There are so many tragedies that happen during the course of our lifetime. Some come up with its early curable capacity. Some leave a long-lasting impression on our psyche. The former passes as quickly as days (or weeks) wear on. The latter makes life a living hell. A hell to go through, feel the pain digging into the bones. A slight odd remark (a nicely fashioned excuse, a game to ignore someone & get along with the one after a specified amount of time), and the sick is doomed.
I am a boy full of tragedies. A childhood trauma. And the painful years that followed.
I have gone through tons of self-help books, hours-long speeches of Jorden Peterson, Eckhart Tolle, and JD Krishnamurti. All in vain. If I were to tally up the amount of money I have spent on buying books that claim to provide us with the mantra of living life scars-free, I would have had the money to feed dozens of starving people. Where books fail to serve us well, where intellectuals fail to affect us positively, what else there remains to be hopeful about?
Thus begins my journey to pay psychologists and psychiatrists my urgent visits. A good dosages of anti-depressants prescribed by the latter, a good number of nicely held talks with the former, proved fruitful for a brief amount of time. And in the months later, I am back on track: depressed to every cell. Does PTSD go away on its own? No. Does it or its associates just vanish as a froth after digesting the pills for a good number of months or after assimilating the solution-filled talks. No. That’s that. That’s what has happened to me.
No amount of bullshit I seem to be tolerating. For it makes me even more depressed. Put lucidly, if there ever arises a situation caring with itself the air of hypocrisy, I would seem to launch an offensive against it beyond any chances of it putting forward a challenge. I want a life, hypocrisy-free, love-imbued, which I craved for during my childhood. And which I crave for at the moment.
Increasingly becoming aggressive both in my thoughts and actions for this screwed-up being of mine, I would often decide to throw constructive criticism in the face of the people. To give myself a much-needed high, I would do anything. Absolutely anything. To try to make this planet worth living, I would seem to go to any extent. Helplessness. What else?
Real tragedies make one imagine things beyond the boundaries of what one could imagine. And the one is so sensitive to trivial things that one feels numb in an instant. Feeling numb and trying to make people think and do things sans hypocrisy at the same time. Yet another tragedy to live forever with – keeping it dear.
Postscript:
Saying something and doing something is something we all ought to ponder seriously over and come up with a firm solution to make this beautiful planet hypocrisy-free. So might as well the “sick” get the love-feel. May God bestow us with the capacity to vanquish the long-lasting impressions of the tragedies! And may God help us “love” one another!
The writer is a post-graduate student of History at Kashmir University
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are the personal opinions of the author. The facts, analysis, assumptions and perspective appearing in the article do not reflect the views of GK.