In the shadows of silence, behind closed doors, and within the confines of one’s mind, battles are fought that often go unseen. Today, we bring you the voices of those who have endured the depths of despair, faced traumas that shook their very foundation, and ultimately emerged as survivors- from our very own community of bloggers, storytellers, creators.
These are not stories of mere survival but of resilience, hope, and the indomitable human spirit. They show us that, even in the darkest of moments, there is a glimmer of light. They remind us that we are not alone in our struggles and that seeking help and sharing our experiences can be the first steps towards healing.
The narratives you are about to hear are raw, honest, and deeply personal.
Disclaimer: Names are not mentioned to protect the privacy of our community.Stories shared discuss sensitive topics such as mental health, self-harm that can be triggering.
Unveiling my battle with clinical depression
Honestly speaking I’ve been a patient of clinical depression since my teen.
My early years were marked by experiences that turned me into a reserved child and made me a target for bullies, ultimately pushing me into the depths of depression. I felt lost, unsure of who to confide in.
As I pursued a degree in psychology, my relatives dismissed my struggles, saying, ‘kya hi hota hai insab se, jab pet ko khana nahi milta tab yeh sab mental problem depression khidki se bhag jata hai’.
Those words still haunt me to this day.
I faced the heart-wrenching loss of my parents at a young age, with no siblings to lean on. I had to fend for myself, and over time, I withdrew further into my shell. By 2016, I reached a breaking point where thoughts of suicide consumed me. I felt utterly alone, trapped in my silent suffering while others sought solace in me.
Then, in 2017, a life-altering accident put me on a ventilator. It was during this ordeal that I finally resolved to seek help. But speaking up was far from easy. Fortunately, a dear friend, also a therapist, became my anchor through those tumultuous times. My husband, too, played a pivotal role in my recovery.
Even today, the echoes of my past continue to affect me. Insomnia, severe mood swings, and intermittent anxiety have transformed me into a workaholic. But my journey is far from over, and I strive for a brighter, more balanced future.
Navigating through misunderstood depression
In my teenage years, I battled depression and suicidal thoughts, yet no one around me recognized the signs. Instead, my struggles were mistakenly linked to a romantic affair, and the misconception persisted. Despite this, I continued with my life, welcoming the arrival of three children within a span of five years. It was only after the birth of my third child that I succumbed to severe postpartum depression (PPD) and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Looking back, I wish someone had identified my condition earlier, allowing me to prepare for the challenges that lay ahead. Fortunately, through increased awareness efforts and my training in Holistic Wellness, I eventually learned to recognize and address my issues. Subsequently, when faced with premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), I was able to detect it in its early stages and take proactive steps.
Reflecting on my journey, I realize that much of this suffering could have been avoided. Today, awareness initiatives have multiplied, emphasizing the importance of open-mindedness and compassion in accepting and addressing mental health challenges.
Triumphing over endometriosis and becoming a lifeline for others
I have never spoken about it but for the 12 years my acute endometriosis could not be diagnosed and people thought I cooked up my sickness, I had hit rock bottom of mental agony even contemplating suicide. It took immense courage to bounce back from there and start the endometriosis awareness and support group India to save others.
Resilience amidst darkness: A family’s journey to healing
My father was an alcoholic, and the impact it left on our family continues to affect us to this day, even 17 years after his passing. When he was just 17 years old, his father left him in the care of his elder sister, who was married in Delhi. The reasons for this decision remained a mystery, one that could never be unraveled as my grandfather had already passed away by the time I was born, and we never questioned our grandmother, who did not live with us.
My father held his elder sister in high regard, dedicating his entire life to building the shop owned by her husband. During my childhood, I was the beloved child of the family, the little girl cherished by my cousins. However, as we grew older, my twin siblings were born, and our family experienced a sudden rupture. I never fully grasped the gravity of the situation as my father never expressed anger or sought revenge. He coped with his pain by drowning it in alcohol.
There was no overt malice between us, except that my mother never got along with the extended family. She felt mistreated and like an outcast. My siblings and I were never shown love by the extended family. We felt unwanted, although we only realized this slowly as we matured and our lives became entangled with our personal challenges rather than family issues. Despite the nine-year age gap between my siblings and me, we grew closer over time, bonded by our mother’s love and support.
At the age of 54, my father finally purchased his own house, but his alcohol addiction persisted. His work eventually collapsed, and he refused to seek further employment. Our home was marred by frequent upheavals, but my father’s drinking persisted. Over time, we became social outcasts, unable to invite people into our home. This situation took a toll on our mental health, education, and all aspects of a healthy life. For nearly 30 years, our family grappled with medical issues, with both my mother and myself undergoing numerous surgeries.
Despite the immense pressure, my mother never succumbed to despair or attempted suicide. In contrast, my father lacked the faith and strength to overcome his alcoholism, and it eroded his mental and physical well-being. He often described himself as a prisoner and even attempted to set his bed on fire. He frequently voiced thoughts of suicide but refused assistance. The people he once knew distanced themselves from him, and his entire family, whom he had cared for during their best years, turned against him, subjecting him to abuse. At one point, there were even rumors of black magic intended to declare him insane. He came perilously close to being admitted to a mental asylum. It was my mother, grounded in her humble roots, who prevented a separation and faithfully fulfilled her duty.
Now at 53 years old, I find myself still grappling with the wounds inflicted by this prolonged mental health crisis, caused by betrayal and harmful intentions from an elderly family member—my father’s sister. My journey has imparted several valuable lessons, the foremost being the importance of addressing issues promptly. Sometimes, peaceful resolutions are elusive, and victimization occurs, necessitating intervention. Emotional trauma and subsequent fears must be acknowledged and dissolved through a shift in perspective and, at times, a change of environment to come to terms with our past. Moving forward is imperative for our own betterment. Continuously revisiting the past only leads us into a darkness from which no light can emerge. Thus, we must simultaneously harness the power of our minds and hearts, utilizing every available means to regain control over our lives.
Surviving the shadows
This neighbor shattered the personal triumph of my 1129/1200 score in my 12th board exams with his actions. At that time, he was married, and his wife had gone to her mother’s home for her second delivery. Since I knew their family for nearly five years, I felt comfortable enough to share chocolates with him in broad daylight to celebrate my achievement. Accompanied by my younger brother, we ventured over, but my brother ran off when he spotted his friends playing in the colony. This left me alone with the neighbor for less than two minutes before he began to approach me with unsettling intentions.
Within five minutes of this alarming encounter, I fled, threatening to raise a commotion. Drawing from the security my earlier incident had given me with my mother, I immediately confided in her, and she took appropriate action. His wife also approached my mother and apologized before eventually leaving the neighborhood. Nevertheless, the emotional damage inflicted upon me during my teenage years was heavy.
Even now, more than two to three decades after these traumatic incidents, I can still feel their lingering impact in my body. Despite the support and safety net provided by my mother and the rest of my family, I am haunted by the memories. I can only imagine the immense challenges that people face when confronting such jarring life events without the presence of such support systems.
Finding hope
I was hardly 15 when I began self-harming and before I knew it, the knife became my comforting friend. I had nobody to confide in how alone I felt. Self-harming was my way of escaping the family situation at home. Nobody could see through it all. It took me years to walk away from the situation, to rise about it and grow into a stronger person. I am a work in progress, but when I look at my younger self I know how much has changed for the better. And I know that hope is real, very much so.
These stories are the tip of the iceberg. There are many stories yet to be heard. But the ones we do get a chance to hear are a testament to the strength of people who refused to be defined by their pasts. Through them, we hope to shed light on the importance of mental health awareness and the power of empathy and support in our journey towards collective healing and understanding.
We thank our community for stepping forward and gathering the courage to share their life with us as part of CauseAChatter Stories
