I think I am going to have a nervous breakdown.
Or let me correct that – I think I wish I was going to have a nervous breakdown.
Oh….what bliss it could be! To gaze up at curious well wishers with hooded eyes and a puzzled expression…and after a moment’s pause, declare my own condition. How would it be, I wonder? To not be governed by the clock and, horror of horrors, not stick to any schedule? I could actually get up in the morning and just decide not to work, asserting the independence that I thought I had earned after 12 years of working but in reality had given away.
Guilt could just be another word in the dictionary. Not that heavy feeling I carry with me the entire day, a realization that I am a much lesser son, brother, lover, friend, professional…indeed, person, than I could be. And those little cells in my brain…they could finally do what no amount of willpower has been able to do the last few months. Make me stop worrying. About the pain that loved ones are going through. About their hassles. And their worries. And their complications.
What if I have taken my life in a direction that has no destination? Doesn’t matter! What if I don’t succeed in meeting my own challenge? To hell with it! What if I am just a puffed up ball of moist air? Who cares?! I don’t! I am in a nervous breakdown, remember?
I could sink, sink, sink…towards that attractively dark looking place under the sea…where the noise of the everyday world recedes into an irritating hum and my own tears fall freely without being judged by my mind. Grief will not be contained, regrets shall not be buried, irrationality shall not be feared. I will let these stones drag me down, down, down…because I know someone, something will get me up again.
How?
There would be soup. Nourishing soup. And freshly cut fruits. And hot chocolate fudge every day. Calming cups of tea, accompanied by hot samosas. Steaming momos washed down with iced drinks. Wine would interfere with the medication. But I will live with that. Because my hair will stop falling. And my back wouldn’t ache. My skin would look and feel fresh, not like a floor mop doused with phenyl.
Seen through the haze of deliberately slowed reflexes, the world would be calmer, slower and maybe happier too. And, if despite all these efforts, that little nagging voice in my head tells me I am being selfish, I will plead for it to be silent for a little while longer.
While I indulge.