April 11, 2013
All I know is you could be having it, yet you have no idea. Mental instability us living deep in your mind to the point where you shut of the world…and it probably comes out when you find yourself asking those many questions that do not have an answer to. It sometimes comes out when the world gives you too hard a challenge or perhaps, we are the ones too weak to believe in ourselves? Do you know mental instability is not necessarily having a man stripped naked walking in the middle of a highway…neither is it just that person who constantly talks to himself. And the reason a person going through depression will not eopenly tell you what he is going through is very simple. We, the society are too quick to brand them a bunch of crazy folks. Listen to this voice that quietly cares…
It started out like a joke, when he told me he had trouble sleeping. He would make me promise to wake him up if I saw him struggle in his sleep. Later, on some nights, he would make peculiar noises, like those of someone struggling to wake up. It was as if he was calling out for help. “Wake me up! Someone! Anyone! Please!!” he seemed to cry out amidst gagged sleep.
Some days are long, some short; some electrifying, others all entirely puzzling. We sometimes go out for errands, happy to be in each other’s company. We share a lot of jokes and enjoy stolen romantic moments. He knows I love hugs so he occasionally pulls me in his arms and searches deep in my eyes; searching for an assurance that our worlds are entwined.
Then, out of nowhere, his face drops; like a hot stone in an ice land. His reaction to me gets cold and each question I ask is followed by harsh looks and rage, pending, about to blow up. Finally, when all my comforting is exhausted and my patience dead beat, he snaps and asks me to shut up for I aggravate him with my concerns. I cringe and keep to myself, wondering and recounting my steps to find out what exactly I did to anger him so. I walk on and he throttles behind, disgusted by his own shadow; saddened by my fears. I see him gradually cool off and try to get close to me again. “I’m sorry, hun,” he tries. “What did I do?” I am deeply worried at what I saw. He tries to explain, but it’s not easy because it’s not any usual character. “I get these episodes, and when I am low, I never want to talk.” He explains, “Each time you ask me what is wrong, I ask myself the same thing and it makes me angry that I feel that way, and the more you ask, the more it burrows deep. It can get to a point where I cannot stand myself anymore.” This is when I realise what he goes through hurts him so much more than it worries me. He called it Bi-polar; the monster in charge of his moods. It’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and each morning I wake up expecting either of them. Even as I promise not to push him while at his low, I quietly wonder how I am supposed to know who is with me if I do not ask.
I wish for him to get better; secretly, I pray and fast hoping beyond all hopes that this goes away. I hate to accept that it remains engraved in him, yet I wear my hope around my neck, believing; trusting beyond all natural things that one day he will look around and realise how blessed he is. If only I could take him on a trip in my world, and share with him the little things that make my world glamorous. He would be surprised to see the things he sees each day and discards them as boring usual stuff, are the very same things that make my life what it is. If only I could show him how little we need to enjoy life, or even how his very being has impacted my own life. If only he understands that it’s the simplicity of being able to breathe that makes this world what it is, and how he does not need anyone’s approval to be able to enjoy life. If only he could read this piece and feel my hand holding his, assuring him that I will always walk with him as that staying by his side makes my life worth every second. If only he could put his mane aside for a little while and enjoy the feeling this article bears out from me.