Two flashbacks and the present

Today was good despite it being terrible. Good because I was able to accomplish things despite some situations being totally stacked against me.

I had my regular therapy this morning. It was interesting because of the parallels that I’m drawing to the twins Rahel and Estha in the book ”The God of Small Things” by Arundhati Roy. In a nutshell, that book has somehow captured a bunch of experiences (including traumatic ones) in my childhood, and by reading it, I have kinda relived them and also gained perspective on how things are like for kids in Kerala.

I also realized that the twins are kinda my friends now. Imaginary or not, they are likely to understand and feel the stuff that I went through. Roy’s writing has also inspired me to get back to trying to write my own stories. You know, that thing I keep on trying to make happen, but it hasn’t yet. More on that later.

Sometime later in the morning, I decided that I’m going to take it easy with my physical therapy exercise schedule. Like taking the leg day off, and in my case it is literally taking both the leg days off.

Must have been the beers last night. Oh yeah, I did walk (cough, cough) over to a watering hole last night. Met up with friends from a team that I’m no longer working in, but sure I’m working with.

Why the italics and coughing, you ask? Because I limp/hobble instead of walk.

Okay. But why? Rather, how? And what physical therapy? What’s going on?

Well, well, well. I guess it is time to lay it all out here.

Nine weeks ago

Did I tell you that I’m very much into motorcycling? If I hadn’t, I really should write about it. It’s been going on for a couple of years. Serious stuff. Bought a Honda CB350 two years ago. Bought all the safety gear. Started riding long and regular. More like a mental feat than a physical one. Meditative and awe-inspiring. More on that later.

One bike is not enough for two riders with distinctly different everything, including riding style, temperament, and preferences. The second rider is J, of course. Yeah, he’s also into motorcycling. Pretty much has always been, but has finally turned a corner in terms of doing motorcycling seriously.

This meant borrowing someone else’s bike. Thankfully, my friend and band mate is a sweetheart, and he has been lending his bike for the last two years. But this was tiring, primarily because I had to pick up the bike from his place, which is about 1.5 hours from my place (in Mumbai traffic) and that added about 4 hours of extra ride time on an otherwise 10- to 12-hour riding days.

The solution was simple. Get another bike. So we did. But it was a bit of a rush, and the monetary transactions didn’t go through on the night of the first long ride with J riding with all the newly-bought safety gear.

So the night before, I did my 3-h schlepp to get my friend’s bike. And so we did what we have been doing for a few months.

But this time it was J’s ride. And my friend’s bike isn’t as fast (or safe) as mine. And I ride slower and safer than J. And J rides my bike. I can’t fuck up J’s first big ride. So I ended up making a risky decision with my friend’s bike jamming its brakes on me.

But wait, I was wearing protective gear, right? So no scratches on me. The bike’s got a few, but minor. But then what happened?

So I buckled my knee in an effort to quickly get back on the bike. The incident did happen on a very poor part of the road to Mahabaleshwar (it’s a gorgeous hill station on the Western Graters, approximately 200 km southeast of Mumbai), and there were trucks around, with one kinda heading toward me. So I must have panicked.

Long story short (not really, right) I had multiple-ligament tear of my left knee. This was about two months ago, and I underwent arthroscopic repair two weeks after the incident. Done by my junior from my alma mater, but not at the alma mater, but at a private hospital. Because it would be easier for J to take care of me.

It was painful. Especially the first two days and then in the first two weeks, and so on. J took care of me. Even during the difficult times. I was difficult to be with, and it was difficult for me to be with others, but it worked out.

I was on crutches or hopping in the first 6 postoperative weeks. A week ago, I started using a walking stick. You know, one of those modern ones.

In the 7 days since, I have tried to find excuses to step out of the apartment and walk. The newly unveiled Metro 2A did give me motivation, and so did the walk to the bar to meet my friends and have a couple of beers.

Cut to present

So yeah, I took it easy. My excuse was that I had other problems to solve. Like my relatively expensive MacBook Pro throttling every time I do anything related to video capturing or rendering. I have been in touch with both Apple Support and Logitech Support (cuz the camera’s from Logitech), and despite them both being helpful (or trying to be so), my problem remained.

So I had to figure shit out myself. And I reckoned it was a good enough reason to take it easy.

Also, I had a bunch of walking/hobbling to do. I had an off on Republic Day and my surgeon (my friend) was free to meet, and I wanted to see if he thought I could expedite my recovery.

So instead of doing physical therapy, I watched art lessons on YouTube. Got inspired.

Wait, what? Art? Since when?

Six weeks ago

I was in pain and I couldn’t do the stuff that I used to. So I decided to revisit sketching and painting (watercolors). Revisiting because I used to sketch my lecturers at Medical College, apart from sketching cats.

I (re)started small, but since then, I have gone on to purchase some basic/serious sketching/painting material. I even have a fanny back with art supplies. You know, to pain rocks and stuff on the go.

So far, my primary subject is Blu. In fact, just before I started writing this, I was sketching yet another bust shot of her.

Just like the 1.7 billion people around the world right now, I’m learning almost exclusively by watching YouTube. It’s pretty cool, I’ll say. The video medium does help especially in this case as I watch time lapses of the experts doing art.

Cut to present

So on my way switching between three lines of trains (two Metro lines and a suburban/local), I sketched. On the way back too.

I felt good. Sort of taking pride in listening to art instructors say stuff like, “sketch every day”, “fill up your sketchbook”, “take a sketchbook with you wherever you go” and all that jazz.

But that’s not the only thing. My surgeon/friend concluded that I can indeed start going a bit more aggressive with my transition to full weight-bearing, i.e., without assistance. That’s just great.

In between all of this, I did manage to grab dinner at the Mallu restaurant where I used to grab lunches/dinner when I was at my alma mater, mentoring my surgeon/friend. That felt nice.

And then I come back home and go through a complicate list of steps to try and un-throttle the MacBook Pro. Didn’t/hasn’t worked out. So my only way out seems to be a factory reset. And if that doesn’t work, oh lord, I don’t even want to think that I might need to buy yet another machine!

So in between all of this, I thought I should listen to my instructors’ advice, but on something that I haven’t been spending time on—writing.

And that’s why I’m writing—and presumably you are reading—this.

My Triumvariate Balancing Act While Floating in the Ocean of Depression (2013 - a Year in Review)

Exactly 365 days back, I was happy - or I felt that I was. I was in the initial stages of a promising relationship, life was good, and I was under therapy. I thought I had everything under control. Finally, it was time to see whether I was dependent on my pharmacotherapeutical crutch.

Prompted by my shrink, under the umbrella of my "real" first short-distance long-term relationship, I decided to take the chance. Under the shrink's guidance, I tapered myself off of medications, with almost total compliance. Things seemed okay. The relationship, thanks to its realness and rawness, was giving me a lot of scope to test my endurance and limits. So was work, with the management at my office seemingly destined to stretch the employees to their physical and mental limits. In such phases, I get into the mode of trying to better myself, and I pushed myself harder. I thought I was doing well, coping enough to hang on to my biochemical mileu by very shaky threads.

In tandem, something else was happening. Under the pretence of the need for "space" in the relationship, whic was triggered by the frequent arguments, fights, six or seven 'almost-break up's, I started spending more time by myself, with my guitars in my apartment.  This, not too surprisingly, resulted in a rejuvenated phase of songwriting, thanks a lot to the freshness added by my new partner in musical crime.

This was the silver phase of an otherwise gray 2013, during which time I had the cushion of the remnant unmetabolized/uneliminated drugs in my body, along with a relatively acquiescent phase in the relationship. It lasted for a few weeks, two months at the maximum, after which the monster was unleashed. The feelings reminiscent of childhood and adolescence were back - fear, apprehension, exaggerated startle response, insecurities, self-loathing, self-esteem issues, excessive tendency to punish myself, self-blame, almost-delusions. So were behaviors, including anger management issues, rage, raising voice, and abnormal conversational mode. All this was made worse by the incredibly long hours at work daily, which seemed to get worse as the year progressed.

Around my birthday on the 7th of November, a series of events led me to my first real nadir of depression in about 18 months, driving me to consider whether it was worth living while being miserable and causing others to suffer. On a Saturday night, when almost everything around me, and everyone who I was communicating with, seemingly suggested that I was a worthless piece of shit, I decided to call up and check with the only person that I thought I could trust – Vinokur.

Of course, he was not aware of what was going on. But thankfully, I got the answer. That gave me the validation that I required. Within 12 hours, thanks to the persistence of my boyfriend, I visited the shrink and I was put on temporary medication. I went on to undergo a comprehensive psychological test, the results of which suggested a plethora of psychological issues, including post-traumatic stress disorder, childhood abuse, depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety-related, and stress-related issues. In a blood test, I was found to have Vit D deficiency and hyperlipidemia, and an ultrasound of the abdomen revealed fatty liver.

At the moment, the shrink and I are planning on a comprehensive treatment plan, including behavioral therapy, meditation, counseling, and pharmacotherapy. In addition, I am in the process of consulting a physician for the management of hyperlipidemia and fatty liver. As I write this post, I am in the middle of my first real vacation after February this year. I am at Meherabad (off of Ahmednagar, approximately 6 hours from Mumbai) with Jay, after having invited by my friend Billiards. The calm and quiet of Meherabad along with the lack of work-related stress has been working for me, reinforcing my views that the countryside may be the long-term solution to my depression. Anyway, I hope this will mark a period of gradual improvement.

Plus, I realize that the pharmacotherapy, which gave me a very "feel good" period from mid-2012 to mid-2013, had handed me a very unproductive, in fact, disastrous, phase as a musician. I regret that it took so long for me to realize what was happening. In the last few months, I have tried my best to reinstate my career as a musician. Although the addition of rehearsals and related affairs add to the stress in general, there is no way but try to ensure that I follow the path that gives me most creative pleasure and satisfaction.

Here's to a very productive 2014, when I must juggle the three repsonsibilities - work, music, and relationship - while ensuring that I cope with my depression.

Merry Christmas

I can't believe that it's been over 6 months since I last posted a note on this blog. I sincerely apologize. Just so you know, I had my last major bout of depression in early April 2012. Life has almost come around a whole circle in the succeeding 8 months or so. I'm at a very happy place in my life at the moment. Knock on wood!

So what happened in that period? The lack of motivation to share thoughts, which comes bundled with the package of depression in the brains of people like me, was the reason in the first three months. I cheated. I mean I lied, or, maybe I should say, I didn't come clean with the truth, in the last few posts. This was when I was really struggling to comprehend what was happening to me.

Supposedly, I was happy. I was in a promising relationship, had ongoing projects with three bands, one one of which looked like it would fulfill my dream of cutting an album, and my work-life was going smoothly. From out of nowhere, it hit me. I fell flat on my face and the people closest to me chose to give up on me. Within no time, I was dumped my my lover, rejected by one band, kicked out of another, and stranded by the third.

I was dazed and confused but I managed to not crack down under adversity, thanks to some excellent friends, who stood by me and saw me through, and of course, to my new shrink. Thank you, Billiards, for spending so much time with me on Skype virtually every night for many months. Thank you, Sujit, for helping me find a new shrink, which made me turn the corner. Thank you, my work colleagues, for providing me with the wonderful environment where I spend most of my awake hours. Finally, thank you Mr. Psychiatrist, without whom, wouldn't have known what it is like to be really happy.

The new shrink, almost magically, brought in a radical transition by switching me to a new medication and guiding me to cognitive therapy. He suggested that I should be weaned off of the previous psychoactive cocktail (low-dose combination therapy with escitalopram, clonazepam, and haloperidol) and started me on bupropion. Along with that, he guided me to http://depressioncenter.net, which gave me the insight about cognitive therapy - I meticulously maintained a mood diary for about a month, which enabled me to find out what were the real triggers, and thereby find the root cause of my negative thought cycles.

Sometime in late July or early August, I started enjoying life like I have never before. I guess I had more time for myself with most of my responsibilities as a musician, apart from my that as a solo performer, having vacated my life, and I started watching, following, and reading stuff that interested me and I started looking forward to spending time by myself. I restarted socializing - dating, drinking out, going for movies, etc. I also was able to get rid of my guilt to spend money for myself for entertainment and leisure. By September, I was dead sure - the period comprising the last three months or so was the happiest that I had ever been.

Then, in October, out of nowhere, I met three interesting men - all three attractive, single (well, technically, at least), and interested in me. All three are so different and yet seemed to offer me something that I had never experienced in Mumbai - dating. Although I'm good friends with all of them, I have spent most of the last two months with one of them - Jay - and it has just been a wonderful experience.

Thus, on the eve of Christmas, I sit by myself, content and happy, albeit missing Jay, hoping to spend the New Year's eve with him.

Merry Christmas.

Stay calm and hug a bear. Trust me, that works.

Getting better all the time

The last week has been really good me. Well, except for the fact that I got kicked out of my main band. Otherwise, with the help of the new medication (I suspect whether it could have such an early effect – maybe placebo effect) and early lessons of cognitive therapy, I am feeling all round better. I have a homework – to track my mood throughout the day and find out what triggers my negative moods. This is helping a lot. The people that trigger my bad moods are those who are close to me who have hurt me previously (e.g., parents, Vinokur, and Joe). I should avoid contacting them when I’m feeling vulnerable, I think.

Are you still on those pills?

I was at the venue of the gig yesterday. The band was having dinner. After I finished mine, I opened my backpack and took out of pills (for depression and chronic urticaria) and laid them on the table so that I can take them.

My good friend and band mate who was watching me do it asks me: “Are you still on those pills? Why are you still depressed?” I tried to tell him the facts – that I’m suffering fro depression and am under therapy for it. He still didn’t get it.

This is the state with most people who don’t understand mental illnesses. They think that such illnesses come and go as and when you want them to, and that when situations change, the illnesses disappear by themselves.

All I want to say is this. Clinical depression doesn’t go away when situation becomes better. It needs continuous therapy from which people benefit. If you were not aware of this, now that you have read this, please don’t ask such questions to your friend/family when they bring such topics up.

A Streetcar Named Desire - All About My Insecurities

Yesterday, I went for a home-theatre movie triple bill at my friend's home. I expected it to be pleasant - the movies, my friends, and the whole experience. It was almost totally pleasant. I was wishing for just the one thing - if only I could leave my mind back home. My insecurities keep popping up everywhere as potential triggers. They indeed did here!

We watched three classic movies - 'A Streetcar Named Desire', 'All About Eve' and 'All About My Mother'. I watched two and a half as I felt sleepy and bored (I don't know which preceded which) through the first one. Apart from a couple of friends of Marlon Brando's who titillated my nonexistent tits, so to speak, I wasn't touched, moved, aroused, amazed, astounded, or even interested.

After Desire, we watched the other two and I was increasingly pleasured by the two others - especially 'All About My Mother'. My friend had chosen these movies as a planned crescendo because Mother had so many references to Eve and Desire. The movies were great, but I wished I could have watched them alone, so that I could pause when I wanted to, sleep when I needed to, and research when I'm forced to. That way I don't need to be wary of the potentially hurtful discussions afterward, when I'd be clueless as a kitten to be swooped off by a vulturous eagle.

See, I don't even remember the name of the characters. Almost everyone on the planet seems to know them by heart. And I can't recollect the most obvious of such details without Wiking/IMBDing. I'm pathetic, I know. But I'll leave whining for a little later.

I'm a tired man, I must remember. I've too many things on my plate that I can't even possibly taste and I'm full almost upto my lower esophagus. I'm on antidepressants and antipsychotics which supervene on my efforts to maintain wakefullness. I've a minefield of a mind full of blackholes about insecurities of lack of knowledge and exposure to arts, history, and what not.

In such a state, it was foolish of me to have attempted instant redemption. No offence to my lover and friends, I'm not quite up to the mark. I suck at most things that I want to be good at. I agree that I'm good at most things that I end up devoting time to. But there are far too many things, far far too many things, and too little time, which might have been curtailed had it not been for these pills that I'm on.

No one can save this wreck from sinking. But how much more can it float?

The curious case of self-flagellation

As I'm resocializing and resocia-gayzing rampantly these days, I am posed one question quite frequently - a little too frequently for my comfort.

'I haven't heard from/seen you in ages! How/where have you been Kris?'

My answer always has been in either of two forms. The rather bland and gentle one goes like this — 'I've been up and down a lot, more down than up. But I'm up now!' The more edgy answer intended to hurtle a jaw or two over a cliff goes like this — 'I have been suffering from clinical depression with suicidal tendencies. Thankfully, my friends (boyfriend in particular) and dear therapist (friend) managed to help me out of it. I'm on medications now — anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, and anti-anxiety drugs. I'm much better now. Thanks! Have you ever considered suicide?'

When I say 'up and down', I mean it. I'm suffering from type 2 bipolar disorder bordering on unipolar depression. If it is indeed unipolar, the times when I surface from the depths of depression (to near normalcy) represent the manic phases of bipolarity. Either way, my phrenus is fluctuant. A status message on my office private messenger summed it up nicely — 'Kris is up and down like a BMC-repaired road'.

This weekend was an uncharacteristically typical up and down one for me. Here’s a recap.

Friday night: It was a mad night at a music awards ceremony where I hung out with friends (read superstars and rock icons), got drunk, hit on a my-type-of-hunk singing legend and gave him my number, then got dared to take off my shirt for a Bollywood/rock diva in exchange for her taking her shirt off (this incident got covered in Bombay Times today), and finally retching and throwing up on my way back in the cab and in my apartment, before crashing.

Saturday morning: Woke up with a hangover and bilious gastritis — it was as if my liver was saying 'Get a life, jerk!' Then, for the first time in a year, I welcomed one of my dear office colleagues to my apartment. She was there to give me company during the shooting of a documentary film about openly gay people — the film title 'Engayging Lives' is derived from Here’s Truly. It was supposed to be shot a month ago and I was one of the main characters in the film; well, until my depression destroyed any possibility of me being a part of it. After starting therapy and somewhat stabilizing on it, I had gotten in touch with the charming girls from Sophiya college and they gave me another chance to be a visual part of the film — I'm doing the background score for the film anyway.

Saturday evening: After that, I had a fantastic gig with Shoonyas when we performed as an opening act for Agnee at VJTI college in Matunga. We did a quite remarkable set that was a crazy mix of rock and Bollywood. Three of my dear colleagues from my workplace were there to make the evening special. I can’t believe the support I get from my office - thanks so much! That, however, was the end of the high.

Then, I was set up for a traumatic and humiliating dinner invitation that I would not like to dwell on — apart from a salad that I tossed together, and a few moments clicking two lovers making out, I felt really horrible. My pills were there in the background but the self-flagellation was severe. This must have triggered my insecurities which led to me having an intense argument with Vinokur, which pushed me to the limits of masochistic depression. I could feel myself conjuring up plots and subplots in my mind, each and every step meant to hurt me a little deeper.

Luckily, thanks to just Vinokur, I was rescued once again and we somehow managed to get me to sleep without more mutual trauma! Sleep seems to be one potent douser of my flames.

Sunday morning: I woke up feeling much better and had a nice, long Skype conversation with Vinokur. Intense multi-tasking ensued and I started feeling like my old self — capable and confident. Moreover, I agreed for a date with a rather mysterious person, which I've been procrastinating for months if not years. A walk down the Juhu beach with him and his dog, and a relaxing conversation over tea later laid the background for an interesting prospect.

Sunday evening: After the date, I went to my first GB meet in months — mainly to meet up with the dear aunt of a friend. During the entire meet, I was keying things on my PDA, not speaking unless being specifically asked to. Later, I invited my favorite aunt to be my date for Valentine's Day! On my way back, a series of incidents including self-deprecatory humor, inability to remember the name of the book that I had read (Ellie Wiesel's 'Night'), and a couple of inflammatory FB threads bared everything in me in under half an hour. I knew I was going down to self-created whiplashes from my delusional world, but couldn't stop myself.

Ironically, an FB chat with one of my erstwhile co-residents from the hospital, during which my friend proved how narrow-minded, conservative and rude Indian society could still be vis-á-vis homosexuality and a coming out situation. However, I defended valiantly without losing my calm despite my pride being at stake. This chat made me realize that I'm good after all, and that my return to practicing surgery in the myopic and treacherous environment of the hospital would be difficult if not impossible.

It's amazing how masochistic depression can almost whip you down to nothingness. For those who are suffering from the same, or those who know of people who do, please help yourself and others to overcome this!

After therapy

20 days back, I started taking my medications. I feel like a different person. Life seems to offer a lot more and opportunities seem to spring out of nowhere.

I feel like dressing up, partying,, getting back on the 'scene' etc. This has to do with shopping and I must be careful about not spending too much. I bought myself an entire collection of hats and stoles the other day. Now, its time for shirts! Everything dirt cheap of course!

More surprises coming up. I'll post a picture or two soon to justify my proclamations!

The deep dark shades of masochistic depression

I have had a tough year last year when things went wrong almost calculatedly, and I went wrong almost as if I were on autopilot. Wrong would me a wrong word to describe the condition - inadaptable would perhaps better explain the condition. My life during this period could be compared to a set of dominoes which collapsed the exact opposite way they were meant to.

I, as a system that worked pretty efficiently in scaling all the hurdles that my previous life had presented me, capitulated to such an extent that I started picking up apparently ambivalent things (apart from the true negative phenomena) and conjured up ways to demonise them into the ultra-negativities, which were later incorporated into my life's realm. It was like how an evil force, a la comics and their fantastic story lines, would feed on all sources of energy, soul, and life, to enhance its own size, thus eventually causing an apocalypse.

This effect, unfortunately, is due to the fact that I'm, by default, hopeful and optimistic. By being so, I let negativity hurt me more that it should. I belive that this the big fat irony of hope and its resultant expectation. When you get stuck inside such a situation, you tend to wonder why such things happen to you. You have a strong feeling of righteousness and it seems that things/life are/is unfair. However, inside the mind of a depressive person, who might also be a tad masochistic, thoughts swarm up to find reasons for the apparent cruelty and the need to endure it for prolonged periods as if to 'suffer' for the 'sins' that must have been committed, albeit unknowingly!

This is why people like me resist help and go deeper and deeper into the proverbial shell. In my case however, thanks to Vinokur primarily, who orchestrated this marvelous heist of my mind with the help of two of my dear friends, the depressive spree has been halted and I'm now on therapy. Presently, I'm feeling much better. The negativity, instead of clinging on to, passes me by like it does for all others. I urge everyone who has had similar experiences to take that huge step, maybe with the help of your near and dear friends, to seek therapy!

I would like to quote my friend/musician/bandmate Sidd Coutto - "... make your own bubble of happiness, and stay in it!"

Stay happy!