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BRINGING ''IT'' DOWN.

Perhaps, you suffered from this misery. Maybe even still suffering from it. For some, this is an act of attention seeking. But is it really? Depression and anxiety are real, not an excuse.

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Anxiety is not a taboo!!!

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I live in India. The country where topics like menstruation, sex, depression and psychological disorder are either considered taboo or just a phase. There are many other communities out there who think likewise. Over 50% suicide deaths are due to major anxiety. Anxiety struck me the worst in the year 2014, and today it is 2016 going 2017 soon. I swear I should have been dead but somehow, just somehow I survived and I have picked on that many do not know how it feels like to be a person having anxiety and depression. They do not follow what a panic attack is. I used to get them a lot in 2014, but now that I have buckled up, I rarely get them. The last time I register getting it was last year. So, here I am going to try my best to make you understand if not all then at least 20% of the whole terminology, because it matters. People with anxiety matter!!!

No one can imagine what it’s like to have anxiety if they haven’t been through it themselves.

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The emptiness you feel every moment of your waking life; the thick dark clouds that infect your mind; the agony one has to endure while they lose contact with everyone who cares because you honestly believe they don’t. I know this because I've lived this.

I've spent many hours of my life in quite an isolation from everyone else. I pushed everybody away. My family, friends, doctors… I refused to leave my sanatorium of misery and loneliness. I saw no future for myself and no answers for my problems.

I’d come home from a long day of school, drag myself up to my room, ignore my mother as she called after me, and just retreat from her worried voice into my room. I’d slam the door and slip down it as I listened to her voice call after me, eventually giving up. I couldn't bring myself to talk to her, or anyone. This is what affliction does to you.

When my mother finally caught up to me I’d manage to convince her that I just “had a bad day” and I was fine. This would work and she’d leave me alone. Realistically, all I wanted to do was scream out to her and tell her to just push the truth out of me. I needed that push, but I never got it.

YOU ARE UNDER A SOUND PROOF GLASS FLOOR.

Imagine you’re under a glass floor looking up at everyone you know and love going about their lives in blissful ignorance without you. You’re banging and screaming at them to notice you but they can’t hear your cries, nor see your pain.

I’d spend hours lying in bed with my music fading into the background of my mind while all the thoughts of dread and the storm make its comeback. My barrier never held long. Music was one of the only ways I knew I could use to shield myself for a period. Nothing lasted long, though.

Sometimes I would build up the energy to hoist myself from my cocoon of pillows and blankets and turn on my lamp. Its rays would penetrate the standing darkness of my world; sometimes the light would make me forget all my worries for a second. All negativity vanishes off. But, the darkness of the mind cannot be penetrated by physical light, it takes... more.

The other synonym: Depression.

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I would stand facing what must've been me, my reflection. I didn't recognize the person staring back at me from beyond the glass. Her glassy black eyes were full of a multitude of emotions; despair, loneliness, numbness... I no longer had the ability to recognize the fun, energetic and outspoken side of the person I was. Her exterior looked calm, but on the inside beyond her eyes, I could see a great storm raging.

I couldn’t look at this poor excuse of a person anymore. I collapsed to the floor as my legs gave out from underneath me. Shaking and disorientated I leaned against the frame of my bed. I pushed my knees to my chest, a single tear making its way down my cheek like a pearl rolling.

As beautiful it may sound, that tear was full of pain. It came with rawness like that of an open wound. This single tear was the first I had released since the numbness came, I lacked the inability to cry for weeks and no matter what I did I was unable to. It was seeing me. Seeing what has come to me, the shell I had grown, the death of the gal I once was. It was too much for my broken and fragile mind to deal with, and with that single tear, the storm from beyond my eyes began to leak. I began to sob; my tears escaped my non-blinking eyes and dripped off of my chin onto my lap. Disgusting as it may sound, but also swallowing a few tears.

I cannot remember much after that. Apart from my mother hearing the crash of my desk chair toppling over onto my floor and clattering of broken mirrors after I released a short but inferno-like burst of rage. I must’ve drifted off at some point, sat on the floor of my prison.

I AM STRONGER THAN DEPRESSION.

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I had nowhere else to go and be alone, but at the same time, I couldn’t leave. I wasn’t physically barred in but I lacked the mental ability and the energy to leave. It was a prison that I had created myself, and one I could only bring down. But, alas! I lacked the necessities to do just that.

At one point I tried to keep a diary to record my draught. It worked for a few days. I also tried talking to people, but I just felt that I was bragging and attention seeking, so I stopped. And back it was to square one.

This affliction, this, this negativity of my soul just didn’t seem to let up. It was making me live in the world of fog, devoid of color and hope.

But, I’m lucky to say that I was able to find my voice. I managed to call out and break the glass floor in which I was trapped under and find the help I so desperately needed. But, my case was not as severe as many people out there, my age and older that aren’t able to reach out; that are not able to get help. Hundreds to maybe thousands of people get dragged down completely by depression and ultimately end it. Depression is real and needs more awareness. I hope reading my story helped you understand a little bit more what it’s like to go through or suffer from depression in one of its many forms.

TELL YOUR TRUTH.
FIND YOUR VOICE.
SING YOUR SONG.

BRING IT DOWN.

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