Decisions at a (Metaphorical) Gun Point

I had life all figured out as a six year old. There was nothing to it – you grew up, became an adult, and then everything would be at your fingertips. Quite simple.

It was as I grew older that I felt I was losing fragments of my grand plan, and that things weren’t as transparent as they seemed. This led to maturity giving way to immaturity. Like I’m Benjamin Button, but on the inside. Frankly, I was at the peak of my maturity and ambition at age six.

How did I get here?

There’s a reason why we are told to make decisions with a cool head. The reason being, the decisions we make at a metaphorical gun point are often terrible.

Depression does not allow you to have a cool head. It is a permanent gun pointed at you when you have it. Your actions seem mechanical and you feel you’re just going through the motions. At the same time, there’s an incessant restlessness in you, a tingling in your feet that tells you to run away, do something reckless just so that something happens and you feel something. Anything to forget what’s hurting you; anything to feel anything else.

In December, I made some poor choices out of the desperation that comes from being there – I got back in touch with a group of people I had broken ties with because I intensely dislike their hypocritical and negative outlook towards life [it drains your energy right out], just so I could have someone to talk to. I was so terrified of the fact that if someone did not tie me up, I might harm myself, and my future looked so blank and bleak (mostly blank) that I just wanted someone from the future to come and tell me everything was going to be OK. Reassurance. I wanted to take a trip, just to get away from everything. I wanted to relocate to a different city, because I felt claustrophobic over here all of a sudden.

I held myself back.  For once I let lessons learnt in the past rule me. While I did reconnect with the people I mentioned above, and also may have said/done some borderline imbecilic things, I did not let myself make any decisions that would in the long run have severe repercussions. I decided to give myself a month to “calm down” so to speak.

A month later, the immediate restlessness had subsided and I collected my follies from the previous month. Whatever hurt me then was still hurting, but not in a slice-your-heart-open way. I was definitely calmer, could sleep better, and while I still desperately wanted to see a therapist and get help, I was stopped by the doubts I have on the competencies of Indian therapists, given some less than satisfactory experiences I had had in the past [If anyone reading this has a recommendation, I would surely welcome it]. I considered a career change, and when nothing came to light, and I began to feel restless and directionless again. I did the only thing that I could think of then – call up my oldest friend in the middle of the night and cry (this is not alarming – she’s used to it by now, I think).

My friend and I look alike; everyone tells us so. When my son was a year old, he met her and was confused as hell. It is because of this that when I look at her, I think of her as me in a parallel universe – a universe where I have not made the mistakes I’ve made. I always looked up to her for her independence and her levelheadedness. She never bowed down to parental pressure (yet another gun point of sorts) and has so far made a good path for herself. So imagine my shock when I was crying that night about how lost I was feeling and she replied with, “Dude, we’re all lost.” Of course, I insisted I was more lost, and that at least she had a plan. Turns out she also did not have a plan. No one has a plan.

In any case, having a plan negates everything I believe in. But I had assumed as a six year old that by now, I would be thirty and thriving. Instead I’m thirty and confused. Which is frightening, because a decade ago, I was twenty and confused. I have said it before that nearly every mistake I’ve made in the past twelve years can be traced back to one great mistake. So while I still do not have a plan, contrary to what I had hoped for at the end of my previous post, and may never have one, what I do have is an idea: to retrace my steps to that one great mistake, and start over.

Let’s see where this goes.


6 thoughts on “Decisions at a (Metaphorical) Gun Point

  1. richa singh (@richa_singh) January 23, 2017 / 10:05 AM

    Can go wherever you want this to go. Also about recco on the therapist just go to one who speaks the least and I believe they always turn out fine.

    Also I am a text away, not a therapist but pretty much like your friend who said- she has no plan 😀

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Diva February 6, 2017 / 8:57 AM

      Saw this comment too late – it had ended up in Spam somehow (???!)

      That’s exactly why I don’t trust Indian therapists – I’ve been to one, and out of the hour I spent with him, I spoke only for like 10 mins, the rest was him yakking. Swore off therapists then, but really think I would need one sooner or later.

      Thank you for saying that! I wish we were in the same city; would’ve been so good to hang out with you often!! ❤


  2. shanayatales January 24, 2017 / 1:53 AM

    Your friend is right. Only very few people, the ones who are most likely very close to attaining nirvana, are possibly not lost. Possibly. The rest of us are.

    Most of us do not have a plan either. Or sometimes we do, at-least I do, but my reality and my plans are spheres that do not intersect, which essentially renders my plan useless, but I still paddle against the odds, hoping that someday it will all fit, and it will all make sense.

    I am completely aware of the fact that that someday may never come, but I need this hope right now.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sreesha Diva January 30, 2017 / 10:17 AM

      I’m catching up to that! So far, I had no plan at all – I left it all up to fate. I used to write a list of mini goals on my birthday every year, but those just never worked out – quite often, the diametric opposite of what I planned is what used to happen. But this year, I’m making at least an outline. Like you said – a kind of hope to hold on to.


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