Oh dear heart,
This healing thing that they talk about is messy. I know, I know you’re hurting; screaming; crying. But it’s all part of healing you see. Healing from what exactly? I’m afraid even I can’t tell you that. But, healing. That’s all we can hold on to right now.
It’s okay. Everything you feel is okay. It’s okay to have a great day where work is good, exercise is good, and the voices don’t bother you. It’s okay to have a day where you just lie in bed staring at the ceiling wondering whether you should keep breathing. And it’s okay to have both these days at once.
It has been 11 years. Eleven. Exhausting. Years. What is it that you say? You’re tired. I know. I know. I am too. I watch you sink deeper into the oceans of agony and hopelessness by the minute. I know you feel you don’t have anything to believe in; anyone to believe for. Everything just sucks. It’s all a waste of time—repeating the same set of actions, saying the same words, feeling the same emotions. It is. I understand.
But, oh dear heart, don’t you for even a minute believe that it will always be this way. You see, heart, healing is not a straight line. I am not going to ask you to hope or imagine. I am only going to ask you to remember.
Remember the first time you heard the voice. Remember the first time you thought of ending things. Remember that void, that emptiness. But also remember the time you hugged maa and wished for it to always be that way. Remember how you almost swallowed all those pills; spent all those days crying, lying in bed, numb to your core. But also remember, how you worked hard to make Europe a reality, the days you spent reading or just being in Swarali and Anuja’s company. Remember, how there was hope, no matter for how brief a time.
Yes, remember too how it all came crashing down with just one impulsive action. Remember. Remember how betrayed, how incompetent, how worthless, how common you felt. Remember crying in the therapist’s office. Remember admitting to maa, bhaiya, and didi that you didn’t want to live. But then, heart, remember that touch, that healing touch that made it all bearable, if not okay. Remember the little steps of courage. When you went to the gym for the first time in 4 months; when you ate without having been reminded to; when you genuinely smiled; when you drove alone after all that time.
Remember feeling genuinely blessed. Remember the fits of anger you could throw at your support system. Remember having a support system. Remember the night you danced carelessly. Remember the day you told yourself it was okay.
Yes, heart, there were those days when nothing made sense. When holding on felt wrong, when the heartache was just so much; when the will to live, breathe, see the next second had gone. But there were also days when it seemed like everything might just make sense, when you could enjoy having chai looking at the mountains, when buying books was not stress shopping.
There is that day, heart when you punished yourself for trying to be happy but there is also that day when you allowed yourself to be.
So, you see, heart. There are always going to be waves. Waves of fear, defeat, apprehensions. Waves of courage, victory, hope. And just in case you haven’t noticed, heart, that is what healing looks like.