It’s yet another quiet day, she thought for herself. She barely made a sound for the past three days. She’s scribing endless notes to relieve of herself the chaos of her head. Her notebook starts with this…
‘If choices are what makes us human, alive, and well, what about the choices we weren’t in charge of? Like being born or the family you’re born into, the childhood we were force to endure, the many things we are not in charge of. The whole lot of things we wouldn’t know to get the hold of. How on earth are we going to explain those?!’
She pondered into the abyss of the light. ‘When did the days become so long?!’ She thought for herself. She has been hoarding the floor for more than few days now. She went on with her scribblings…
‘Breakdowns are not diseases. No one knows how to explain a breakdown. It’s rather easy to tell people you have a headache. Contemplating your life decisions while sitting on the floor can’t be called a sickness by any standard. How much you need to ground yourself to what’s real or not, what matters most or not at all, that cannot be defined as something any normal person would like to do. ‘
It’s easier for most to conclude it as a choice. But is it always?!
‘Today is a bad day. Because I kept seeing the flashbacks of all the traumas, bad days, and moments I had when I was just 11 years old. And the flashbacks of my hospital days where a schizophrenic patient freaked the shit out of me while sleeping. And the most painful sessions I had when I was there. I feel weak exactly like those days. I felt the death in me thriving, growing, overcoming me like no tomorrow exists. While sitting on the floor, I am contemplating, reteaching myself that there’s a different tomorrow. I am a different person now. None of the flashbacks are my reality. I have come a long way only to feel that weak again. And yes, on days like these, I hate the fact that I am way too lonely. I am a coward. And I don’t even know how to talk about it. My mom’s face changed while looking at it. And she was unconscious for the next 20 days or something. I remember calling the doctors around. They shoved me out of the room, then. And I had to walk home in the middle of the night because I didn’t know how to get home from the hospital with taxi. My mom made me promise not to tell anyone that she was sick. So I walked home crying the whole way. I thought she died this time. And there was no one I could call or tell. ‘
‘Of all the days, she doesn’t know why she is remembering this today. She kept seeing the flashbacks all day long. And she kept feeling like that little girl with no one around. The fear she felt that day is crippling her in a same way today. As if it was happening now. She feels crippled, overwhelmed, and cold. And it’s ridiculous because she should be over it by now. ‘
She didn’t want to write anymore. She just added an anecdote that says…
‘If you don’t know what to do, run! Run away from the pain. Hide from the light. Because the light exposes while the dark covers and hides the sores of yesterday. No one knows what a breakdown looks like, anyway. It varies from one another. And madness is merely a choice. It haunts and devours in the most possible wrong times. Life is a victim that can never run away from it. So, yes. Stop shaming people for choosing madness over health or whatever.’
Unabridged Manuscripts 
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