reading this one if you want.

Today, I went shopping with my cousins. I didn't buy anything because clothes don't interest me anymore, but I had to go look around and browse before I could say that they don't have anything I like. I even tried a shirt. Anyway, after I was done, I left the mall and waited for them in the parking. It was a no-smoking zone so I started looking around. I watched a family pass by. 7-8 members, including kids, all of them fair, stylish, elegantly dressed. That's the type of crowd we have in the capital, my own family included. These crowds often include an outcast, very easy to spot. Dark, dressed in hand-me-downs, short hair (no matter boy or girl), and usually expressionless. This outcast is a servant. The outcast accompanying the aforementioned family was a girl of about 9 or 10. I wasn't surprised, it is pretty common here; I have seen younger ones, in fact. When I say outcast, I mean someone who stands out from the rest of the group. The servants do a multitude of jobs. The job of this one was to take care of a baby. I couldn't see the baby because it was in a stroller, but I could see the servant push the stroller while the elegantly dressed mother walked on the side in her high heels.

Pakistan is a country where almost anyone can afford a servant. The prices have increased in the past decade, but I think you could easily get a servant for less than $5 a month. Now it's probably $20-50 a month. Still, pretty cheap, because the servants live with you 24/7. I say price, and not rate, because that's how it is. There are people, poor people, who keep on having kids (no birth-control), knowing that they can't afford to put them in school or even feed them. That's usually the reason they will give you if you ask them why they put their kids up for this sort of work. I don't believe it, though. They do it so they don't have to work themselves, and won't have to feed the kids either. You don't see a tear in their eyes when they give their kids up like this. It makes me really sad. How can anyone hire a servant who's 7 year old? But they do. Faith in humanity lost.

My aunt once had a servant girl who started working for her around the age of 8 or 9. When that girl finally left, she was above 18. They don't get a penny from their earnings. There are no rules or laws to protect them, or to prevent people from putting their kids up for servitude. Once you have a servant, and you have paid for it, you are free to do whatever you want with them. You can feed them stale food, starve them, beat them, keep them from sleeping, torture them, or be nice to them; it is entirely up to you. But people are generally frustrated, and who better to take your frustration out on than a servant who won't talk back? I've seen little girls and boys, less than 10, taking care of spoiled brats who pull the servants' hair and beat them. The servants can't hit them back or anything. You can make fun of your servants, swear at them, hit them, whatever.

Sometimes they make headlines, like a teenager servant beaten, raped, and killed, or tortured and killed, or just tortured, or just raped. If they are killed, their parents take the dead body to the roads and protest. Probably another stunt to get more money. If the raped servant survives, well, too bad, because nothing happens. In Pakistan, where even the privileged class can't get justice because the system is so corrupt, the lowest class can't even get a FIR registered.

But I'm like what sort of fucked up parents are they? How can a parent give his/her child into servitude? Like, this one time, we had a servant who was around 14 or 15, and her mother gave her sister to us for free so she could learn how to work, and, when ready, she could give her to someone else and make more money. The said sister was about 6-7 years old, recently pulled out from school. She knew about 20 alphabets, had potential, could've had a better life. I have no sympathy for such parents. These parents are utterly fucked up. Even if their children die, they find ways to make money from it.

It is ironic. I remember when I had to wake up for school, the servant had to wake up a bit earlier to get everything ready. While we got ready to go study, they got ready for yet another day of working. The servants don't get playtime either, even if they are kids. When we came back from school, the servant was sent to carry our bags for us, because, after a ride home from school in a car, we were tired. I didn't let them carry my bag, but my siblings did. Our servant was very nice, and she often said, "It's okay, let me carry your bag." My mum would agree, too, "You must be tired," but all I would say was: "While I sat in school, she worked. She's probably more tired than I am, and I can carry my own bag." I know it wasn't much, but one less bag for her to carry. Our servants were allowed playtime and could also watch TV; the girl who worked for us loved Indian dramas. But that's just one family. I'm glad our family doesn't hire servants anymore. But there are many out there. They are mistreated, beaten, and suppressed. It is unfair.

I often look back to my childhood. To me, it was a time when I was truly free. There was nothing to worry about, except homework, maybe. I was free until I grew up. But then there are these servant kids who have to learn to be patient and tolerant at such tender ages. Why? What kind of a fucked up world is this? What can anyone do about it when there are so many poor families, each with at least 10 kids up for servitude?

Pakistani people talk about Malala being an American agent. I saw an articled titled something like, "Malala we know who you really are and that's why we hate you" and it went in detail to explain how Malala wasn't really shot and it was all staged. Well, I say fuck it! Fuck it all! Focus on the bigger picture. The servants, boys and girls, are supposed to be in schools. Focus on that. Morally, at least, support Malala in her fight for their rights. She's bringing attention to an important cause, and no matter who she's supposedly working for, the cause is totally worth it. Those kids should be back in schools! If you wouldn't have your kid sweep someone else's floors, no kid should have to sweep your floors either.

Day 14 – An Infinitely Lazy Day!

Today, like yesterday and the day before, was an extremely lazy day. I'm not sure if it is the depression or the weather. The weather has certainly changed, and the sun remained hidden behind the clouds at noon. I woke up fresh, ready to get some work done, run errands, etc., but the bed called. I'd gotten up too early, and mornings depress me just as much as the sun does, so I went back to bed. The curtains covered 3/4th of the frosted glass window, and from my snuggly duvet I watched the dim blueish white light pour in slowly.

Last night, while out and about, I think I caught the flu. I knew I was down with something when I got home, my whole body burning up like a low-end computer running a high-end game. I woke up fresh but feeling like shit, with a blocked nose and a sore throat. I took something for the flu and returned to the bed. While I hibernated in slow-motion, the time flew by. Every few hours I got up to do something, eat maybe, roam around the house before returning to the bed again. I can't exactly sleep but I lie in bed in a somnolent state. It feels as if this is my body's way of catching up on all those sleepless nights. I don't feel any fresher when I wake up, in fact, I feel even sleepier.

There's so much I love about winter, including the fact that I can go to sleep without having to turn on the fan. Silence is my best friend. When there is no noise in the room, my mind expands; it fills the entire room and I feel lighter. Just lying in the bed with my eyes closed, comfortably warm, I can see my thoughts spread about in the room like files and folders on a desktop. I can focus, then, on one thought at a time if I want to. But, mostly, I just let them be. I enjoy the feeling of lightness, and I try to enjoy it while it lasts.

There's a reminder of the work I need to do every now and then, sometimes an alarm or an email on my phone, a nudge from my mind at others. I ignore them. I would like to get things done, but I also would like to sleep and relax while I can. When you are unable to sleep, when you have a chronic sleep disorder, sleep becomes really precious. It seems as if I've been hibernating on and off since the last 3 days. As I realised that it was time to write this post, I thought about skipping it, but since I'm committed to completing the 31-day writing challenge without missing a day, I got out of bed. I made myself a cup of soup and got on the laptop. Like everyday, I didn't know what to write about. But before the crippling burden of thoughts hits me, as it does soon after waking up, I'm glad I was able to write this post. Unlike most of my other posts, I seem to like this one. This is certainly something I'd like to read.

Have a good winter, y'all!

Day 15 – Flu!

I'm not sure if I'll be able to write 500 words today, but I'll try. We went for dinner up on the mountains, and on the way back I found my ears completely blocked. The flu has gotten really bad.

It sucks. I hate it! Ugh!

My mind is pretty damned frozen right now. I can't think straight. I have to travel to another city tomorrow for an engagement, not sure if I'll be able to write or update tomorrow. But here's what matters: I found time, I came online, and I wrote something, even if it was a meaningless rant. Yay, habit!

That's about it. I'm too tired.

Day 16 – Perfect Storm!

I'm pretty positive that I've mentioned a 'Perfect Storm' before, but here it goes again. A 'Perfect Storm' is when everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. Today was yet another perfect storm for me. I had an important even to attend, so I caught the flu 2 days ago, sprained my shoulder muscles yesterday, and, when it mattered the most, ended up with a blocked nose, sore throat, and rather clogged ears. Awesome, ain't it? Seems like the universe is conspiring against me, but, oh well, I'm a positive person. Just kidding, it fucking sucks! Like, what the fuck!

Hold on, there's more! Add to my misery a 3 hours journey. I ended up sitting with two jolly cousins of mine, and by jolly I mean people who can't sit straight for more than 10 seconds. TEN FREAKING SECONDS, come on, man! In spite of my pleas, yells, shouts, yada yada, neither of them could sit still or silent. Needless to say, I'd lost it by the time we reached our hotel. Add an hour of waiting. Well, almost an hour. Okay, you know my condition now, you rode with me all the way, why ask me how I am?

Cousin: You okay?

Do I look okay? You already know better than to ask, but woe is me, you had to. No, I'm not okay. You got on my nerves, stood there, stomped on them for 3 freaking hours, and now you're asking if I'm okay? Fuck yeah, I'm better than I've ever been. Never better, buddy!

Wait, that's coming off too harsh, not my intended tone. The story, too, has an exaggeration here and a distortion there. I just have to complete my 500 words, unlike yesterday. I'm going to beat myself over it later, now is not the time. Today was generally a happy day. Yeah, I said it: A Happy Day! *woot*

Since I can't think of anything better to write, how about a bit of a rant? Here you go:

I've got a bull load of work. To keep up with my schedule and meet my work deadlines, I have to work on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. That's alright, freelancers don't really have Sundays. But then there's this entire group of cousins visiting and they're going to be here till Sunday, and they'll be doing all the fun stuff and all. Honestly, right now, if I think about it, it sucks to be me! But then, generally speaking, it always sucks to be me. Rant over, but I'm still below 500 words. See, that's what I mean. Sucks, right?

I reactivated my Facebook account today. Fortunately, I haven't spent all my time refreshing my feed. In fact, I barely did it. I had better stuff to do. If I'm able to work and meet my deadlines in the next 3 days, and Facebook proves to not be a continuous source of procrastination, then, god knows, it might stay active. This sounds more like a diary entry, no? True, can't promote it on Twitter today, lol.

I'm off to sleep now.

Night!

Day 17 – Cluelessness!

I'm not exactly sure if it's annoying or what, but being clueless is certainly not a good feeling, like my daily cluelessness when I begin writing these posts. I take comfort in the fact that I'm supposed to write, just write, anything. But, still, would've been nice to have something purposeful to write about. I can't share what I write on Facebook. There's a certain insecurity, a fear of being judged and misunderstood. I don't really care about those things, and I'm pretty positive that, out of the 100 or so friends that I have there, only one might actually read. Still, I end up thinking about each person and what they'll perceive and how they'll blow things out of proportions, because that's what people do. It's a fact already established that people tend to not be understanding. When reading, they just read without taking into account why the writer said what he said, or wrote what he wrote. There are times when sarcasm, jokes, and ironies are mistaken for facts. Not the fault of the writer, but who else will they blame? Criticising is always fun; being criticised, not so. But then all, or most, writers do feel insecure about whatever they write.

When openly writing about my struggle with depression, I'm okay with it, because to most of my readers, I'm just a blogger. But those on Facebook have a face to attach to these things. If they read it, it might be too much info for them. Too much of a glimpse into my life. Do I want that? Am I afraid or what?

No, I don't really care and it doesn't really matter, but not caring doesn't mean I should do it. I'd rather keep things simple than to have to explain stuff to people as a result of not caring. Is that tact? I think so. Also, writing on a blog is kind of like talking to yourself in front of a mirror, except that you don't see your reflection or feel stupid, lol. I wonder if my own gaze can crash me, pretty positive it can, given I don't have a soft one.

I can hear the ceiling fan. It sounds like waves crashing on a bed of rocks. The continuous ticking of the clock. My own rather wheezy breathing. Fingers striking the keyboard. There are times when I can hear and feel my heart beat; that's the worst noise because it disturbs both internal and external silence.

I love winter because of its silence, a season when the sun becomes indifferent. The cold heat of the sun is pleasant, something I'd rather have all year long. The sun is welcome after a cold night. My sentences are too broken. I need to think and focus more. I got up with the intention to work, but everyone is asleep. Usually I enjoy the nights when everyone is sleeping, but not during winter. I'd rather hibernate all winter long if I could. I wonder what would happen if an animal that has to hibernate gets insomnia.

Day 18 – Ungrateful!

I hear people thank god for every good thing they have, and it annoys me. Why thank him? It's kinda like telling the other person that they are not as grateful as you are. Maybe I have a good life or maybe it is better than it used to be, but, either way, god gets no credit for anything. If my life is good or better, it is only because of what I have done to make it better, not some divine crap. I'm not going to thank a god for the blessings, not when the blessings are things that I work too hard for. What's there to be grateful about in that?

I would be grateful to a god if a bag of money falls from the sky and lands in front of me, or I wake up and find a pot of gold on my bed side, or I login to my account to find a million dollars in it, because that would be divine. Working for things, making things happen, why credit god for that? Why credit someone else for your success? If I start doing that, if I start thanking god for every good thing that happens to me, then I'll have to blame god just as much. I'll blame him for all the misfortunes and the miseries, for all the bad and awful things that happen, things that a 'god' of all entities could have easily avoided. Why credit god for all the good things and not blame him for the bad things? That's pretty stupid and biased, and yet all the religious people want to do that.

I believe in taking credit where due. If I work my ass off, if I make things happen for myself, if I stay up all night to work, I wouldn't thank god for any of it. It's all me and I know it. I'm not afraid to take the credit. I should take the credit, I must! What's so divine about the ordinary is utterly beyond me, and as far as I know, all the supposedly 'divine' stuff I've witnessed so far has been pretty ordinary. What does divine do? It makes you stupid and a fool.

God is the easy way out for the people who do not want to take responsibility for their own actions. If you don't work, don't have a job, or can't keep one, the easy way out would be: it's god's will. It's His doing. No, you stupid fuck, it's all your doing. Move your ass, get off the couch, and start working. Try! God is not your scapegoat. Oh, the irony, over and over. Our sacred, holy scapegoat.

Well, if I were religious, it'd go something like this:

Person: Hey, Ozzy, why are you such an asshole?

Me: God made me that way. It's His will. Capital H.

Sound good? Is that a reason enough? Does that work for you, or would you like me to accept that I'm an asshole?

*SMH*

Day 19 – Flu Sucks!

The last couple of days were pretty busy and hectic for me. I didn't get any time for myself. There was no time to sit back, relax, or think, and there was no depression either. It all ended today though. I am not a positive person and I don't try to be one either. What I do is that I constantly remind myself that I'm a negative thinker and a pessimist, and that I perceive things much worse than they really are. It is what allows me to laugh or shrug off things that would otherwise annoy me and cause distress.

Today, I sat sulking and hating everyone around me. I didn't know why but everything and everyone was annoying me. I know I have mood swings but I'm tired of explaining them to others. Every little thing annoyed me today, every little word that anyone spoke annoyed me. I felt worthless and scorned and it was annoying. I thought about dying, about how stupid and unworthy my life is, yada yada. But then I stopped mulling over all this stuff and started wondering why I'm getting annoyed at everything all of a sudden. The answer came to me quickly: it's depression, of course.

It's been almost a week since I've had the flu. The first med I tried for flu was tiring but had no results, so I started taking antibiotics. It's working but it's also annoying. I'm not sure whether to blame depression, flu, or the antibiotics. All of them, perhaps. I'm tired all the time, my throat is sore, and I can't stop coughing. *cough* It absolutely sucks! I can't eat because I'm not getting hungry but I need to eat or the antibiotics churn my stomach and make me nauseous. I was going to start taking Zoloft. After spending a lot of time thinking and considering whether or not to take it, I ruled in the favour of it. I'd like to have energy and stop being so tired all the time. But flu came along before I could start, and I'm thinking of taking a break from meds before I start Zoloft. I feel like my entire system is messed up from the inside, so I definitely need a break. And I get an itchy rash daily, side-effect of the antibiotics; even more annoying.

In the last week, since the flu, it has been becoming harder and harder for me to write these posts. Before I start writing, I spend a few minutes thinking about skipping them. After all, missing one day won't really hurt, but that's not how I do things. I'm not sure whether to compliment myself on forcing 500 words out or not, because while it might look like I'm someone who gets things done, does what he sets out to do, etc., that's not really the case. I do it because that's what the rules said, and I ignore the rule which says we don't have to write daily or it is okay to miss a day or something like that. And now my stomach is churning again, so I'm off.

Night!

Day 20 – Hating the Bed

Right now, I'm more blank than I've ever been. I have no idea what to write about, and my day was quite uneventful. I spent most of my time sleeping. I feel utterly useless, too. Damn, I need more energy. One thing is for sure, the tiredness caused by depression doesn't go away whether you take Red Bull, Gatorade, or Panadol Extra. I mean, damn it, Panadol Extra is loaded with caffeine, man! But I can't ignore the fact that I was up pretty much all night and half the day too, I think. Does that look like I'm making it all up? It does, but I'm not making anything up. My days are lame because I'm either sleeping or working.

I've got a can of Blue Diamond's roasted almonds, barbecue flavour. They suck. I love roasted almonds but these have a tacky sweet taste. I think I feel somewhat better, but I'll go back to feeling like shit once I take another anti-biotic. I need to take 3 more for this course. The only good thing that has come out of all this is that I haven't smoked much. I bought a pack of cigarettes on Saturday and I still have a cig or two left in it. Maybe that's what's messing me up, no? Cigarette withdrawal? Lol!

I've been wanting to quit smoking, but how do you quit it when it's your coping mechanism? Instead of dealing with things, I smoke.

When I'm happy, I smoke.

When I'm mad, I smoke.

When I'm angry, I smoke a lot.

When I'm pissed, I smoke even more.

And so on... You get the idea, yeah?

Now I've got work to do so I gotta get going. Not 500 words but at least I wrote something. Besides, like I said, I'm pretty damn sick so that justifies it.

Off I go now,

Adios!

Day 21 – A Better Tomorrow

So, while I still feel pretty much shit, I think tomorrow is going to be better. Yes, the antibiotic course is finally over. It took long, partly due to me dozing off and missing dozes. What can I say? Sleep is something I can't say no to, neither does it wait for an answer. It comes uninvited but is always welcome. I decided to take a 2-hour nap around 7pm, and woke up 10 hours later. It's funny how I have no memory of the alarm going off. I did set an alarm, or was that the timer? Either way, it would've gone off.

I've a lot of work to do, and I have to leave for university in just an hour. Sucks, I know. As a result of all that crap, this post is going to be really short too. Again, not my fault. So, yeah, that's about it. Expect more in the next post.

Day 22 – Politeness is Overrated!

Looking back, I see I got agitated too easily. I'm not the sort who would go through all this drama, but when you're depressed you can get frustrated and you need someone to take the frustration out on.

I'm better. No rant today. Here's an interesting event though:

Yesterday I went to get some nachos. I love nachos and can tell good nachos from bad nachos, yeah. I don't like cheese, and like to have my nachos with salsa and jalapeños. There's this store close by that I frequent, chiefly because they have everything I want, from chilled cold-drinks to imported products, along with novelty items. Yesterday, I found vanilla flavoured CocaCola. It was pretty good, like CocaCola with vanilla essence added to it. I also found cherry CocaCola next to CocaCola cherry. I've tried CocaCola cherry before and love it, so I decided to get the cherry CocaCola. Turns out that the difference is only in the name and packaging. Shocker!

Back to nachos. Yes, anyway, I like that store and have bought nachos from there before as well. They probably have some of the best nachos and the cheese dip they serve is really good too. Except, it all sucked yesterday. I went to get some nachos and discovered that they only have 2 types of servings: (a) the middle sized serving that only comes with nachos and cheese (again, I don't like nachos with cheese, and (b) the large sized serving with nachos, cheese, salsa, and jalapeños. Since I only wanted nachos with salsa and jalapeños, I had to get the large serving. I told the guy I want more jalapeños, so imagine my shock when I received 5 tiny pieces. I told him to add more and he added 3 more tiny pieces. I was like WTF, but the polite person that I am, I said thank you and left. (Okay, I didn't say thank you. But I left.)

With my CocaCola cans in one hand and the tray with nachos in the other, I went back to my car, turned on the music (this is a Muslim mourning month, so I thought why not piss some holy people off with music. Why not, yeah?, and took a bite of the first nacho. Here's how I eat nachos:

First, I just eat the nacho as is to taste the nacho.

Then I dip the nacho in cheese, because, well, I paid for it.

Then I dip a nacho in salsa and eat it.

Then I have a nacho with jalapeño.

Then I just have a jalapeño.

Then I have a nacho with everything.

Then I eat like I like, nachos with salsa and jalapeños.

Anyway, when I took the first bite, it sucked. Left an awful aftertaste. So I dipped it in the salsa and got an even worse taste. I wondered if I'd forgotten what nachos are like or what, because whatever I was eating was gross in every way possible. The salsa had an acrid taste. I tried smelling it but, given that I have flu, I didn't trust my sense of smell. I tried, tried, and tried, and decided to return it.

I went back and told the guy who served them that something was wrong with the nachos and that the salsa was stale. I'm not good at talking in real life, so, this is how it went:

Me: Something's wrong with this. The nachos taste bad and the salsa is stale.

Moron: No, this is how they always are.

Me: Here, try this. (I dipped a nacho in the salsa and told him to try it.)

Of course, I was already offended when he said no. You stupid fuck, I tried the nachos, and when I say it's stale, I mean it. I'm not crazy enough to walk all the way back to you from my car for no reason at all. Although my car was parked right next to the shop, it is not easy to turn off the car, unlock it, get off, carry nachos, open the door, shut the door, lock it again, etc., so, yeah, I wouldn't go all the way back for no reason.

Moron: Yeah, the salsa is a bit stale.

Me: And I used to get more jalapeños. Everyone serves more jalapeños. What's with 8 tiny slices, huh?

Moron: Oh, actually we are out of jalapeños.

Me: Okay... Listen, dude, do you know why I bought the large serving and not the medium one? Because I don't like cheese, and I want nachos with jalapeños and salsa. And you gave me neither. The nachos are goddamned awful, the salsa is stale, and you are out of jalapeños. What do you propose I do?

Moron: Eat them with cheese.

Me: I paid the full price, did I not? Did you serve like you are supposed to? No! What do you propose?

Moron: The other guy is not here atm, he will be back soon. I'll talk to him.

Me: Okay, I'll be back in 10.

When I went back, this other Mickey Mouse lookalike was there. I narrated the entire story and did not get a single apology. Instead, insolently, I was told that they will change the salsa. This guy was an asshole. I'm a bigger asshole. You can't out-asshole me. Asshole opened another salsa bottle.

Me: Put it in a new tray.

Asshole: *stares*

Me: Change the nachos too. They're contaminated, you put them in the drawer. And you touched them.

Asshole: okay.

Me: Change everything. I want everything fresh.

Asshole hastily put together another serving for me with salsa dripping from the sides.

I took that back to my car and tried. I didn't like it. It was annoying. Everything was annoying. How can someone be so rude? Is that anyway to treat your customers, huh? Damn it!

I tried eating the damned nachos again while driving. Didn't like 'em one bit. Still as awful. I turned the car around and went back. Told him everything sucks.

Me: I want a refund.

Asshole: We don't do refunds.

Me: Fine, keep this. (I left the tray on the counter)

Then I asked the cashier to call the manager. He did. I spoke to the manager. The manager told me that the nachos stall has nothing to do with the store and they were on contract with them. I told him I don't care. The only reason I buy nachos from that place is because it is inside their store and I've had good experience shopping here. If they serve bad nachos, my experience is bad and I won't visit their shop again. The manager told me he'd look into it and gave me the number of the manager of the nachos guys, a.k.a Moron and Asshole.

So I called the asshole's manager, irate, and told him what happened. He gave me lengthy explanation of how the nachos taste bad when they are cold, salsa expires when they store it in a jar, and people waste jalapeños so they serve less (even though the moron told me they were out of jalapeños). Anyway, he told me to go back and get a full refund. He probably called the asshole after that.

When I went back, I told the asshole that I spoke to his manager and he said I can get a refund, so I want one. Guess what happened next?

The asshole picked another tray and added nachos to it. So, I reiterated, 'I want a refund.' The asshole looked at me, nodded, and proceeded to add the cheese dip thingy into the tray. So, finally, I had to ask him to stop. Then, I said, I want my money back. Apparently, he didn't know what refund meant, because, he said, 'Oh, I thought you wanted more nachos.'

I was like WHAT THE FUCK! After being served nachos twice and returning them, why would I want a third serving? Apparently the asshole was also a moron.

Anyway, I got the refund.

Lesson: You can do anything if you try. Politeness is overrated. Be an asshole, don't be assholed.

Here's to the assholes!

Have a good one!

Day 23 – The Flight

The written word has more power and meaning than a reader will ever know. For when a writer writes even two words, there's a whole story behind. Those words mean more to the writer because only he knows the true context. You can jump right on board, too, if the writer reveals more, but you will always perceive the words in a different way. For instance, this post is more different from any of my other posts for this challenge, because I'm in a plane right now. I'm 35,000 feet above the ground as I write this. I know that whenever I read this post again, I'll remember how and where I wrote it.

I'll remember my window seat. I'll remember the nothingness outside, for all I can see is a small part of the wing whenever the strobe flashes. I'll remember the plane descending while I sat typing away. I'll remember the stupid kid standing behind my seat, peeking, singing. (Okay, I won't remember the kid. I hate kids. Yes, there, I said it. I don't just dislike kids, I hate them.) But I will remember the turbulence. The ride has become slightly bumpy and the plane is shaking. I can hear the change in the engines. My ears hurt. There was a time when nothing happened to me, but now, well. Now it sucks. As the plane descends, it feels like my ears are literally going to pop. There's an ache in my forehead. I've to put the laptop away as the plane prepares to land.

Anyway, back to the point. When you read this, you'll picture it all, won't you? You'll see a Pakistani guy in a plane. This plane is an A-320, but, like I said, what you see comes from what you have experienced. *Damn, my ears!* So, what you picture might be the plane you remember, an A380, perhaps. Or an A320 because I told you.

-

I turned my laptop off after typing the last line. The air hostess asked me to turn my laptop off, which is ironic because the guy sitting in the opposite row was also using a laptop and she didn't ask him to switch his laptop off. I know, I know, she didn't see him.

The city I was heading to was supposed to be hit by a typhoon on the very day of my flight. I was expecting severe turbulence but there wasn't much. I watched The Walking Dead during the flight.

Anyway, I did this little experiment thingy when the plane got ready for take off, you know when the engines get loud? I turned on the timer at the very moment the plane started moving, and discovered that within 45 seconds the plane took off. Isn't that amazing? I mean take off needs a lot of speed and an A320 can reach that speed in less than a minute and be in the air. I know there are faster planes out there, but still. Fascinating!

Day 24 – Perpetual Disappointment!

I thought I would write daily, and I did write daily, for over three weeks. I was more than halfway there and I would probably have finished this challenge by now, but I didn't. Did something important keep me from writing? No. When I wanted to write, I wrote, even when I was sick. But then I got tired of ranting and writing just for the sake of writing. I know, this challenge is supposed to help you develop a writing habit, and that's what I focussed on initially, but then I got tired. I felt that my writing was degrading to writing, so I stopped. Am I back? Will I start writing daily from now on, again? I don't know.

I know I want a lot in life. Simply put, I want everything.

If I have to walk, I'll want a bike.

If I get a bike, I'll want a car.

If I get a car, I'll want a better car.

If I get a better car, I'll want a house.

If I get a house, I'll want a bigger house.

If I get a bigger house, I'll want a house that is more beautiful.

If I get that, I'll want a plane.

The list will never end. Even if I get everything in the world, which is impossible, but just for the hell of it, that won't be enough. I'll want to change myself, want a surgery, perhaps? If I get that, I probably won't be happy with the results. If I get the surgery undone, I won't be satisfied because I'll know I don't look like I used to look, even if I do. If everything becomes ideal, if everything gets perfect, I'll want to live forever, witness history, see the future, live till the end of the world. And even if I get that, I still won't he happy. I'll want to go back in time, to fix my own history, to live a better life, to be more normal.

Maybe that will change things for me? But if it gets to that point, I don't think it will change anything for me because then I'd want to get back in time, to the very beginning, perhaps? See the world as it is made, watch civilisations rise and fall, and all that shit. Would I be okay with that? I don't think so. It would be too time consuming. I'd want a remote then, to fast-forward it all, skim through, skip months, blah! I don't really know what I really want, but here's what I know.

I know that I have set myself up for perpetual disappointment. I'll never be happy. I don't know how to appreciate the good things. I don't know how to be grateful. Maybe I'm just programmed that way, if human beings are programmed. People take pity on the retards but now I'm beginning to think that maybe they are the luckiest of all. Don't they have it the easiest? I know I'm being insensitive, but can't I just poke fun at others for once? Call them looneys, laugh at them, feel good about being better? Why does feeling good about being better make you a bad person? Irony, irony, fucking irony everywhere.

Day 25 – Nightmares, False Memories, and Craziness

I have been very, very busy. I kept myself busy with work. Since I'm a freelancer, it is entirely up to me how much work I take. I used to take a fortnight to complete what I could do in a few hours, because I do not believe in rushing. Also, I just liked having free time. I still do, and would love to be able to sleep or lie in bed all day on these winter mornings, noons, and nights, but I can't. My episode of depression suddenly ended after 2.5 months of severe depression.I had 3 good weeks, I think, and then I felt it coming back. I still feel it the moment I get time to relax. Work is the only thing that keeps it away. I signed up for so much work that I do not get time to write, read, or even talk to people. I'm walking and I can't stop. It's working for me.

Last week I felt myself getting depressed on 3 different days. That's how it starts, these small bouts of depression. They don't feel like depression. They are confusing. Something feels wrong that I can't quite grasp. I keep reassuring myself that I do not care or it doesn't matter, I justify, but it just doesn't work.

For instance, last weekend we went to the movies. I normally don't go for movies but I had to see Mockingjay. It was disappointing. The book was better, and so were the previous two adaptations. Anyway, while taking money out of the ATM, my cousin pressed the button in his excitement. He didn't mean to. I like him, he's a good kid and he loves me, but his mistake pissed me off. He didn't do it intentionally, but he pressed the button for the smallest amount. I withdraw the largest amount allowed so the conversion rates are minimum. When I checked, the conversion rates weren't enough to bother me. And yet it kept bothering me all night. I don't get it and it sucks! Why does something that I know shouldn't bother me, and is not a big deal in anyway, bother me?

Now, to the nightmares. I think it has been over a month now since this started. Every time I go to sleep, I get really bad nightmares. This happens every time, no exception, even if I take a 5 minute nap. Within a 5 minute nap I can get up to 3 different nightmares, all of which I can remember clearly. Last night I had about 5 nightmares. I woke up with a start, breathing heavily with a pounding heart. The first thing I did was check how long I slept. It was less than 30 minutes.

When I wake up I'm not afraid. Slightly disturbed, but not afraid at all. I know they were just bad dreams so they don't bother me, but the problem is that my sleep quality has gone down. It wasn't very good to begin with but now it's awful. I wake up tired and sleep deprived, and get a headache before I open my eyes. The headache doesn't go away at all. I find myself so tired that the only option is resting by going to sleep, and that sucks, because going to sleep is what causes the headache to start. My brain just can't rest.

About the kid I mentioned above, he's about 10 years younger than me. There are things about family I know that he doesn't: funny things, amusing things, etc. Every now and then something comes to my mind and I tell him. Sometimes he doesn't believe me and goes to the elders to ask. Last weekend I suddenly recalled something that more than two members of the family had told me, and two of them were present there. The kid found it so ridiculous that he went to ask them. They said they never said any such thing. I am 100% positive that both of them had told me that thing separately and at different occasions, but they told me they were 100% positive that they had never ever said anything remotely close to it. I have the memories, but I don't doubt their memories either. I called my sister, she had heard those things too, but she said she never heard any such thing, so now the only possible explanation is that those memories I have about the thing are false.

False memories. I'm convinced they're not false, but the people involved, more than two, have good memories too and I know that. Such a dilemma. I wonder if I'm slowly going crazy or losing it. The thought is terrifying. I've often said, and heard people say, to others, "Are you crazy?" It never felt so terrifying as it does now. Are you crazy? If someone said that to me last month, I would've replied quickly: "No, you're crazy." If someone says that to me now, I'll just wonder: 'Am I crazy?'

Day 26 – My Heart

Why write 500 words today when everything can be aptly described in less than 100?

"The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains." ― Arthur Golden

Winter came but the fall never ended

no leaves now, my heart, parched, dry as dust

"How can one live with such a heart?

Long ago I gave up singing

to it, it will never be satisfied or lulled.

One night I will say to it:

Heart, be still,

and it will." ― Margaret Atwood

Soon then.

Note: (This was when I became suicidal.)

Day 27 – SONY (Same Old New Year) & The Depression Dilemma

Dear Reader,

This is my first post for 2015, the new year. I would've liked to start writing from the start and follow till the end of the year, but that's not how life works. There have been times when my creativity was high and I had an urge to write, the ideas flowing freely, waiting to be written, recorded, saved from being wasted and forgotten. They have been forgotten. The urge to write was not strong enough to overcome the tiredness and laziness.

It's been a little over a month since I started Zoloft. Previously it was the depression that kept me from writing, and then it was the Zoloft. It's funny how the ailment and cure have had the same effect on me. For about a month I kept telling myself that I'll write tomorrow, till I realised that tomorrow wasn't gonna come, so I started telling myself I'll write today. I told myself that first thing in the morning. I'll write soon, I just need some rest first. I need rest after waking up, I need rest after breakfast, I need a rest after resting, and the list goes on. I used to be active, so I know it is Zoloft. Hopefully things will change from today, because I know that the tiredness is not going to go away. My joints ache almost constantly (another side-effect of Zoloft), and I haven't used my laptop in months. I used to use my laptop everyday for hours on end, and now the mere thought of using it vexes me. But, of course, I'm broke now from not having worked, and while I can still go on and continue to use from my savings, I need a change. I need to feel powerful and in control again.

The depression is gone but the suicidal thoughts persist. I've been told that I need to be on Zoloft for 9 months, and it already feels like I've been on it for at least 3 months, but today I checked the date and realised that it's only been 5-6 weeks. I'm ready to give up. I need to feel like myself again. I'm terribly calm now and I have no feelings or emotions left to suppress. I don't mind that either, but I need to feel like myself again.

Crazy as it may sound, I want my depression back. I've spent more than half my life with depression, and it is an essential part of me. I don't like the new, calm, me. I feel blank, like a whiteboard. I remember having a fire in me, and now that fire has turned to ashes. I miss the spark in me, the rush of thoughts that drove me insane, the me in myself. Previously I complained about not looking like myself (depersonalisation/derealisation), but now I don't feel like myself. I'd go back to not looking like myself because I don't have to look at myself all day, but I do need to feel like myself in my own skin.

This is, indeed, a dilemma. It is all far too complicated for me to explain, or understand myself. I want to get better but I want to remain me at the same time. Is that too much to ask for?

Day 28 – Depression: The Choice We Have to Make

Dear Reader,

There comes a time in the lives of people suffering from depression when they must make a choice. For the ones who are not getting any treatment, it is the point when depression gets so overwhelming that they want nothing more than to be rid of it. They want to get better, even if depression has become a huge part of who they are. It is then that they decide to go on meds so that they can get better. I know because I've made that choice many times.

In the beginning, it is all good. You're all upbeat, ready to fight and get better. The side-effects are strong in the beginning but you put up with them. You know they will go away in a few weeks, and you notice how their intensity decreases everyday. You begin to feel better, hallelujah!

But after a month or so, you notice other side-effects of the meds. For some people these happen to be things they can put up with. For others, like me, these are things we can't put up with. Then these new side-effects begin to get stronger day by day, as is the case with me now. And then we reach a point where we can't put up with them at all. These side-effects continuously pester us, cause us pain, and we wonder, wasn't there a similar reason for why we started these meds? We started the meds to get better, to get rid of the constant depression, to feel more like ourselves, and we wonder if this is any better than it was before we started on these meds. Because while the depression is gone, we still don't feel like ourselves, our personality is suppressed, emotions gone, constant side-effects, and a similar misery. Why are we taking these meds then, and why should we stay on them? Why am I taking these meds?

And that's the other time when we have to make a choice. To stay on the meds or to quit! Because we get exhausted. As for myself, I'm annoyed, angry, frustrated, and really want to PUNCH SOMEONE IN THE FUCKING FACE! I must make a choice! I'd very much like to quit these fucking meds and go back to depression. It's either the physical pain or the mental one. I guess our only option is to keep switching between them, so one when gets too much we go for the other.

But why do we have to make this choice? I know that the world is not perfect, but I don't want to have to make these choices over and over again. I want to get better but I can't put up with this.

My energy has dropped to like 5%, which is pretty much the same as it was when I was depressed. Or, maybe, it is worse now. I was more active when depressed, in spite of wanting to stay curled up in bed all the time. Now I try to work, want to work or do something, but I simply do not have the energy.

We get told to 'try' or 'push ourselves' or 'motivate ourselves.' Please tell me where the fucking motivation shop is so I can buy some! Because heavens know I've been trying. I've been trying for over a month now and I don't have the energy. No wonder we develop mood swings and get frustrated and angry. What a fucking dilemma! Don't take meds, suffer! Take meds, suffer! If I have to fucking suffer either way, what do I do?

Day 29 – Tomorrow, Today, and Now of Zombies

Zombie: When you're on meds for depression, your energy drops to 5%, and you start alternating between power-saver mode and hibernation.

Dear Reader,

I'm annoyed, angry, and frustrated! To a person watching me, I'm probably as tranquil and calm as the reflection of the moon in a swimming pool. Why? Because if I'm not in bed, hibernating, I run on power-saver mode, which means I can't expend enough energy on flailing my arms wildly or screaming or punching someone in the face. I just can't, even though I want to, because doing so will leave me exhausted. The funny thing is that I finished reading the Diary of a Wimpy Kid, and it feels like I've been whining just as much as that petulant rascal.

Back to the topic now! So, I have known the difference between today and tomorrow. We all get told that stuff early on, right? Tomorrow never comes, act today, yada yada yada! For an entire month, after becoming a zombie, I kept telling myself that I'll work from tomorrow. In the beginning, everything was perfectly timed, and if I followed my schedule I'd have had ample time to get everything done. But, damn it, I kept telling myself I'd do it tomorrow. The workload kept piling up, doubled, tripled, quadrupled, way past the deadlines (I'd never missed a deadline before), till I realised I couldn't do it and cancelled all the projects. Even after that, and after a long rest, I wanted to get back to work, but when was I going to start?

Tomorrow, I told myself. The tomorrow didn't come for a month, and I realised I had to start working today! So I started telling myself I'd work today, but to work we need energy, and when we don't have energy we rest. So, I decided to rest for a bit after breakfast till it was time for lunch. Then I needed to rest after lunch because having lunch made me tired, or, perhaps, the tiredness never really went away. I'd wake up around 7 or 8 in the evening, have dinner, procrastinate, till I went to sleep. This went on for about a week or 10 days, till I realised that 'today' wasn't working either.

So, I decided if I wanted to get back on my horse and start working again, I had to start working right now. After like 3-4 days of this 'now', I finally made a post on this blog, but didn't start working.

My mind goes blank, refuses to work, because it's on power-saving mode. The lines between Tomorrow, Today, and Now are all blurred for us zombies. Anything and everything we do is a feat per se! That includes taking a shower.

I get mad at myself too. I do want to start working again. But it's just not that easy. Some of the side-effects of the anti-depressants go away in a few weeks, and some stay and are not necessarily pleasant. As for me, I have a constant pain in my joints. It's bearable but it varies in intensity all day long, and it makes me not want to move, and when I do something as simple as go take a walk, it gets worse.

I know I try. I know I'm trying. I also know I'm failing at it, continuously and repeatedly. I don't even have the strength to get angry. What I don't need is reminders from others, because I continuously remind myself.

I've written this post, not because someone reminded me that I need to work or am not working, but because I'm the one constantly reminding myself that I'm not working, in spite of trying.

Day 30 – An Eternal Moment of Nothingness

This was when I was ready to commit suicide, just waiting for that final push, and to put my affairs in order. I even went back home to meet family and to pack my stuff so my mother wouldn't have to do it after me. I was ready to go then. Obviously that didn't happen, but, in this post, I tried to say it without actually saying it.

This challenge is nearing its end. Or, is it? Took me over 3 months to reach day 30. C'est la vie!

I must say, I never thought it would take this long. But, then, I didn't expect a lot of things. Life is whimsical in its ways, I know, but I can't accept it. I'm far too stubborn to accept things as they are. I keep hearing how we have to live in a certain way, laws of the world, rules for the living, yada yada.

I know I sound like an absolute retard, but I refuse to conform. Why should I? I don't want to, so I won't.

My plate, nowadays, is full. There is so much I need to think of and about. The future: near, far, etc. I've been walking the road too long, and all I need is an eternal moment of nothingness. An infinite moment stretching into infinity; a moment where the world stops. A moment where my world stops. A moment where I cease to exist. I know I need to deal with life and face reality, and I know I have avoided it for weeks now, but I can't. It's like going to sleep, knowing you have got 10 hours to sleep. The moment you fall asleep, you wake up. The time is gone, your 10 hours are up. Damn it. Why can't there be a state of waking sleep? A state where you sleep, yet are aware of the time as it goes by. My moment ends too soon, just like that. I close my eyes to relax for an instant and the moment's gone. Too soon, I say. It always feels like nothing more than a second. Why? I want more. My mind, now exhausted, needs a break.

But I am alive, and so I have to live. I'm expected to live. I can't stop doing it all and slide under the sheets in a dark room forever. That's not allowed. Much is expected of me, I know. Rightfully so, but still. What am I to do? Indirectly being told that I have to live, not by any person but by their existence. They exist. I exist, but only just.

This brings me to the real thing. I can't have it my way. If I have it my way, I'm not quite right in the head, which is true, because I'm not. Depression eats me from the insides. I've stopped taking Zoloft now. The side-effects became too hard to bear, my resolve to get better broke, and I had a relapse. Not an ordinary relapse, mind you. I thought this was another side-effect, the slight depression and anxiety. It went on for 3-4 days. Then, one night, it suddenly hit me full force. All I wanted was to end my life right there and then. I would have, if I were home, but I wasn't. Couldn't do it. I spent the night miserable, tossing and turning all night, dreaming and wishing for the same thing; aching and yearning to become one with nothing and cease to exist. Slit the wrist with a blade and watch the velvet red blood gush out, go down the drain. A hug from the rope around the neck and imagine the colour draining from the face. Turn on the gas and go to sleep, never to wake up.

This depression is not going away. It was diagnosed too late, and I'm far too messed up to be 'fixed.' Why get fixed? To want to get fixed would be to hope in vain, and I don't hope at all. I've realised the depression won't go away. I had a talk with him. He finally conceded, it won't go away. He said, 'but we can control it with meds.' The meds have side-effects, all of them. I can't accept or live with myself. I can't accept myself living a crippled life. I can't live a life where I have to take meds and become a zombie for as long as I live. No, I won't accept.

How am I to survive this world then? How am I to live? I've been told that I need to accept that some things are just beyond our control, like how long a loved one lives. I know. I understand. But it's just not good enough. Not for me, that's not how I'm wired.

If you have depression then I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. You know it, I know. I won't say it. But I'll say this: The next post will be important. It will be important because it will not only be the end of this challenge, but also the end of...you know what.

It will either be published posthumously, or it will show that I've decided to try again because, perhaps, I'm either a coward or became an optimist. I don't look at it that way though, those terms are too worldly. I look at either decision as bravery. Shake your head, disagree all you want, but, again, if you have depression, you know how fucking difficult it is. And who wants a life like that?

Not me!

I hope making this post is not a mistake. I hope it won't come back to bite me in the ass.

Keep your fingers crossed, as I contemplate while trying not to contemplate. On the spur of the moment, a decision could be made.

Day 31 – Here and One More Time

This was when I lost the reason to commit suicide. No matter how depressed I become, I'm not someone who'd kill myself without reason. I won't say I got a reason to live, because I didn't, but I lost my reason to die which was even more disappointing.

"Hope is a tease, designed to prevent us from accepting reality." – Dowager Countess of Grantham

People, I've noticed, tend to hold those in reverie who do not change their opinions. I used to be intransigent too, but I've since realised that one can never be too sure. If I have an opinion, I'll hold on to it until I learn something that demands it to be changed, in which case, I'll change it. I don't mind. That's how life is.

If you read my previous post, you'll notice that something changed. It did, just like that. I never thought this post will be anything like it is.

I still have depression, but I'm off meds and have regained more than half of my lost strength. The anxiety and all are still there, picking up speed, and I know I'll be attacked by them again, but, until that happens, I'm going to enjoy my life.

The quote in the beginning is from Downton Abbey, a TV show that I love. It pretty much explains my view on hopes, wishes, and prayers. I think they are the result of our subconscious efforts to avoid facing the truth or keep ourselves from worrying about the future, or anything else that is uncertain or out of our control.

I wrote a post for a blog. It's about the beauty of lovelessness. I have never really fallen for anyone, ever, neither have I ever had a relationship. I find that calm and peaceful...but I'll make you read that post and not give it away here. It will be published on on 28th Feb. I think I'll share a link to it here when it goes live. It's nothing too special, but it is something.

Earlier this week, I went to a writing workshop. It was conducted by Kavery Nambisan, a novelist from India. Pakistan and India have always had a tense relationship, and I'm not too sure how Pakistanis feel about Indians. There are those who dislike them, and then there are those like me who know that the people there are just as good as the people here, and are more focussed on the friendship.

I saw a post on Facebook about the workshop and applied. I didn't think I was good enough to be selected for attending the workshop, but I was selected. I'm not sure whether they selected me because I was good or because not many people applied. I don't think I'll know, but I plan to write to the organiser and ask. It may sound weird to him but I'd like to know. Am I good or what? Writers are like that.

Anyway, I did attend. I was the only guy there. All the other people who'd been selected were girls. It should've bothered me, but it didn't. I'm totally used to being an outcast. It's either being an outcast or standing out, and how I view myself in such situations depends on my mood.

Kavery turned out to be a very nice lady. She was very frank and easy to talk to. What I really liked about her was that she was similar to me. Unlike all other people attending that workshop, I was the only one who hadn't studied writing or literature. It turned out that Kavery hadn't either. She's a surgeon by profession.

We got talking. It was surprising how she was so unrestricted and different from what other authors are like. She wasn't concerned with writing for others, rather being honest with yourself. She said it is okay if you want to use foul-language. Your character may be a potty-mouth, but he would still talk properly when talking to his parents. Makes sense, another thing learned, another perspective.

I asked about separating my writing from my depression, how I can't bear or like my own writing if it is written too positively. She told me I didn't have to try for any of those things. I should just write what I want and how I want, be honest and comfortable with myself. I expected arguments, restrictions, limits, guidelines, but I liked what I learned from her instead. It conformed to my views on writing. Writing is liberating. Period. There was a lot more, but I can't remember.

And that's all for now.

