On Being Jenny...
Most people went to bed and slept between four to eight hours. Not Jenny. Jenny was lucky if she slept more than three hours per night. The remaining hours, she drifted between that indefinable state of being awake and being asleep and these were lucky days too.
On very bad days, she stayed completely awake, staring at the ceiling. Her demons came in the form of the ceiling squares. She counted them, comparing the sizes, noticing the mismatch in shape and size between the squares and of course noticing every construction error in the workmanship - anything but sleep.
This is not to say that her mind was empty, devoid of any thoughts than shapes, sizes and perfect fit and she often wished that these were her only concerns. But they weren't. She was using these thoughts to drown the other thoughts, the ones making her feel suffocated.
Once in a while, she recalled the times when she had no care in the world, except of course those cares thrust upon her by her father. She never cared much about religion but it seemed to her that was what her father cared about above all things, including family and friends.
All she did was fall in love. She didn't think there was or there could be anything wrong with that until she got pregnant at the age of seventeen. Her father, the only family she ever knew, drove her away from his home, his community. As a leader in the church, he could not bear to watch his only daughter disgrace him and ruin the reputation he spent his life building.
Jenny did not understand how such a religious man could be so uncaring. As a result, the foundation on which her own faith was built caked, cracked and crumbled under the weight of her guilt and anger. Now she drifted, feeling numb and empty.
In the wake of the rejection, Jenny sought and found a way to terminate the pregnancy, thinking that this would be the end of her problems. She has hated herself ever since, a self-loathing so strong that it obliterated every good thing in his life. Recently, she felt so low that she often had to look up to see bottom.
Taking ones life, they say, is an act of cowardice, but they don't know what it's like, she thought. No, she was scared but more than the fear was the pain. It felt like that time back in their hometown when their house burned down. She was in the attic playing when smoke gradually but steadily filled her room.
She was terrified. She could not see, could not move. She opened the door to head towards the stairs but the blazing fire and the heat said no. She ran to the window but she was afraid of the height.
They say that fear of height is a natural fear everyone is born with. Isn't fear of death a similar fear, she thought? She was gripped with the fear of falling that long distance to the ground. I would probably break my neck, she thought.
Act of Cowardice, they say?
She believed that suicide was like jumping off that window. She could not do it. No. But when the fire smouldered the walls of the room she was in, the ceiling began to cave and the heat felt like it was going to melt the skin off of her, she realised there were two fears and one was greater and supported by a clear and imminent danger. Jumping was not an act of courage or cowardice. It was an act of choosing the lesser of two evils, an act of self-preservation, an act of quenching the pain. So she jumped.
What she felt now was not fear. It was nothing like what she felt during that fire or when she was chased from the only home she knew. It was similar to suffocating under fire and it came with the unbearable pain of being burnt alive. If only she had someone to share her pain with, someone that would tell her that it is going to be alright. Perhaps if there was such a person, the pain would be less.
Have you been there?
Or do you know someone who has?
It is more likely that you have been there than that you know someone who has.
How could it be that through the misery that came to pass, the hard times make a true friend afraid to ask?
Above is a question asked by Tupac Amaru Shakur (1971 - 1996) within the lyrics of his song Until the End of Time. He was talking about how his success and fame made his friends in the old days unwilling to ask his help when they needed it.
Incidentally, something similar happens to our loved ones when they are in the level of depression and solitude that causes them to think suicidal thoughts. We see them walking around everyday but we don't realize the level of pain they were going through. And they would not tell you because they can't imagine that you can't see it. How could they?
If you walked past someone whose clothes were on fire, would you notice?
You probably would. And because this is the same level of pain your loved one, who is thinking that death would be a reasonable escape, is feeling, they can't imagine that you don't see it. This is why they conclude that nobody cares.
The Irony of Loneliness
Loneliness has nothing to do with the number of people around you or the number of people you know. Most of us are connected to the people we know through up to ten different ways. If Loneliness was about means of communication, surely people would not be dying alone out of depression.
So it is not about the number of people you know, it is about the number of people you know who care about you and who you care about. It is not sufficient that they care about you, you have to care about them too.
Conclusion
Your loved ones will not tell you when they are really hurting because, in spite of all they know about how much you are supposed to love them, in their pain they somehow convince themselves that you do not care.
A saying in my part of the world goes like:
"How are you doing?" cures diseases.
So when things are going well for you, do not forget to ask your brother, sister, wife, husband, friend, parents: "Are you okay?" That may be all that's needed to show them that this is life in this place afterall. Show a little kindness for who knows, through it, you may save a soul.
And for you who is feeling that horrible pain that makes you want to run to death, remember this:
Even when it seems that there is no one else, always remember there's one person who never ceased to love you - yourself.
Sanhita Baruah
May you find love, peace and happiness.
With love and gratitude,
All images were obtained from this source