By Q. Anuradha //
“I remember what my mind was before the thing happened that ruined my mind. I remember who I am now.”
–Ben, Ozark (TV series)
A character says this in a show I am binge-watching, and I burst into tears – because I don’t remember what my mind was, or who I had been before. The fog in my brain, the heaviness in my limbs, the inability to see possibilities in the future beyond the day-to-day grind of just existing – I know there must have been a time before that was my pervasive norm but I just can’t remember it. I wonder if that’s the biggest tragedy of it all.
2020: Around me, a pandemic rages. “Circuit breaker” is just ending but we are told that work-from-home arrangements are to continue indefinitely. I question if anyone I am working for realises how hard it can be to transition into a new role and organisation, much less during a pandemic, while working from home without any social relationships at work. I soon realise they don’t: I sit through multiple performance appraisal discussions that only highlight flaws and deficits. The underlying cause for my less-than-satisfactory performance – that my physical, mental and emotional health was impacted during “circuit breaker” due to losing access to my physiotherapist and counsellor – is not even acknowledged. I continue to aspire towards productivity regardless, knowing no different, pegging my worth to the work I am able to produce.
The turning point that finally starts me down the long road to recovery, is not one I could have foreseen. A friendship that lasted for almost 11 years implodes. I had allowed myself to be treated less than what I was worth for long enough. I recognise that stepping away is the best choice I could make for myself even as I grieve the loss of that relationship. The manifestation of anxiety, the black hole in my gut, seems to close just a tiny bit. I am able to sit up a bit straighter. I am now able to say, ‘I am worth it’, sometimes. And I give myself permission to dream, to attempt to see new possibilities.
My escapist dreams of spending months in South America are renewed afresh as the pandemic continues. I start learning Spanish on Duolingo and surprise myself with how quickly my brain absorbs new knowledge. It is the first time in years that I have had a glimpse of what my mind was like before this depression. In a way, I hate it. It reminds me that I deserve to be more than the hollowed out husk I had become. It might have been less painful not to remember.
My dreams become a bit more tangible. I take a few online modules as part of my application for a Master’s programme I am interested in. The quizzes at the end of each module give immediate feedback — I score at least 90% in all of them. I am slightly less surprised than when I started learning Spanish. This time around, I welcome the clarity of thought. My counsellor is so proud of me when I share this with her. I’m recovering, she says. Still, she cautions, recovery is not linear. I cannot help but enjoy the change in momentum.
Eventually, I decide to step away from a job that has been a huge contributor to my poor mental health over the past seven years. Away from bosses that demand to know how I spend every single minute of my time, robbing me of any agency, and away from spaces that do not believe in bringing the whole self to work; from spaces that have no room for my wholeness to unfurl. I know it is the right decision, when within three weeks, I am feeling the best I have felt in seven years.
//I write a note to myself reminding me of this: affirming that the choice to prioritise mental health and healing was absolutely the right decision. I hold onto that feeling of wholeness and stability that has replaced the void in my gut – filling my veins like sun-drenched honey instead.//
As 2020 closes, I spend the last two months relearning what it means to come home to my body. In movement classes, I allow myself to be seen and witnessed as I am, in my authenticity. I discover the solid ground instead of quicksand that can exist beneath my feet. I work with coaches, relearning my capacity for joy and kindness. And I embrace the quest for purpose and meaning again – finally seeing the possibility of thriving beyond just living.
As 2021 begins, I am now learning to approach life on my own terms, from a place of self-worth instead of insecurity – strength at the core of my body instead of a void. I recognise that this is yet another transition with its own challenges that lie ahead. But I am grateful to be alive instead of constantly seeking ways to escape the grind of daily life for I have found new tools to access the stillness and quiet within. And I am able to see possibilities where I would have only seen dead ends. The universe conspires together with me, and I land multiple part-time gigs aligned with my interests.
I now not only remember what my mind was before the thing happened that ruined my mind, but also am able to embody it more and more frequently. Above all, I am able to recognise that underneath all the chaos of living life, joy can still endure as a deep bottomless reservoir that I can draw from. I realise that I don’t fully remember who I was before, but I now have the time and space to rediscover that anew.
“Maybe the journey isn’t so much about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about un-becoming everything that isn’t really you, so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place.” – Paulo Coelho
Q. Anuradha is a volunteer writer with The Tapestry Project SG who has lived experience with depression and anxiety. The arts (dance, writing, painting and music) are her conduits to wellness in an otherwise stressful world. She finds hope in dreaming of an inclusive world where diversity is celebrated. Her previous article can be found here.
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