Sprinkledwords.. The story continues

A year later, today here I am, sitting up at 2am and writing this.

A lot of things have changed. My love for colours, doing things I like, unapologetically, sitting in a cafe and sipping on my coffee alone, happily. 

I am finally able to go back to those relations I left behind when I was afraid I will screw them up eventually. School friends, some parts of my family, and well, honestly, me. There were parts to my life that I had completely refused to acknowledge. Today, I am able to go back to them without having an anxiety attack. Yes, I still have those tiny phases when I just want to be alone, walk home from work, so I get that little time and space for myself, but hey! Who doesn’t want that? That’s perfectly normal right :D 

( that is if there is something that is normal) 

I learnt how to start to love myself. 

I slowly started to give up the patterns that had built up through these years. Self victimisation, inflicting pain on myself, walking up to a significant height of a building, looking down and wondering what would happen if I jumped down? Would it stop anyone’s life but mine? Would anyone remember me beyond a day? Would anyone shed even a tear apart from it being a part of social protocol because they knew me beyond just my name?

It only dawned upon me then, if I did end my life then, what would my story be? Failing a French paper in college? Being so afraid of math that it gave me anxiety attacks in school? Or leaving music and hating to admit that I never really enjoyed singing at that age and today I do? or was I just to coward to actually write my own story and not go by what my parents tried to mould me into? 

As parents, they try to broaden our horizons by giving us various options to try. To explore ourselves and our strengths. The unfortunate part is we don’t see them as strengths. Because we may fail then, we see them as failures. That’s what I did. Today as a 20 something girl, I’m glad I failed at all those things, I knew exactly what I didn’t want to do in life, thus I began my quest with the tiny details I loved about it, to finally write my own story. To finally be remembered the way I wanted people to remember me, when I die. I finally started writing my stories and changing the way I lived my life.

As a kid, I wrote letters, to my parents, friends and even to Ganpati, because I thought he was the cutest looking idol I had ever seen. Never got a response from any. Today I make it a point to write letters to everyone at least once a year, not because I want a response to any of them, but because I got my voice back and I think it’s a nice thing to tell someone how much they mean to you. When they have a bad day/week and they decided to give up, and they eventually find this letter, they may think it’s worthwhile to stick around. It may give them some hope? You never know. 

In these years, I made some friends that I know will stick around till we are probably 90, can’t walk strait, but will still be around to make the other laugh. My relationships over time have gotten better. I would really want to say my temper has come down too? but I guess my parents being parents may not confirm that completely. 

I went back to the dreams I had as a little girl. Ok so this is a secret, but I had cotton candy after a good 10 years, even though it looked ridiculously pink and I did it without telling mom. Discovered the joy of gifting. 

My journey from seeing everything in shades of blacks whites and greys, is now beautiful, colourful and peaceful. I learnt how to laugh. I also discovered that I can be loud when I laugh, only to be proven wrong by my best friend. She pointed out something I never realised. In all these years I had lost my voice. My real voice was some where below all this pain and broken pieces, and that I had just not heard it in a long time, is why it felt so loud. 

So today, I like how my laugh sounds. Isn’t that a funny thing to say? well oddly enough it’s true. 

I like public spaces again. A fun dinner with my friends is all I crave for.

Every new place oddly seems exciting. I Cannot wait to come back home with new stories. This change seems surreal. I do find myself smiling away sometimes, even when I’m alone. 

Well, probably only because now I can.

Today as I end this article, I am not weeping like I did when I finished my first. I have clearly come a long way. 

P.S. I still see my therapist. It helped a lot. Then I also took medicine. 

Today, it’s all so easy.

Like my closest friend once said; Mental health is not any different. It's an ailment, like a fever. If treated in time, it'll eventually go.

 I raise my imaginary glass to make a toast to myself, to seeing my life with so much colour is possibly the best thing that happened. 

Everyone is looking for validation and approval, but that’s not the only fuel to this beautiful journey of life.

 Stand up, accept & live. 

Thank you so much for being a part of this Shweta Tripathi, even though I don't know how far this will take me. Just a tiny effort to make a change.
My friends, who've known me for years and seen me through my journey, through college,  couldn't be more thrilled to have you'll by my side to make this work.
Hair & make up- Sanjana Bhandari
Stylist- Chahat Setia
Designer- Sakshi Kharbanda