By Jasroop Klair
I was told to write a narrative about my mental health, but narratives usually have a beginning, a middle, and an end. My brain doesn’t work that way. The negative thoughts are constant and tumultuous and they don’t go away. Some days it’s just barely noticeable, and some days it is the only thing in my brain. Healing isn’t linear, so it’s extremely difficult to figure out where I am and assess if I’m even doing better. Self-reflection and self assessment are essential, yet can be suffocating. Self-awareness can quickly turn into an obsession with self-image. Recognizing something is wrong is difficult. I had no idea there was something wrong until my doctor handed me a little pill bottle labeled “Paxil.”
I guess the way I would explain it to someone would be that your brain is covered in fog. All your memories and emotions are hazy, and you can’t really remember what you’re supposed to be doing. Or feeling. There is this tar stuck on your skin and it has leaked its way into your body, so much that you think you yourself are made of tar. You can no longer differentiate yourself from the tar, and you’re not sure if the thoughts you’re having are really your own, or if they’re just covered in tar.
Okay, the tar metaphor is over. The point is, it can be really bad but it doesn’t have to be that way. Of course there’s no cure or way to be happy instantly, but there are things that I’ve found help me deal with it, even if it is just momentarily. Keeping things bottled up will definitely worsen it, yet sharing isn’t easy either. It used to annoy me when people would tell me to share because most times I would just get into awkward conversations and people wouldn’t know how to comfort me.
So I would say that if you don’t have someone close to you whom you can share with, share with yourself via writing. As elementary as writing down your emotions may sound, I’ve found it helps a lot. Whenever it gets really bad, I journal my thoughts. The writing will be inarticulate and maybe vile, but it gets everything out of my system. When I’m in a clearer headspace I look back and read it, sometimes feeling embarrassed or even disgusted with the things I wrote. However, that helps me realize that the tar isn’t really me. And the thoughts produced by it are not me. (I lied about the tar metaphor being over).
Happiness is fleeting, yet so is despair. Everything passes.
