Thursday, October 11, 2018

Combating Fear

I fear death. Or even the remote possibility of it. I don't know if I want to live forever, but I am darn sure that I don't want to die right now. And a few days from now, I will be under anaesthesia, on the operation table. My brain hasn't been functioning normally for the past few days.

Fear. Its amazing how this little emotion can affect me so much. I guess one reason why I am so afraid to die is because I feel like I haven't lived enough, taken enough risks, tried, failed, hurt, laughed enough.

I've been looking at everything around me with this sense of temporariness. And to feel that moment. Live in that moment. Not dwell on it. Not hanging on to it. Just live in that moment.

I've became more open to risks. I've allowed myself to look at things outside of my normal, really safe box. So, in a sense, I've got that risks streak running through me again.

The last time I had that risk streak, I found me a husband.

Walking out of a long-term relationship was scary, especially when your then partner was a genuinely good man. I'd been used to the comfort that long-term, stable relationship provided. By the time I was out, I hadn't dated a man in a long time. I had been out of the scene for years. I didn't want to get hurt, I didn't want to be used. I didn't want a hell lot of things. And I was scared as hell.

There were so many 'what ifs' in my head. Like what if I never find anyone? What if I just have bad relationships one after another, blah, blah, blah.

I got so scared I actually acted fearless, crazy. I had nothing to lose. So, I took risks. I did what ever I wanted to do, said whatever I wanted to say. It worked.

And now, I have that same fear. What is it that I want to do if tomorrow never comes? What is that I want to be if there are no consequences?

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

Random Thoughts in the Morning

I'm jet-lagged. Its now 5 AM and I've been awake, tossing and turning in my bed since 3AM. So I thought I'd rather just write random stuffs than lying in bed, thinking about why my ceiling fan looks like a creepy, hanging, flat potato in the darkness.
What do you think about at this hour? My head just feels heavy and blank.
So, maybe I should just recount my last travel experience. Not the city, but my flight back home.
I sat next to this guy named Anand. He's a global SVP in a giant IT company. And we got talking about life and job. He told me how he cried reading this book about leaders who were asked to review their lives in their old age and how their regrets in life weren't about more money, but meaningful things in life.
And then he asked me what I'd do if I had all the money in the world. "Primary teacher" I replied, "And write children's books". Hello again, old little secret.
In middle school, I had a science teacher who made me fall in love with the stars. She made science fun for me and I'd spend every night staring at the sky, loving every minute of it. To this day, astronomy remains one of my true love.
But sometimes, in life, you do completely different things than what you set out to do. And you tell yourself that 'someday' you're going to do what you want, over and over, until you half-believe it. Bummer.
Wow, what a negative first thought in the morning! I sure woke up from the wrong side of bed today!!

"I am an iron resisting the most enormous magnet there is" - Rumi.

Aaah, hello Rumi, my favourite poet. I love Rumi's poems. No wonder I remember his quote. Love specially his poems on wine. I still wish someone's written a poem about me like that. Unfortunately, knowing my husband, maybe I will have to keep that for my next lifetime.

Have you ever met someone in your life and you knew immediately that this was different?

The more you talked to them, the more you felt like that person was a reflection of you? Same thought process, values, likes, knew instinctively that you'd compliment each other like yin & yang.

And then reality kicked in. Oops, that train passed long ago. Stick to your lane, dreamboat.

I wonder what Rumi ultimately did with the magnet. Did he resist it until the end? Or, did he finally said to himself, "chug it, let me see where this goes"?

I am extremely curious. I once got stung by hundreds of bees because I wanted to know what happen if I hit the beehive with a rock. My mom forbade me to go near it. It just made me more curious. Every time she pulled me in the house, I wanted to hit that beehive more and more. I needed to see what happened. I ended up walking around with a huge, swollen face and head for few weeks, unable to eat or sleep.

So I have a knack of getting into trouble out of curiosity. I wonder, have I really grown up yet this time?


Wednesday, September 5, 2018


I'm homesick tonight. And I feel real lonely. 

I'm new to this city and the nights are especially hell. When everyone else sleeps, I'm wide awake, missing home. 

Of all the people in the world, I wish that my Grandma's still alive. She would've understood me. She'd probably brew for me her favourite Assam Tea (no milk/sugar) and serve me with chunks of jaggery. Pour it from her black-clayed kettle and ask me, "So what bothers you?"

We'd talk about her crazy collection of animals. Grandma had all kinds of pets, including at one point an elephant!! She'd never stop telling me about it. It started with her hosting a poor Nepali man and his elephant for a few weeks. And when the man needed to leave for Nepal, he left her his elephant as he couldn't bring him. Very mischievous elephant but Grandma adored him. Most fascinating story ever. 

Then I also remember us having all these kinds of pets - rabbits, ducks, chickens, guinea pigs, dogs, cats, catfishes, even pigs. There was this particular hen who was so protective of her chickens that she's always attacked me every day I came back from school. I had to shout for someone to accompany me from the gate to the house each time. 

Grandma made us plant lots of trees and fruits. We had our own tree, like mango, orange, grapefruit, pineapple, passion fruit, plum, bananas. 

There was one mango tree that refused to bear fruit for more than 10 years. One year I'd see Grandma flattering the tree, "Oh, you're a beautiful tree, how much more beautiful you'll be if you bear fruits" to the next year seeing Grandma holding an axe and threatening the tree, "I mean it this time, if you don't bear fruit this year, I will cut you down!" 

Strangely though, the tree started bearing fruits the summer after Grandma passed away. Maybe Grandma's spirit kicked the mango tree's spirit arse until it bore fruits. She was that passionate. 

I'm looking at my fridge in the middle of writing. This would so fail to impress Grandma. Huh..

She was the type of woman who ensured that there must always be extra food enough to feed 1 or 2 person all the time. She always made extra portions. Others would complain that it was too wasteful or extravagant. But she always said,"You never know when some hungry stranger or guest might just come in. There must always be something to feed them." 

When I was younger, I'd imagined my life in detail until I'd turned 30 years. Then Bam! I'd adopt a female child because I won't have found any good guy, and then Bam! I saw myself again at the age of 65 years old like Grandma, surrounded by my grandchildren and always being happy and smiling. I never envisioned my life between 30-65 years. 

So, the last time I missed home, it was my home and how simple my life had been in the mountains. I was close to nature. I woke up everyday with white clouds below me, covering the valleys below my home. I watched the young clouds flirted with the green forests below, as the heavier, older clouds watched scornfully from the sky. Hiked up the mountain top with my friends before dawn and counted wishing stars while we waited for sunrise. 

Laid and sunned ourselves on the rocks by the river after walking 4 hours straight down from the mountain to the valley below. And then went to the library, read books and wrote poems. 

Then I came to Delhi and hated it. And I told myself that I'd forever hate Delhi, that there wasn't a good thing there. And that, I'd be so happy to leave the city forever. 

This is my lesson yet again because now I miss my home in Delhi and my heart that walks the earth. 

Wednesday, August 29, 2018

The Sonata Watch

This morning, I was on a plane from Bengaluru to Chennai. As I sat on my seat, I noticed the man next to me wore a gold-coloured 'Sonata' wristwatch and it brought me back to that first time I travelled home from Delhi. 

I was 14 years old at the time and my mom was worried that I was too young to travel back alone from Delhi to Mizoram. Back then, there wasn't a flight connection between Delhi and Mizoram. So, we had to take a 36 hours train ride from Delhi to Guwahati. And then, from Guwahati to Aizawl, we had to take another 16 hours bus ride. From Aizawl to my hometown it was another 9 hours bus ride. 

Somehow, my mom found another girl who was about 17 years old at the time that was also going back the same time as me. So, together, we went back from Delhi to Assam by train, and from Guwahati we took a bus to Mizoram. Once inside the bus, my friend, being the older one, graciously made me sit next to the window while she took the aisle seat.

Now, our travel dates coincidentally was in July, the worst monsoon period in the mountains. During this period, it was a given thing that somewhere between Assam and Mizoram, there would be a road block caused by landslides. Sometimes the roadblock lasted for few hours, at times even up to a week. We'd frequently get stranded on the road for days at a time, relying on food bought/given by nearby villagers, other commuters. (How I used to hate the mountains then!)

It so happened that, on this trip too, there was yet another landslide just before we reached Solan in Nagaon district, Assam. During the night, the bus halted in the middle of nowhere and all of us were informed that there was a landslide and situation was too dangerous to venture further so, we'd wait there on the road at night and re-assess the situation after the next daylight. 

With nothing we could do, we went back to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, my friend vigorously shook and woke me up. I was confused. 

"Yes, what happened?" I asked her. 

She was shaking. "That guy at the back was fondling my breasts while I slept!" 

"What?! Which one?"

"That guy in the last seat, middle one. What should we do?"

I craned my neck to look at the man. It was too dark to see his face as all the lights were switched off inside the bus. I could see a thin man who appeared to have dark skin. 

"I don't know. Should we scream or complain to the bus driver?"

"I don't know!" she replied. 

We discussed options. We'd never experienced this before. We were in the middle of nowhere, in state of Assam where we didn't know anyone or spoke their language. It would be wiser to wait until sunrise and then complain about him. People would wake up by then, and there might also be other Mizos in the bus and other stranded buses like ours. 

"Yeah, let's ensure he gets a good slap. How dare he!! In the meanwhile, we must keep guard and not let him escape. If he tries to leave the bus, we will scream. Let's do an alternate sleep watch." We agreed. 

But that was not to be so. We just did the 36 hours shitty-train ride and boarded that bus straight from the train station. Not to mention that we were growing teenagers, very much infused with the sleep hormone. 

Both of us fell asleep. Unknowingly. 

By the time we woke up, the sun had risen and half of the passengers had got down from the bus, including our culprit. We got down the bus and search for him. Totally futile move. 

There were passengers walking about from our bus and at least 3 other stranded buses. There were so many Indian (Aryan featured) men and all of them looked exactly the same to us!! 

I think we pointed at all the men asking ourselves, "Is that him?" "No, that guy looks at us, maybe that's him?" or "That guy, he's thin. Is that him?" 

That wasn't all. 

After our failed suspect/culprit identification, we decided to sit down by the road so we could fully focus and remember the man's face. That was when my friend looked down and saw that she was wearing this  cheap, 'Sonata' gold coloured wristwatch on her right arm. 

That bugger,  for some reason, in addition to fondling her breasts, also made her wear his watch while she slept. 

"How did that happened?!" 

Was it before or during the fondling, or after we kept 'guard' and fell asleep? We had no idea!

Oh the trauma, anger and helplessness we felt!! 

The guy never came back to the bus and we ended up giving the wristwatch to this one drunk Mizo guy who happened to be in the same bus as us.  

To this day, every time I see a Sonata wristwatch with a gold-coloured metal/stainless steel chain, I laugh. 

Saturday, August 25, 2018

Mina at Summer Camp

As I walked out of my tent, I noticed a woman sitting alone by her tent. The sun was about to set and most people were partying with their friends. And the ones too tired to party sat with their friends in their little circles, laughing. Initially, I passed by her. Someone was waiting for me by the lake, and I was eager to meet up. 

But something stopped me mid-track. Nobody sat alone by their tent in the middle of Summer Camp unless. I went back and greeted her. She responded with a warm smile. "What you're doing here alone?" "Just catching some breaths". "Are you alone? You wanna walk back to the arena with me?" "No thank you. I'm good here." She smiled and waved me off. 

"No. Please come with me. I am all alone. I'm new here." I gave her my hand and maybe she felt bad for me, she got up and we embraced each other. It was that easy, because the rest of the Camping days, we became friends. And she became the highlight of my Summer Camp. 

Before meeting Mina, I had plans. I'd studied and marked all the sessions, talks and games I'd attend to. But then, we talked about her life. We hugged each other, cried together and encouraged each other. 

Mina's from Philadelphia and had recently divorced her husband of 18 years (She looked so young, she made me look like her grandmother). Married so early she had 3 kids aged 24, 19 and 14. Worked in CSA and was recently homeless after the divorce. Found her husband's affairs in the worst way possible, lost everything she held dear right before her eyes in one moment. 

Have you ever watched a woman so vulnerable and strong at the same time? A woman who had her heart completely broken yet had the strength to pick up and try to heal herself? A woman who ensures that her work and responsibilities never once show her bleeding, broken real self?

At times like that, you wish you were God. 

Let's Start Writing Again

So, I removed all my earlier posts before. I got my heart broken and I felt there were no longer needs for words. I started this post because of him. 512 poems, 215 prose just for a single man. That was a bit much. I loved hard.

Pain was an excellent muse. But when it hit real hard, even words dried up. I couldn't write anymore and so I took up painting. I sucked at it. My brain would conjure beautiful scene but on canvas, it would just translate into a 5 years old sketching. Terrible, terrible idea to think that pain alone could magically turn you into an artist.

Then, I had my moments of genuinely believing that I was going to die a sprinter. I must have bathe on weed coz who drew up a whole 50 pages of my possible single life's trajectory and baby adoption plan at 27 years old?!

I was an emotional runner and I was great at it. Nothing could hurt me and I felt invincible. Nobody was going to get through my guard again, ever.

And then I met him. Most awkward person in the world. Hopeless in wooing any woman. Talked slightly more than a rock. Completely unlike the 'type' I'm always attracted to. It must have taken all his nerves to ask me out 2 weeks after we met. And I obliged. I had to.

7th grade, I had the biggest crush on this one classmate. But I was impossibly shy. I got friend-zoned. For a whole year, I had to listen to his 'this and that girl' talks. Burned like hell. So a shy man asks me out after gathering all his courage, no way I was going to reject it.

To my surprise, our date went rather well. I wanted him comfortable and in the end, he felt more at ease. That was when I saw it in his eyes. Clear as day. Someone was as scared as I was. Maybe even more. And, it tucked my heart. I knew that feeling so well, I could sense it anywhere. The burnt little child hidden behind the strong warrior.

I had been like the moon for a long time, shining bright for all the world to see. Yet, completely alone and cold in the big, dark universe, waiting in vain for someone like me to come along. Someone who witness me, someone I witness.

That day, I witnessed him. And, something woke up my slumbering soul that left it gasped hard for air. I met someone as misfit as I was, yet with a soul as pure as the morning dew.

Was that the day I fell in love? Or did it happen when I accepted to spend my time with him? I can't tell.

Does it even matter anymore because, somewhere in between looking into his eyes and talking about things I couldn't even remember anymore, my heart had cemented him in deep into my very being.

Monday, August 7, 2017

To Hell and Back

I've talked in bits and pieces about my experience with depression before. And more importantly, how I beat it to the ground. I call my experience, "to hell and back" because that's what I did - I lived a living hell, and came out of it. And, I can tell you, once you've truly been to hell, you never want to go back there. Ever.
I think depression is like a cancer cell. It has been there in each of us, floating around in our soul and mind, staying inactive until something triggers it to wake up. Some people succumb to it, some people rise from it. But there's only one way to ever beat it - you gotta admit that you have it and find the root cause why. And you gotta heal it. From the inside.
Looking back, I can't really remember what triggers and opens that gate of hell for me. I was a young and have everything on the outside - friends, good grades, family and I was popular. But none mattered as I slowly began to felt how futile and fake everything was - how nobody knew the real me. I started seeing myself as pretentious, liar, worthless and unloveable. Secretly, I began to feel unhappier by the minute, with no real explanation save that I was just not good enough. Good enough for what? I didn't know - maybe myself? I felt like I was slowly sinking into a sandpit and screaming but nobody could hear me.
I felt like this - that I had 2 person in me - one I called, 'the princess' and the other, 'the warrior'.The princess was really this goofy, child-like, harmless person who just wanted to be loved, whereas the warrior would do just about almost anything to survive and defeat. She knew and trusted nobody, was brutal and had no heart.
The princess was the real me, but someone hurt the princess in me a lot as a little child and, as I grew up, I created the warrior to protect me. Not feeling enough, I also started putting up blocks after blocks to create a wall between me and the world, with the warrior guarding me outside of this wall. One day, I realised, I was alone inside that igloo of the wall - a dungeon I created for my own protection - and found nobody, not even the warrior could reach me anymore.
But because I was the princess and she was my essence, I could hear her cries and feel her in the depth of my heart, inside that igloo prison where only I knew existed. I wanted to save her, the warrior in me, but even she couldn't - because the wall was built from the inside, and the keys - I didn't know I should've made the key.
So, I was stuck there for a long time, screaming and dying inside while the warrior on the outside, carried on as if nothing happened. I mean, I tried. I tried talking to people, getting help, praying but nothing helped. I lived the living hell until I felt like I couldn't do it no more.
When I was younger, I used to wonder how people could commit suicide. I used to judge them. I'd say, "what's wrong with these people? they've money, friends, people, fame, loved ones..everything going for them! yet they stupidly took their own lives!" I could never understand.
But, then I experienced hell. It really was hell. Because hell was inside of you, you lived with it 24/7. It became the air you breathe, the water you drank, like dark cloud covering you wherever you went, like you were a fish in sea of depression. You couldn't escape, you couldn't run, you couldn't hide, you couldn't even unwished it away.
I became so tired that I wanted to die. I didn't understand at a time, but depressed people didn't want to die. They just wanted to leave the sea of depression, to come out and gasp for air. To go back to land. Walk away. But, I didn't know how. All I knew was that as days turned to months and to years, death seemed to be the only permanent way out - a final resting place from the incessant fires of hell living in me.
I remember that night like it was yesterday. Lately, I had been having sleepless nights. But that night was different. I was sleeping when suddenly, something woke me up in the middle of the night. I felt the heaviest, saddest I'd ever felt in my life - like something really heavy sat on my chest, making me unable to breathe. I walked out of my apartment and went to the top of the building, barely remembering how I got there. There, atop the 5th floor building, I looked at the world around me. I saw a tree below and it felt like it was covered in petrol fumes. Like the whole world was covered in dirty, vehicle smoke and fumes with not a single thing beautiful on earth. Everything felt as if it was covered in dark, smoky, depressing cloud.
Part of my brain noticed this and asked how it was possible. I've always loved trees and found beauty in them. But not this night. Everything was dead, everything was the ugly. As I thought about this, I felt someone approaching me from a distance - I still couldn't fathom how a person could randomly walked on air and approached me. But he felt real as any other person. He wore a dark cape that covered his eyes and part of his nose, but I could see his mouth and chin. He radiated light, kindness and understanding. I felt so calm next to him and then spoke to me in my head, "Come to me. Let me embrace you in my arms forever, like a baby wrapped in a mother's blanket, held in the bosom." I'd always imagined death to be this scary image, but the one I saw was filled with compassion, understanding - as if he understood my burden and only wanted to take it off me.
I can't described how intense and real it felt. Or how persuasive he was. I stood on the ledge, ready to jump. Part of my rational mind thought how ugly my corpse would look the next day, or whenever it would be discovered. And of my Mom. Should I write a note first to tell her that nobody murdered me, that it was my own choice and nobody was at fault? But I decided against going back down and writing again. So, I spread my arms and closed my eyes.
I was just about to jump when I heard someone called my name, "Helen!". I was so startled I actually jumped back. I thought it was my Mom coming up. "Eih!(Yes in my language)" When I turned only to see no one. But the voice was so distinct, so clear, it broke my trance-like state and connection with the man in front of me. Yet, when I turned back, there was nobody around. I turned back towards the man and positioned to take the leap. And then again, just like before, I heard the voice. This time, the voice felt like it was in a hurry, calling my name thrice, "Helen! Helen! Helen!" - and as if someone could see me from afar, but unable to reach me, like it was coming from afar in a foggy night.
I grew up in the mountains and monsoon, we'd have what we call 'walking clouds' where clouds/fog would suddenly appear out of nowhere and covered everything. Sometimes, especially in late afternoon, the day would suddenly turned dark, and sometimes the fog would be so thick even if you put your hands in front of you, you won't be able to see it. We'd have to walk with a torch and call out to each other to know where the other person was - we'd follow each other's voice.
That night, the voice called out to me like how I felt in the mountain back when I was a child. The night was partly foggy but nothing like it was in the mountains. Yet, the voice felt like that, extremely worried, anxious, like how my grandmother used to call out to me when she felt that she lost me in the market/crowd.
I didn't know what that voice was, but I bet if I were drunk/on drugs ( I'm a teetotaller), I would have died that night. But someone called me out by my name. It was very strange because when the man I saw backed away, everything returned to normal, as in the heaviness I couldn't explain was gone.
After I came back from my strange experience, I became extremely curious. I had no explanation, no Science could back up what I saw or felt. But almost 10 years later, I felt that night like yesterday. I wanted to know whose voice it was. Was it my subconscious? Was it me talking myself out of it? Was it an angel? The voice knew me. Knew me and felt familiar to me, like I knew that voice forever. My curiosity overtook me and I began to search for that voice. What it could be. If it was me, why did I stop myself? If it was someone else, why did it stopped me?
I read many books, articles, religious texts...I didn't find the answer.
But I did find out about something else.
I was born a Christian, in a practising family, a self-proclaimed Christian society. I never chose my religion, I was born into it. I was taught about God, Jesus Christ. I read scriptures growing up, listened to countless sermons, testimonies, so many things. But, when I lived my hell, no God, Jesus Christ, angels came to deliver me. I read the Bible, prayed many times but nothing stopped my depression. Nothing. I felt disillusioned, I hated God. I hated religion. I hated the stupid fairy-tales that did nothing to stop my depression. I was a practising Christian, went to church all the time yet nobody came to my aid. So, I had decided that there was no God. No Jesus Christ. No heaven or hell after death. After all, I was living in hell and I was still alive and breathing.
But, after hearing the voice, I became curious again and read everything again.
And then, to my shame, I discovered something about myself - I had no idea who God or Jesus Christ was! I mean, I prayed almost everyday for 20 years and I didn't even know who God or Jesus Christ was. What do I know about this God?This Jesus Christ?
Old Testament described a vengeful, fearful, old-bearded type being. New Testament described a slightly more loving one, albeit some serious anger problem still. But, all descriptions were different. King David's description was different from Abraham's, from Jonah, from St.Paul. So, which one was  He? Which one was Jesus?
I discovered that, everyone wrote their own story with their God. All these times, I was trying to connect to God from someone's else perspective. Like, the way President Obama was described by the US media, the ISIS media would be completely different from how his daughter would described him. But, all these while, I had been reading the news about God and told myself I knew God. That if I were to meet God, that would be like meeting President Obama and expecting him to know me because I read about him in the media. Or expecting him to treat me a certain way because I'd studied everything about him and followed all his policies.
No. I didn't know God. God didn't know the real me. I never opened myself up to God. I never open myself up to anyone because I don't trust anyone. But, if I were to open myself up to God in the secret of my room, won't God not keep my secrets? What better person/being to open myself up to than God? If God knows the real me, if I approach God as me - this worthless, hypocritical, fake, 2-sided person, and tells him about why I am the way I am, and these burning secrets in my heart, these guilts, insecurities, hurts, pains that I couldn't share with another soul - what would I lose in return?
What if I approach this way? And let God knows how depressed I am, how tired I am, how I wished someone would listen, my desires to be me.
It took me some time more, but one day, I finally decided to approach God as me. I had nothing to lose. I had tried everything. And no, I didn't want to drink, do drugs because I knew they won't solve and cure this cancer inside me. I needed a cure, no more painkillers. No. So, after much hesitation and debate with my left-over ego, one day, I came to my room. I locked the door from inside. And, then, I kneeled down on the floor. I felt weird. Almost ashamed.
But, I wanted God to know me - the real story about me. So, I started awkwardly, "God" I breathe in deeply, hesitated for few seconds, "I want to know you and I want you to know me. I don't know where to go. As a lawyer, I keep people's secrets and defend them. So, here's my secrets. Please just listen and keep it."
I felt my voice quivered and started to shake, "My name is Helen and I was born in..." I talked to God as if I were talking to him for the first time. And as I spoke to him, I felt my heart broke inside me. Tears streamed down my face as I motioned taking my heart out of my chest on my hands and lifting it up to this invisible God, and then dropped it in the ground. My broken, bruised, ailing heart and soul, crushed before me, crushed before the universe, before everyone, everything. I couldn't do it anymore. "Please take my heart, my life, my soul. My burden."
To my own surprise, I found myself bawling like a child as I spoke these words. I cried like I had lost the love of my life, completely broken. But unashamed. Naked. Stripped completely.
As I lay there, I felt a warmth entered me to the depth of my soul. I can't explain it, but I knew I found my God and God found me. A God different from all the books, sermons, stories out there. My own personalised God. My own love story. My own version. And for me, my secrets keeper, my salvation.
And, from that day, something changed in me. I found the strength and love within myself to forgive and accept myself. I still continue to see my flaws, I am imperfect, the world continues to be unfair, imperfect, but there's a shift in me. I discovered the princess, who created the impenetrable wall from the inside, who isolated herself from everyone else, who was dying from loneliness, hunger, pain was and is the best creator - she and only she can create the key to open and break the walls down.
I made my own hell, I walked through it and I defeated it by completely giving in, facing it, accepting  all and everything, and rising from it.
Today, I don't need to feel suicidal anymore. I decide to no longer be depressed, go back to hell. I came out of it, and I build my strength, new bridge with someone by my side. I am not alone. I am here. I have my God. I have me.
If you ask me today, who Jesus is for me, I will tell you that he is my saviour. Not the one that lived long ago alone, but the one who pulled me out of my own hell. The one who walks with me. The one who knows what its like to be me.
I know I am one of the lucky ones to beat this soul cancer called depression. But, if you've survived cancer, you don't ever want to go back. If you've been through various sleepless nights, chemotherapies, pains..and you come out, you change your lifestyle, you eat healthy, live healthier.
I still don't know whose exact voice that was that stopped me, but I know one thing - suicide isn't the only answer. I found my answer, alive and still breathing. I come out alive on the other side. And yes, its greener here on this side. Its what we sought for. I am at rest here. I feel peaceful. I feel the beauty I thought I'd never feel again. It is possible. I am the living proof.
Don't give up, you hold the key to your own prison you created for yourself. Only you know your darkest weakness and also, your greatest strength. Find your own God, your own key, your own salvation.
Whatever you created it for, it wasn't meant to kill you, it was meant to protect you, make you stronger, make you better unless you decide otherwise. Come out, and meet me on the other side.