Sometimes people talk about depression, like they have known it. Some people do, while some don't.
You can sift them easily though. The one who talks about depression as the refuge for losers - that one, my friends, is an imposter. Because no one who has experienced the raw power of depression understands it, definitely not call it as the refuge of the losers. How do I know? Because I was one of them.
Two nights after my dad's death and three days ahead of my canceled wedding, I experienced it. Mine was the raging kind - anger, guilt, sorrow, fury - lethally streamed into my nerves. I drove my motorbike into the busy street, so hard, I lost control of it and skid a few feet in the darkness of the night. One guy came to ask me if I was alright, as I parked my bike and tried to assess the damage. Another guy harassing me to take a ride in his auto-rickshaw. Emotions rushed to my brain and I just stopped short of screaming.
And in less than 10 seconds, everyone left. I was alone. Only scars left on my left shoulder that constantly reminds me of that day. I joke of it today as the Madagascar tattoo - it is shaped like the island of Madagascar.
The problem is no one prepares you for grieve, for loss. For a deranged combination of anger, sadness and confusion - you refuse to come to terms with it. And it stays and triggers, sometimes in the most unexpected of places and time. For instance, I cannot see death scenes anymore in the movies. Heck, I cannot watch certain movies - the ones I enjoyed because dad and I watched them together.
I think it is even hard to come to terms about losing a terminally ill father. If it were left to me, I would prefer a sudden death. Something about seeing a person go progressively worse and incapacitated, shatters your soul. I have seen it with my eyes, losing hope, feeling low and insecure. It makes you question faith, meaning and purpose of your existence. There were a million occasions then, when I asked myself - Why cant I solve this? Who is responsible for this?
The night before his death, we fought, verbally for several hours. We had our differences and we had our egos - something that I have understood late is the most useless and most destructive thing in a relationship. And few seconds before his death he wanted to speak to me - I had slept for just 3 hours and refused to get up. I will never know what he wanted to say. All that remained was his gasping face (later I would come to know he had a respiratory failure that explained his gasping). Raw and stinging image burned into my brain cells - I will never be able to wipe out.
And that was the last day I truly prayed from my heart. Prayers are ok, but I now put faith in people who stood by me, and myself.