Stages of Grief: 4. Depression


   I am in this crowd, submerged in a sea of hundred if not  thousand faces; everywhere I look there are people, people everywhere; yet it  felt like I am on my own, like I am not a part of them, part of the world, part  of anything. Just about anything could make me cry; only thing is that I am  extremely good at holding them back. I have built this huge dam and I am not  willing to let this river flow. No, I would never show weakness, never! I am  strong, but I must admit I feel weaker than an infant; I am bold, but I shy away  at the mere thought of you.

   Everything else seem to be so overwhelming, and I’d lose my  breath; I keep on walking but I know not where; my brain seem to cease its  work, only my feet are in motion and I am unaware of where they take me. Then a  seemingly quiet place I rest my gluteus, only to find out, as I raise my head,that I have been sitting on a roadside very much like that poor beggar I helped  just the other day.

   I saw you today and I flinched, and I hid, and then I ran,as fast as these pathetic heels would carry me. What was I so afraid of? Why am  I hiding? I am not to be ashamed. I did no wrong. But I still ran. And I still  ran because you see, it was too much for me to see your face that once loved me  more than anything in this world; and I believed that because you said it yourself;  but now it wouldn’t smile for me. I wonder, afraid to know who you’re smiling  for now, yet restless to know who.

   It was a good morning when I cheerfully woke up and I thought  the pain was gone. I seemed awake than the rest of the days that passed like  they were nightmares. And then breakfast happens, and of all the occasions I had  to remember you, you! My stomach fell and my taste buds refused to work. My throat  suddenly narrows and not a grain of rice could pass. I felt like crying then and  there, but I wouldn’t show a single tear in front of family.

   What is a man to do when mornings hold no reason for the  day? What is a man to do when the messages that awaits and gladdens the wakening  ceases to deliver? I look at my phone every morning to see it empty and quiet  like it lost its voice to holler me a ringtone. I know it was only a couple of  months and I am probably overreacting, but I know what it felt like and I had  just enough time to have fallen in love with you.

   It is not a beautiful life when it hurts just before you  sleep and it restarts as soon as you wake up in the morning. Why can’t this  just go away? It’s been seven months now, seven months! This is insane! Yet here  I am. I don’t even know what I am doing here. Where am I? What have I done to  myself? What have I done to that beautiful relationship we had? The sun sets. Where  now is the sunrise? I see dark clouds. But there is no silver lining. No showers  of blessing. No rainbows. Just thick, dark, cold clouds everywhere.

   Energy I lack, motivation I lack, I am deficient of hope, life and laughter; because you see, all these things come in a package, and that package is you my love, YOU. I miss you so much it hurts my very core.

26 August 2014
0134 hours


Stages of Grief: 3. Bargaining


   Come back, please come back! Tell me, what have I done; or,  what have I not done? Is it something I did? Or is it something I failed to do?  Is it the way I walk? Is it the way I talk? Is it just being me? Have I misconduct  myself? Tell me; please just tell me where did I go wrong to have lost you this  bad? How can you leave someone you stared at the face with all content  completely in just a matter of one lousy break-up conversation? What right can  I make?

   Have you forgotten how you felt back then? You see, I can’t  forget how you made me feel. Isn’t there any chance that you haven’t forgotten  all the things you said you felt? Isn’t there any chance that you remember how  you once felt for me, and maybe feel that again? I refuse to believe that all those  feelings would just be gone in a matter of not even weeks but days.

   What can I do to make  this right again? What can I do to have you back again? Tell me, tell me and I  would do anything, anything! I worked through my schedule because I was afraid  I wouldn’t be able to give enough time for you; I would re-work through any  schedule if you only would give me a chance. Any kind of displeasure you have  of me I would change it and change it over again till it would honor you.  Anything I did shameful, though I cannot erase, I would rectify and do a  hundred others just so you feel good again.

   Have I broken your heart? Have I bruised you  unintentionally? Have I scoured your feelings? All I have done, and all that I  am willing to do, and everything else there is to; nothing in the world would I  allow to leave not a scratch on you. Mine is not so beautiful as compared to  yours when you smile, mine is not even half alluring as your beautiful  physique; but my heart is pure, and this is my one pride. I know what I feel  for you, and I know that these feelings are true. If anything else fails, if anything  else I am not even a competition to the more attractive world, but I know that no  other soul will love you as much as mine does.

   I did my best, I swear! I trusted you, I had not a single  wrong notion of your being; no, not in the slightest of sense. And in the  greatest of sense, my ever-aching heart longs for your presence, your smile the  most beautiful of all; I ache for you, please, come back home.

Sunday, August 24, 2014
2109 hours

Stages of Grief: 2. Anger


   How could you do this to me? You’re a liar, bitch! I could draw  a million angry faces and it wouldn’t suffice. We both promised each other that  we wouldn’t break hearts; how could you break mine so easily? And you didn’t even  flinch. No fight, no drama, no pre-announcement; you just said the word and  that’s it; how could you? Have you no respect? Am I that pathetic? Did I not  deserve some explanation? Am I nothing at all?

   How is your new boyfriend? Or is it ‘was’ already? Do you  flip sides in just a matter of seconds? Are you this flimsy? Do you really just  go to whatever your latest desire land? Do you do magic, that one second you  made me feel the best and the next you make me feel like garbage? Are you  really this cold-hearted? As much as I would like to deny that you are a bitch,  I am still waiting for the heavens to prove me otherwise.

   Why do I even bother? It’s been the same routine, the same  initial bliss, followed by the same ‘something-is-not-right’ sensation, and  finally the same ‘just-as-I-feared’ event. Stupid shit happens over and over  again. And here I am, lamenting the obvious, the old and the pathetic for a  thousandth time now. You might ask me ‘is it not time you get over the sick  bush and improve for real?’, I would tell you ‘I feel exactly the same’. But again, here I still am, pathetic  as ever.

   At times I get mad, when I think of it in a certain manner. “It’s  not fair” “This shouldn’t be happening to me”… so on and so forth. For once I  want to get the eff out of this shit and grow up. For once I would sure hell  like to move on. Six months now and here I am, pathetically broken,  pathetically hurt, and pathetically angry. What the eff have I been doing here?  This is one effing situation I get myself into.

   No, no hateful emails from me. This is the least I can do to  maintain my sanity. I don’t need any support. I can get through this, I will. It  will take time. I will get angry. I will get mad. But I am going to make it. I promise.

Dated 13 August 2014
0135 hours

Stages of Grief: 1. Denial


   I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. This is not  happening to me. It was barely two months and you can’t change your mind too soon. It was only during our second last conversation you said about your comfy zone and I was already thinking along that line. Most relationship ends when both sides got no fighting cause; you didn’t even give me a fighting chance! Any kind of feelings can’t end too soon. It could get deteriorated and finally disappear, but not like this; not overnight.

   I refuse to believe that I am nothing to you. I refuse to belief that all those times were of nothing to you, that you don’t remember the good times; that you’re not affected by the affections we had. Please do not make me remind you that it was you who noticed me.

   It was you who took note of me in my apron with a small stethoscope heading towards the out-patient department that fateful morning, and I was looking at nobody and noticed no one around me. It wasn’t me who was responsible for whatever happened after I accepted that stupid friend request. It wasn’t me who was determined to get me. I never had so much peace, confidence and yet now a breakdown in my life. I never knew I could be so loved, I never knew I could be so rejected by the same.

   What did I do wrong? Where is my mistake? When did I provoke you? Was it something I said? Was it something I did? Or was it something I did not? Was it me? Was it the way I talk? Was it the way I walk? Did I not smile enough? Did I laugh too much? Had I not given you enough attention? Did I neglect you? Was it my busy schedule? Was it my livelihood? Was it my job? Was it my family? Was it just me? Where did I go wrong?

   I believed everything you said, from what you said when you claimed to be busy to the times when you just don’t feel like chatting. And I understand; I force myself to even when I don’t. I trusted you, except when you told me you wanted to wrap things up. My system could just not register that final piece of information. I found it hard to believe you loved me, and now I find it hard to believe that you don’t.

   I refuse to talk myself into thinking that you are a  scumbag, a good-for-nothing bitch who went in and goes out heartlessly. I have nothing but good thoughts of you; I did, and is still doing it. But that is the exact thing that drives me insane. You see, what I thought of you, and what you’re making of me just doesn’t add up.

   I do not want to label this as love because it is just one-sided now, yet I can’t label it as fowl-play. I just can’t get myself to thinking that you are as heartless as it seems to appear. You are but a cruel angel to my hollowed heart.

Dated 12 August 2014
0017 hours

The Self, Part 2


   I pulled him by the back of his hair, part playful, and part anger; and in my state of warmed-bloodedness I must have pulled harder than I meant to coz he tripped backward and hit is occiput hard. Laymen terms describe things more neurological than actual: He thought he hit his head, which affected the brain and caused respiratory distress. But my medical backgrounds tell me he’s got a skull more protective than he can imagine. Fact remains, he hit his head and added surprise caused him to panic which he expressed as breathing distress, nothing serious.

   But it is not the physical injury that persists, rather an emotional trauma on the part of the doer in the form of guilt, fear and perhaps more than a necessary amount of remorse. Akin to a dual-faced coin, the good and bad effects comes in like a Siamese twin not deciding to undergo surgical separation whatsoever. On the bright side, I get to learn from my mistake NEVER to go physical in times of emotional stress and to look after my conduct more than I am already doing it. On the bad side, I just want to cease my very existence, whence uncared.

   The human soul is such that the physical wound received by the body it occupies heals and at times scars with no adversity to the functioning, but the soul when wounded even but slightly heals in dribs and drabs and leaves a scar that feeds on the very existence of the soul itself. Lucky me it didn’t happen, but had I been given a chance to die immediately that very moment I was sure to make it happen. But it didn’t occur, so here I am.

   The trauma so happened I was unprepared for. When in life you faced a thing or two it leaves you with a mindset that prepares for a similar situation should it happen again. But more often a whole different situation is brought into place and that shook you completely off you self, or should I say ‘completely off your feet’, whichever is better.

   That accursed scene played over and over in my head and at the most undesired times, often leaving me in awkward expressions and positions as I cringed at the very memory of it – while sitting in the church, in the bathroom, as I get dressed, while driving, while reading; anywhere, anytime and at anyplace. There is no ‘Here I come, ready!’, simply a ‘Whoosh’ and the next moment I come to my senses I’d be either making weird faces, stretched out my limbs in the silliest possible positions, breathing heavily with no reason to exhaust, shutting my ears tight with my hands where there is no noise at all, or even make funny noises! I pleading and praying for the mental attack to stop.

   As if this was not enough, it started eroding my social life. I like babies a lot, and whenever I see one my first thing would be “Can I please hold the baby? She/he is so adorable!” A week later the incident I was actually holding a beautiful baby in my arms, I was miserable on the inside. All I could think was ‘What if I hurt the baby? What if I dropped the baby or something?’ Images of me accidentally dropping the baby or hurting it my any accidental means possible kept cropping up in my head, haunting me in my very wake. It crippled me so much that as much as I love cuddling the sweet innocent I might as well give it away ‘in safer hands’ was all I could think of. I felt desolate.

   I believe that my friend had completely recovered the night itself. His mother was all but completely nice to me. No sign of mistake was perceptible from their side. But I was still stuck with myself, crippled and in status quo. Every time I thought about the tug, the trip, the panic attack and the stirring I caused that night I am still in complete shock. Guilt the size of which I have never imagined I’d have to deal with seized me like a hunter’s trap that caught a deer prancing gleefully and ignorant of the snare until it fell right into it. I am hurting but unable to find the cure, stuck but unable to find the exit.

   Then I realized, it’s just me, myself. I go back to the importance of the ‘self’. I was, and still am, unable to forgive myself for what I did, for the person I hurt; for the prevention I failed to execute now the cure is much tougher to find.

   Progress comes in when we are able to admit our mistakes and forgive ourselves. That means progress comes in a two phase thrive: self admittance and self forgiveness. Without any due argument I totally, almost automatically, admit to my mistake of brute action that was completely unjustified. But I am stuck because I still cannot forgive myself for what I have done. Perhaps fear of taking it lightly, perhaps fear of repetition, nevertheless I still opt for this pathetic state of mind. Maybe it reminds me of my mistake and would guard me from redoing it, whatsoever be it. Because life is also about choices I may one day choose to forgive myself and leave it all behind, but for now the wounds haven’t healed yet and the scar that will remain is yet another issue.

   For me, growth begins immediately after I am able to admit my mistakes and forgive myself.


Wounds heal, scars remain.
In pathology, the process of wound healing is described in a beautiful manner expressing the different maneuvers and transformations underwent by the body in a systematic and organized manner conducting vital components to mend the injury. Complicated wounds resulting from harmful germs and unfavorable environ often recuperate with ugly scars. And scars, ugly as they may, complete their function by doing their best to close up wounds and help continue healthy subsistence.
The soul is one vulnerable aspect of the being, though being the essence of life, often referred to as the emotional ambience. This is what makes us superior over all other beings of flesh and blood on this earth: the human soul sensitive to a vast ocean of emotions. And when inflicted, went through stages of healing, at times ending up with scars. Thereon, scars influence future outlook and behavior, be it an improvement or a drawback, moving us onto a new chapter in life.
Every day we expose ourselves to the risks of emotional trauma; our thoughts and actions discreetly affecting varying influential corollary. The people we trusts, the ones we suspect, our loved ones, bastards we abhor, indifference towards a few more; people we need, some we relied on, commitments we’d make, boyfriends, girlfriends, husband, wife, liars, cheaters, thieves and scoundrels, relationships we establish, friendship we broke, new people we’d meet, romance, partings, love, compassion and hope.
Sometimes we end with scars; at times we leave scars on others. Who is good enough to blame the other? Trusting one, blaming the other; who is better now? Loving one, hating the other; who can then claim to be a true love? Partiality and biased ways – a loving heart for one, a ruthless Judas for the other; who then is pure of heart? Judge me, judge us, but hear
this first: “He that is without sin among you let him first cast a stone…”
But one that remained still is this: take responsibility for your own life, for your own actions and conclusions. Wounds are inevitable, scars are unavoidable. Every turn is that much delicate a movement to be undertaken for one slight diversion from the considered considerable regime precedes a fate which exacts a deep, gaping wound in our wake.
When you give your heart to someone, when you grant to the one that delicate right to meddle with your soul, when you made that strong a commitment to the one, but when that one is a harlot who led a lie for a life, who gave a pathetic alibi in the form of something like ‘changed mind’ or ‘love him more’; that is when wounds get complicated and indelible scars become.