I see her standing in the middle of the room. I hear her voice, screaming in a distance, filled with pain, so much pain. I hear her, I see the look in her eyes; the look of pure destruction.
I watch her destroy everything in the way and I see our mom flinch. Destruction. Release. Just let it all out. A beast inside was just unleashed.
I am scared, terrified, I am stuck in my body, I can’t move. ‘’What is happening,’’ I whisper, but she doesn’t listen. I am scare and I want to run away, but I am paralyzed.
‘’Tum pagal ho gai ho?’’ says mom. I flinch, but she is in a blind rage and destroys everything she sees.
‘’Stop, please stop, I am scared.’’ I whisper, but no voice escape my lips except screams. I had a hard time figuring out they were mine because they sure didn’t sound like mine.
It wasn’t me at all, was I? This person wasn’t me. Maybe a part of me that somewhere existed but never really belonged here. I was confused, with a body not in control.
The bell rings and she’s gone. I blink, hoping for it to be a bad dream, but it isn’t. I look around and see my dad’s laptop in little pieces. I stand there, still recovering from what just happened.
She’s gone but I am not; I want to be gone, disappear, and not exist so I do what I do the best; I run. I run and shut myself in my room.
With the lights off and curtains closed, I break down again; crying and struggling to breathe and at the back of my mind she growls, caged yet again.
No amount of begging worked but this is what it took my parents to realize I needed medication. I have Borderline Personality Disorder and this is how dissociation feels like.
It still rings inside my head though, my mother’s words and they are devastating, but I don’t really blame her because we live in a society where people don’t ever consider mental illness, illness and they’d rather blame it on your lack of faith or jinns than wrapping their head around the fact that the brain can get sick too.
How easy is it really to blame it all on black magic and never even considering that mental illness exists? Why the stigma? Why make psychological health care so difficult for people who are already struggling?
I suffered and suffered until I reached my breaking point. I was lucky I survived suicide attempts, twice. Everybody isn’t that lucky.
I still question life, my existence. I still don’t know how I am still alive. I push everybody away because I am scared to be abandoned.
I can’t deal with my emotions so I just sit there with a knife in my hand and carve on my arm what see tells me to; loser, but am I? I part of me says I am not, but she tells me I am.
I fight the thoughts but yet, every now and then she makes herself heard. Who’s she, you ask? She’s my darker side. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s borderline. This isn’t even funny even when it does sound funny inside my head.
Do I know who I am? I don’t. Am I the voice inside my head or I am her?
I walk down the street, catching two girls looking at me and paranoia hitting me. Are they talking about me? ‘’They are, they hate you,’’ she says, so I fasten my pace and try to ignore her, but I can’t. I am so weak to escape. She tells me I am pathetic, fat, a disappointment.
‘’Shut up,’’ I scream, but there is no escape; at least not a permanent escape. I swallow my pills and she goes away, but she’ll be back soon.
I feel numb and walk around a zombie, but anything to shut her up, right? I am tired, so tired, and I want to drift to sleep, but they say you are always sleeping and that I am a burden.
Mom says when she was my age she was never tired. Do I tell her I use every last bit of my energy to keep her caged because I am scared of her and what she is capable of?
Source: Gupshup Avenue
I am tired and I want it to end and for her to just go away, but she is a part of me. All I have ever known is darkness, can I survive the light?
Does she define me? I have more questions than I have answers to. I am stuck in this downward spiral and I can’t figure out who’s the enemy; the people who abused me for years or her.
It is an endless struggle, a collateral damage and people around me doesn’t make it any easy.
‘’I have a headache’’ is still easier to say and escape a social gathering than by saying, ‘’I am on a verge of a panic attack,’’
‘’I fell’’ is still easier to say to explain bruises and wounds than saying, ‘’I punched a wall/cut myself because I’d can’t cope with emotional pain.’’
On the brighter side (pun intended) when a hot cup of tea spills on my hand, I don’t flinch. My friends joke it might be a super power of mine, and inside her cage, she smiles.