Back at Square One.

Depression steals away your confidence.

I felt that after my A-level exams. I knew that none of my exams went particularly well but there is a certain air of confirmation when you hold the paper that determines your future in your hands and realise the depth of your failure. When I tell people my grades, they seem to not think of it as appalling at all, but rather congratulate me. Had the conditions been different in which I gave my exams, I could have achieved so much better. That thought itself makes me feel disgusted by myself to accept their congratulations. No, it is not modesty that I intend to show when I say that my grades were shit. I am desperate for you to see that I am capable of so much more!

Generally people don’t care about the process, they just want the results. It doesn’t matter how hard I worked or how much effort I put in, my intelligence is only measured by a series of exams that take place, one right after another, all at the end of May. All in one sitting. I could have gone back to re-sit my exams, but who wants to take a step back? I wanted to just get on with my life.

But apart from stealing my success, depression stole my confidence. Being in an Indian family, the constant comparison to your cousins, to your other friends, to the boss’s brother’s colleague’s daughter etc. really doesn’t help. Sometimes I feel dehumanised by these comparisons. I feel like in order to succeed like them, I must tailor myself to experience life exactly as them, to talk like them, dress like them, maybe even use the same fucking toothpaste as them! It doesn’t make sense right? A sentence used in everyday conversations- “we are all different”- why can it not be believed as easily as it is said?

What is the point in even trying? What is the point in working hard when you know you have a mental illness that can come out of nowhere, bombarding your mind with the crippling urge to kill yourself, and all your hard work and effort will just go to waste? Because people don’t care about the process, they only care about the results. The results that I cannot give.

And just like that, depression stole my ambitions.

So here I am, back at square one, with no purpose or ambition or even the willingness to enjoy life. I feel as though I am a newborn, now dropped into this chaotic world, trying to make sense of it all. And then there is the anxiety of leading a meaningless life, which is just the fucking cherry on top of the cake of absurdity.

Although I appreciate the support from my family, it is not the kind of support I am looking for, but quite the contrary. It is doing me more harm than good, but I feel in times like these it is necessary, because now I know who to call for help, and who to not.

As it turns out, I am only comfortable with depending on myself.


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