Trigger Warning: The article talks about mental health illness.
I’m not going to give any professional advice. Rather, this is my “vulnerability is not a weakness” story.
Being a mental health professional, I’ve worked with individuals who have been navigating through difficult experiences in their lives. I believe their proximity with vulnerability has given me the strength to write this story about my relationship with my mental illness.
Last year, I was diagnosed with Major Depression (even though I don’t associate with the label) while I was teaching psychology to Class XI and XII students. I told my psychologist, “I love my students. I automatically light up with joy, but now, I don’t think I can even enter the classroom.”
What I had been feeling since some time, was a black cloud above my head, or a deep black hole with no space to breathe. These are metaphors, but felt so real all through that time.
Going to school felt like a task. I continued with breaks, because my kids had their board exams, and I didn’t want to leave them in between. My body was giving up, but the fact that I wasn’t feeling any joy that I used to feel with my kids hit me the most. I fell down and didn’t feel there was any light at the end of the tunnel.
My condition worsened with time because my nervous system shut down, leading to a derealisation state. It was so bad that I felt nothing was real, and there was a time when I was just crossing the road without realising that some vehicle could hit me.
Soon, my body gave up. I couldn’t brush or bathe, and felt tired all the time. There were days when I used to look at the ceiling all night until the clock struck 6:30. It was the time at which I used to wake up, but now, I just couldn’t. There were also days when I was crying in school, days when I was bunking school to sit in a coffee house doing absolutely nothing, wearing clothes that would hide my wounds, but the most unfortunate part of this all was derealisation.
A lot of people say “reach out”, but the truth is, I didn’t understand what was going on. I was derealised, my processing of emotions was nil, and self-harm was prevalent. So, I couldn’t because I didn’t know what to say.
This went on for some time, until I gathered the courage to call someone out of the blue. I wanted them to be sensitive, because I was losing hope every second. I’m so glad that they heard me compassionately, because it was after a series of “reaching out” that I found them. Through consistent care and support, I started feeling this person is real while everything still felt unreal.
Now that it’s been more than a year, I wouldn’t say they ‘saved’ me, but they showed up in a way I wanted someone to show up, and that’s all that mattered during that time. With time, effort, consistency, love, medicines (in a way), therapy, support and faith, I could continue working till the time my kids gave their board exams. After that, I took a much-needed break because I understood I need time to work on my emotions.
It was a difficult journey. Sometimes, I’ve no words to describe how I felt during that time, but those wounds have opened since actor Sushant Singh Rajput’s suicide. It has felt personal, because it has reminded me of all the times when I was in a similar emotional space. I feel lucky that I got support after trying for a long time, but so many of us haven’t and don’t receive the space we deserve, especially at that time when we’re falling.
I understand you, yes you, the one who’s reading it when you say, “It’s difficult to share”, “I don’t feel anyone would understand”, “People will judge”, “It’s my fault” and other constant thoughts that cross your mind, and the emotions you feel in relation to these. Our narratives can be different, yes, but there’s a sense of connection. For that, I want to say:
I hear you. I see you. I value you.
Working through Major Depression, I feel more in connect to myself and people, generally. It has enabled me to look at life, people, relationships, trauma and myself in a way that you and I are each other’s possible selves. It feels like Rajput and I are each other’s possible selves too, even though our experiences may have been different.
After a year of self-work, I’m back in the space of working as a mental health professional. I’ve started to accept vulnerability as a part of me, of what makes me human.
Being a psychologist, I can only say I hear how difficult it is to reach out because it is a leap of faith. There are so many ifs — what if the person turns out to be insensitive, what if the person shares it with other people — and money is definitely an issue for a lot of us, but I want to say, I’m here.
I am no problem-solver but an ignitor who believes that my fire resonates with yours. If my self-disclosure made you feel a connect, you can reach out to me. I follow ‘pay what you can’ model in providing counselling and mental health services (you can check Manasija on Instagram). If you don’t feel safe and heard by me, we’ll find someone who you can feel safe with. We’ll find a way together. You and I, in partnership.
With that, this is Arushi, a human first and professional later, breaking the shackles of shame and stigma, sending you strength, love and hope.
If you are having suicidal thoughts, please reach out to these helpline numbers: Aasra: 022 2754 6669; Sneha India Foundation: +914424640050; TISS iCall: +022-25521111 (Available from Monday to Saturday: 8:00 am to 10:00 pm) and Sanjivini: 011-24311918