A few years ago, in a dark stormy night, I had swallowed fifteen Percocet's in a desperate final attempt to relive me off of all the earthly issues I had. Nowadays, when I look back, I can see nothing but foolishness, guilt and uncanny anger towards myself!
At the age of 21, I had thought that my life has ended. It held no purpose and had nothing left to prove to anyone. All of my peers had left me for my over-thinking tendencies and clinginess. And so, There I was, in front of the mirror, staring deep into my own corneas to discern if there is even a flicker of hope left.
It all had started with a singular string of bad decisions! Trying to validate myself by chasing a path which the society around was forcing me to follow. Always the pressure of 'do this' and 'become that'. Instead of pursuing my dreams, I was studying 14 hours a day trying to pass exams that held no value to me. Yet that was all I could hear about from individuals who couldn't care less if I even existed or not.
And thus, the chain reaction had started. A nasty breakup, and a couple of failed exams later, I saw no meaning to life. Smoking weed and shooting up needles became so habitual that I was presenting my research papers in front of the professors wearing glasses! And so what was to occur did occur. On the verge of being suspended, I had thought, this was it. This is how I become another of those junkies who od's under a bridge!
My friends were long gone at this point. Even those who I'd even go as far as to tag as blood brothers then would make a u-turn on the street if they saw me coming! Not being able to handle the loneliness and constant withdrawals, I thought why not get the best high for one last time. Why not become that OD'd junkie under the bridge who forgets how to breathe! I had kept the drug in my pocket for a few weeks by then. Every day I'd look at pills and think would it be today! Is this how I go?
In Bangladesh, summer is quite vicious and unpredictable. You might be sweating like a pig and praying for the scorching heat to drop one moment, and then a seasonal storm might sweep you off of your feet the next. Standing near the window of my dorm room, looking at those might thunder lighting up the pitch-black sky, for the last time, I had called her to know if I still mattered in this earth. In a way, I felt that if at least one person had assured me of being even a tiny bit valuable, that would've been enough. But nobody picked up.
Two days later, I woke up with amnesia; no recall of what had transpired. I was lying in a bed of the planets most crowded general ward while my ex-roommates crude stare was trying to vaporize me. His wife, who was an intern in this hospital, had saved my life!
Through the events of the next few days, I was born anew. As I slowly pieced it all together, the events that had transpired that night, a grave misconception of mine became quite apparent. My Afrodite, that night she had tried to reach me again and again after I lost consciousness. And then she had called Sudhir. He was my roommate for quite a long time and had seen the whole thing, me spiralling down the stairs of self-destruction and knew a day like that would come. It took me only a few sessions with a therapist and mental health training exercises to understand how foolish I was! Nobody ever left me, I did!
In all that time, what I failed to discern was, you are what you imagine yourself to be! I imagined myself as a pathological junky parasite who needs constant attention and validation from others, and treated as such I was! But what I needed was my own validation, to serve my own interests as a whole. Among the masses of seven billion, we are nothing but a faraway lost digit! Even if I close my eyes for good, the universe would still be there, but for me, my universe doesn't exist anymore when the eyelids close! It is never about the journey or the path we choose, it's about who we become at the end of that path.
And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of that storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. that's what this storm is all about.
- Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
