Barren | ✓

g r e y

*warning: trigger content

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it's easy to lose sight of life.

we often grow up to hear the phrase that life is not a bed of roses.

as kids we don't realize the significance it carries, but when the very thorn pricks your bubble of innocence, you find yourself being thrusted towards maturity at a pace you aren't even aware of.

there are several factors that could contribute to the thorn.

emotional trauma leads the list.

as a child, daydreaming felt the most natural. there were no burdens, no responsibilities, no constraints of maturity to pull you back from enjoying life.

it was all fun and friends and happiness and a home where both my parents awaited the treasure of joy i would bring that day.

until one day, i came back home with no father in it.

nothing made sense to the ten-year old me back then. it felt folly, even foolish. there was no way such a thing could happen.

i chose denial for several months.

but even through my denial, i knew that things were nowhere near the same anymore.

my mother had lost the glow on her face. she would constantly alternate between work and misery and the burden of supporting me as a single parent had made her shoulder sag much faster than could be anticipated.

my mother still kept me as shielded as she could from the harsh realities of life.

when i was sixteen, i saw her working on a few bills late in the night. when she saw me, she smiled and set her glasses down but didn't hide away anything from me.

i sat beside her quietly, a silent storm raging in my heart. she explained the debt mount my father had left behind us.

he was prudent to have investments in place but even after liquidating them all we barely had enough to clear the debt mount with her income combined.

my heart sank thinking about the unduly load she had to carry by herself in those six years. life had indeed not been easy.

in the six years since my father passed away, a lot had happened. i grew distant, didn't know how to deal with his loss and spent a lot of time running away from my responsibilities.

i lived in a world of anger and mistrust, excusing my rebellion teen years as the license to do whatever made my heart feel good.

i felt ashamed to think about what i had been making my mother go through alone.

something sprung alive within me that night.

i stayed up in my room until the wee hours of the morning trying to figure out the red lines my father had left us, while designing a priority map that complemented what needed to be done when.

i was a lousy commerce student enjoying college fests and events. i continued that, but now focused on getting my academics straight.

at 18, i took up my first paid internship.

at 21, i graduated college with honours and earned myself a decent pay job.

at 24, when i landed my job with a venture capital firm.

at 28, i made my first client commission worth a million.

at 31, i eliminated the red from my father's ledger.

at 32, i decided that i could now focus on having a family of my own.

at 35, i got married.

at 39, i had my first child.

life was smooth, life was pacing well. my mother stayed with us in a comfortable lifestyle. not repeating my father's mistake, i had designed a lifestyle for us that was comfortable within our means.

everything was just the way it was meant to be.

today, at 41, i have been officially diagnosed with clinical depression.

my therapist believes that i had never gotten over my father's death fully. it rwas now catching up with me.

somewhere in the chase of life, i had let the purpose of my life become financial security. and now that i had achieved that, i had no motive of survival anymore.

i came home and laughed.

at 11, i was first diagnosed with clinical depression by my aunt who worked then as my informal counsellor.

at 12, i stole my mother's alcohol and swung it because i couldn't think straight.

at 14, i smoked weed for the first time and blacked out for an entire day.

at 15, i contemplated ending my misery.

and then, i took myself the pain one fine night to see my mother. she was alone and yet fought her battle high and with pride. there wasn't a single day where she had anything easy her way and she didn't let her spirits fall low.

it was on my 18th birthday that she made me a whiskey as we stood upon the balcony, looking at the new year fireworks.

"how did you remain so strong, ma? didn't you feel depressed for even a moment after everything happened? how can you be so bright and positive all the time?"

my mother laughed heartily.

"let me tell you a secret today, nishesh. there's not been a day since your father died that i haven't cried myself to sleep. there were days where i was certain that i'd lose you too. but you fought on day after day and gave me strength to fight for you. you are a fighter."

"ma, the things i have done-"

"were understandable for a child going through trauma at your age. but you're strong."

"how can i be strong when i've thought about ending it all more than once?"

"a moment of weakness doesn't make you weak. do you think i don't have those moments? what matters is how you pull yourself through them. besides, if your aunt had it her way, we'd both be declared clinically depressed by now."

"so how do you deal with it?"

"the show must go on. and so i do."

the memory of that conversation makes me smile. it's a mantra i have followed since since then, and has been one thats kept me more sane than everything else combined.

my mother is my beacon for any time life feels overwhelming. my responsibilities always keep me on my feet and so does my head.

and now that i have lessened the burden of the mind, i could not and would not let the burden of the heart take over.

so i do what i do best.

i return to my house with a show of normalcy.

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- a fighter trying to battle his demons by himself

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