Image by Gino Crescoli from Pixabay 

Even when screaming at top of my voice,
Why isn’t anyone listening to my noxious noise?
Why won’t anyone believe?
The crazy stuff I confess are not lies
Or will it take eternal silence for my scars to catch their eyes?

This is how I felt day and night- Trapped- not only by the disease but also by the scurvy stigma attached to it. Its inexplicability proved to be an affliction equal to the trauma brought forth by the illness itself.

I panicked, I cried, and my nails drew scars both on the paper of skin and canvas of walls, yet those remained unobtrusive. People did notice the dark shades, but instead of painting it bright, they demanded a logical reason for it to be flawed in the first place.

And frankly, I didn’t have one. I won’t slander my struggles or cast accusations on my past for the reckless reality I faced; people have suffered worse fire of hell and came out transformed into gold.

Yet I found myself ashes on the ground.

Advice agonized me, and perceptions pestered my mood. I wasn’t just sad, and I couldn’t just snap out of it. No, I didn’t lock myself up in some darkroom. I even slept profusely, but deeper into my dreams, demons would come dancing, wreaking their havoc, and the restless thoughts would jolt me awake.

It was tough to accept but even tougher to sympathize. It requires calmness of mind, but up in my head, I was smothered by never-ending anxiety. Yet I kept running, worried I’d be left far behind, but when the façade of smile got too tiresome, I decided to pour out the flood of tears restrained for long.

When grey clouds would gobble me its shadow, I’d battle just to survive, but the tornado would wreck the soul, and I’d find my spirit on knees laid over ruins of dreams.

Finding myself isolated and helpless, I began to heal myself and be my own help. I realized that climbing steep slopes is too big a weight on depressed shoulders, therefore, I started breaking down the mammoth goals into small achievable targets.

I would take small steps, feeling grateful for each of them because there was a time when I had almost quit walking. And soon, I started running as well.

And strangely, I found darkness to be peaceful. Now I celebrate even the trivial of adventures.

Because a walk in a park isn’t just a walk in a park, it is a battle and an adventure for my anxious mind. And there lies the peculiarity – I do feel wretched to find it intimidating, but once I end up doing it, it also makes me blissfully happy.

And this is exactly how, step by step, I conquered each of my fear, shushed my inner demons and turned the disease itself into a medicine.

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