Latest posts by Awais Samdani (see all)
- Meet the young talent, “Olina Loau” - January 12, 2018
- The Aida Guran Story – From Romania to USA - December 26, 2017
- Tamannaah Bhatia Talks To Subodh Gupta About Her Slim Figure - June 16, 2017
They ask how it feels like, I asked it too; how does it feel like to die? To let myself fall. To give up, and to let myself bleed, slowly and wait for it; a moment of peace. ‘’How would it feel like?’’ I often ask myself.
My soul becomes terrified, do I want it? No. Do I need it? Yes, says my heart and every ounce of my being, yet somewhere deep down a voice calls on me, to snap out of it. But I can’t, I feel trapped, I feel paralyzed under the spell my mind put on me. It’ll pass, I hold onto my inner mantra.
‘’Just keep swimming,’’ they say but I’m terrified of water and I am exhausted of fighting the waves, yet I hit the surface only to drown all over again.
Some days I sleep for straight 16 hours and some days I don’t sleep at all. Highs and lows and highs and lows, trapped in vertigo. A moment I feel at cloud 9, the other moment I lock myself up in total isolation. I wake up and everything hurts. My body, my heart, my head, everything hurts. I see him in my nightmares, asking me for a kiss, to go down on my knees. I sob, chill spreading through my bones.
The guilt eat my alive, there’s so much guilt, my reality becomes distorted and I can’t breathe. I lose control. I fall down on my knees and remind myself to breathe.’’ Breathe in. Breathe out,’’ I chant out loud, but no one hears me. Everybody’s downstairs, so oblivious. I wish I could tell them, but it’s easy this way. It takes every last ounce of energy I have to get back up. I either refuel or I go down the road I am terrified of. So, I grab that piece of chocolate, but they say, ‘’No, you’re too fat to have that.’’ I sneak out and have it anyway – survival first.
I wish they could understand that and give me the space I need. I take my space and I let them believe it is just bad character, taking the easy way out. I wait for it to pass, but it gets worse. I pull out my hair to find my relief and it does help until guilt and shame knocks me down real bad. It feels like a downward spiral, twisting around the edges – always leaving me under a dizzy spell. They say I have Trichotillomania, so I call myself a trich-ster and hide behind my trickery. I play it clean; I cover it up. I hide it from the world. I hide behind my messy hair buns, I hide behind the black I put on my eyebrows. I’m scared and I feel vulnerable. I’m losing control and they just won’t get it. Would they tell others I am a freak or would they tell them I’m just sick? Will they look at me funny, when I just am myself? Maybe I know the answer and I don’t like it. So, I hide, I push them away. I protect myself, but they say I’m running away from my problems instead of facing them like an adult. Please tell them, running keep the monsters at bay. Facing my demons would push me to the point of no return – the point I’m trying so hard to get away from.
They tell me to sit with them. I’m afraid they’ll see my arms and ask me about the marks, straight and angry red. I roll down my sleeves, but that’s annoying. They tell me to be responsible. A laughter bubble up in my throat. It feels good to laugh once in a while. I look myself in the mirror and I don’t recognize me, so I grin at the person standing in front of me, because eff the world. So, I twirl and dance at my favorite song. At some point I burst into laughter, because mayn I’m hilarious.
Sometimes I feel like I’m two different people, but who’s the real me? I don’t know. Some days I feel happy and it feels really good. I feel on cloud 9, it feels normal, but is it, really? I think I can achieve everything I want because who’s going to stop me. A thousand ideas invade my head, I try to grasp them, but I can’t.
I try to jot them down the paper but my hand couldn’t move fast enough. Thought after another, they just don’t stop. I feel like I’m high on something.. I’m forced by my brain to multitask, to listen to music and watch a movie at the same time, or watch a movie and read a book at the same time or open a hundred different tabs and start everything at once, like that’s even possible. In the end I realize it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. The motivation dies and it leaves me frustrated. I see locks of hair right next to me, on the floor, in my bed, on my clothes. It freaks me out and leaves me agitated. I lie down to sleep but I can’t, so I get up and take a bath, but I feel like I’m being watched. I know it’s not real but I can’t shake off this feeling, this fear.
I don’t understand my own mind. I feel trapped between two extremes, like a pendulum of an ancient wall clock. I can’t snap out of it, I would’ve if I could. I wish they could stop telling me to. I feel like I’m drowning and the moment I hit the surface, I am drowning again. Dr. S. says, I am Bipolar, but people who don’t get it are convinced it is just ‘’attention seeking.’’ They tell me they don’t get me, I reply, ‘’I don’t either,’’ but I don’t want them to get me, because they can’t, I just need them to accept.