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Two years ago, I
got into extreme chronic depression, as a result of which I did
prescription drug abuse. Come to think of it now, I don't really
recall much of the last three years. All I can remember is pain;
extreme cold pain, and numbness. I was cold. Very cold. Nobody
came forward to support me. Nobody stepped forward to help, but it
wasn't because they didn't care. Maybe it was; I can't really be
sure. But it was mostly because they didn't understand my
situation at all, and maybe because they were simply too much
pre-occupied with their own work. See, where I come from,
depression really isn't that common. For one, when my mom decided
one day that I was indeed insane, she searched all over town for a
psychiatrist, but could only found 2. I visited them both, and
even took their meds for some weeks, but after some two or three
months, rejected both of them. I am not really sure of the exact
interval of time for which I took their prescribed drugs. Anyway,
even though I visited them several times, I didn't find even one
single patient of theirs who was suffering from depression.
Believe me, if I had found one, I would have recognized them
instantly. I'm that good.
So, by this
time, I was doing quite a lot of prescription drug abuse. Well,
not exactly that much, but it did keep me sedated all the time.
Actually, I used to take cold medicines, but as I later found out,
the tablet that I used to take actually aggravated depression, and
to such an extent that it was actually printed on the carton that
those suffering from depression shouldn't take it at all. Not that
I cared. In fact, the exact one that I took is actually banned in
the US! Well, it isn't available here anymore as well.
So, without any
help, I took one painful step forward at a time towards an
ultimate destruction every single day. I desperately needed
someone to talk to. I would have gladly given anyone anything they
wanted, as long as they were willing to hear what I had to say.
But nobody showed up. I was left all alone to die.
Now, without going
on and on about my miserable life, let me just move on to the
transformation. We have an Indian English movie channel here,
which isn't really that much successful. So, between movies, it
plays the same songs over and over, every single day. And being
who I am, I dislike change. So, I would watch their songs
everyday. In fact, I would wait eagerly
for the movie to end so that I could watch the songs. Some of them
I really liked were Left Outside Alone by Anastasia
and Innocent Eyes by Delta Goodrem. I would like to just
add here that even though I have really heard just one of her
songs, I really respect her a lot. I don't really know much about
her, but wherever she is, I wish her happiness and peace in her
life. Anyway, so back to my story. One day, as I watching that
channel, a new song came up. It started off with a train pulling
up on a mountain side, and a black and white video emerged from
the yellow hills. Oh my god, some tears are coming – this
always happens when I talk about them. Anyway, about the video –
a man wearing glasses was sitting on a chair with a guitar in his
hand – opposite to him was one on a piano – beside him was
someone with another guitar, and finally, there was one on an
instrument which at the time (I think) I didn't know were called
the drums. So, I was watching that video for the first time, not
really knowing what it was really about. As I watched it, being
who I am, tears started rolling down my eyes – and that even
though I didn't know what it was about. But the music was so
powerful, so amazing that I was truly overwhelmed; and the video
itself, though simple, was really well done. Anyway, the song went
from good to better, and when - another tear went by just now;
maybe I'm a little too tired right now, but I've got to complete
this today, or the feeling will be lost tomorrow
– and when the vocal solo arrived, I burst into tears. The way I
felt that day, what with all the drugs, the pain and the blood
which remained flowing through my veins,
was beyond words. To say that I was moved would be an
understatement; they had touched my soul. Four people, whom I've
never even met, and whom I probably won't ever get to meet, had
saved my life. They had given me something to live for; they had
told me to hold on. The song was The Hands That Built America,
and the band was U2.
You might be
wondering now about how it all connects – a song about America's
freedom and someone like me who lives on the other side of the
world. Well, if you didn't understand it, you probably never will.
So don't waste time pondering over it.
The song came
on again and again several times after
that day, and I watched it each time and cried. But now, another
blow struck. The medicine I used to overdose on got banned. I
frantically searched for it all over the city, but soon all the
drug stores I knew had run out of stock. And I was feeling
particularly down at that time. So, I took a drastic step. I
gathered as many pills as I could find, got hold of 10 tablets of
a new sleeping pill which yet another doctor (not a psychiatrist)
had given me, and I took them all at one go, bidding adieu to the
world. I took them all, and went to bed, hoping to never get up
again.
As I laid there, I
felt all my blood rush to my head. And at once, I was overcome by
emotions and fears. The moment I realized that now I could
definitely not see her ever again, or ever hear her voice again,
my heart began to sink to a new low. I thought about my family,
whom I had already done great wrongs – shouting, breaking stuff,
I had done it all – I thought about her, at the time I honestly
thought that when she would hear about my suicide, she would
commit suicide as well. The last two years of my life flashed
before my eyes, and my eyes were filled with tears. I thought
about calling her and telling her what I had done, and asking her
to save me, which she probably would have done, but if I had died
after calling her, she would be dragged into all this for no fault
of hers, and I didn't want to get her into trouble. So I quietly
laid down on my pillow, closed my eyes, and went off into
unconsciousness, presumably forever.
But it was
not meant to happen. It just wasn't meant to. No matter what the
rules of science say. It was written on the carton that a mild
overdose can be fatal. Perhaps it was her love – as a mother's
love always is – undeterred and
limitless – or perhaps it was just her will – a mother's will
– which even God himself can't say no to – which saved me. I
don't exactly remember the time I went to bed that night, but I
woke up at midnight – alive and actually without any side –
effects at all. I'm telling you the truth – I didn't feel
anything. So I went to my room – actually it wasn't really my
room, it was just an empty room on the other side of the house,
from where nobody could hear anything – and I just cried – for
exactly 3 hours – from midnight to 3 am. And I'm not talking
about sobbing here – I actually cried non-stop for 3 hours. I
had turned on the heat convector – for
it was very cold that night, and I sat on a chair in front of it –
and cried. Those tears – unlike any other that I might have
cried during these three years – washed away all my guilt and my
sins. I became pure. I became free. I was born again.
I had learnt
how to kneel.
I didn't need see
her anymore. She was in my heart; she was in my head; she was on
my mind – all the time. Whenever I needed to see her beautiful
face, all I had to do was to close my eyes, and there she was,
smiling at me. Whenever I needed to hear her voice, I would just
listen intently, and the wind would carry her voice to me. As
such, I decided to make her a living part of me – a part of my
very existence, and with that I pushed her out of life, forever. I
still had her memories, and no one could take that away from me.
Now that she was
out of my life, I felt a big void in my life. There was a deep
emptiness; I had no
one to call my own. I had no shoulder to cry on. And then I
remembered those words which had given me hope and strength –
and I looked to them for comfort.
You've got to live
with your dreams; don't make them so hard ...
I went out and got
How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, The Joshua Tree and
Best of 1980 – Best of 1990. I would have got more, and I
would have given anything away to have The Hands That Built
America, but since I live in a developing part of a developing
country, I couldn't find any more albums.
I listened to How
to Dismantle ... over and over every single day. At first I
couldn't understand it at all, and to be
honest, it is so deep and so vast that I might never be able to
understand it completely. Then gradually I started to listen to
Best of 1980 – 1990, gradually because as already stated,
I dislike change. And the finally I began exploring The Joshua
Tree. The Joshua Tree healed my wounds, Best of 1980
– 1990 held me close and How to Dismantle became my
companion – never even for a moment leaving my side. As I was
extremely vulnerable and alone at the time, I needed security in
my life, and this was exactly what I needed.
I was yearning for
human touch, if only to maintain my connection with the real
world. It was at this time I found Kimberley White – someone
whom I can only imagine to be an angel from heaven. I was having
nightmares at the time; extreme nightmares, which would cause me
to wake up shouting in the middle of the night, and which severely
hit my plans to stay sane. It was then she wrote to me, telling me
that she would hold me near until I went to sleep, and then would
watch over me as I sleep, protecting me from the rest of the
world.
I haven't had even
a single nightmare since then.
Life was slowly but
steadily coming back on track, and I
joined a college to complete my graduation, which is absolutely
necessary if my dream of one day moving to the US is to be made
possible. But now something happened in college, which made me go
back to the meds.
But this time, it
didn't last long. I knew where to turn for support. My luck
turned; I found Best of 1990 – 2000 and All That You
Can Leave Behind at a local music store. And that was
everything I ever needed. I stopped all meds, got a haircut,
shaved my beard, and took back control of my life. You know why?
You want to know what suddenly jolted me out of my deep hideout
and gave me back control? You want to know what that thought was?
Well, I learnt that
All that you
fashion; all that you make; all that you build, all that you
break;
All this you can
leave behind.
I want to write
more; a lot more. But I'm running out of time and I know you're
running out of patience. So I am going to end this now. At this
moment, I'm in the first year of college, again, since I quit the
same class in the middle of the session last year – and guess
what, I'm the topper of my class. And not just by a close margin,
but by a long way. And I've found my calling – rock and folk.
I'm going to live my life exactly like they
have taught me to. And I'm going to try my best to follow in their
footsteps, and hope to one day make them
proud.
These are some of
the many confessions that I would like to get off my chest. I want
to tell the world that I'm a survivor; that I withstood pain and
darkness, and that the sun has begun to shine again. I want to
shout and tell the world that I love U2, I love life and I love
all the beautiful people in the world. My life has changed
completely, thanks to the wonderful and beautiful music and words
of U2, and now I want to do my part. If I had my way in this
world, no one would ever cry again. But that can't be, and people
do cry. I want to wipe away their tears and share their pain. I
want to hold them and comfort them and give them love and support.
I want to give them what I was denied. I don't want anyone else to
undergo what I had to go through. And this is only possible if you
help me to help you.
If you are
suffering from depression or any other form of mental illness,
please, please, don't hurt yourself. You are a very precious
individual to many people, including me. Please contact
me, so that we can share each others' pain.
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