Healing is a process. Healing from everything, from loss, from letting go, from sickness, from trauma. Each one takes its own route and time. In the process you discover new things and you start seeing all the gaping holes in your soul that need careful needlework to sew and close. Each one takes its time. I am in therapy, yes, there is so much shit to process. I am on depression meds, yes, because I don’t know when that devil is going to hit me again. It is like metamorphosis I guess. Inside the cocoon, I am slowly evolving to emerge as a beautiful butterfly. And emerge, I will.

Recently, events of my earlier life unfolded to me, and gave me a perspective about my life, which I had never seen before. The car accident from when I was in 3rd grade, left scars on my left cheek. My father who held race, skin color, beauty in high esteem, ask me to pose for photographs with my right side only. If I don’t smile from ear to ear, there is a manufacturing defect to my smile, its one sided. He would say, don’t give me that side smile. My brother to this day rolls on the floor and laughs when he narrates an incident when I tried to ride a bicycle and went and crashed into a house. I don’t know how to ride a bicycle to this day. Maybe three years ago, he said jokingly whats the point of taking my picture, I look like a cylinder anyways. I remember my mother once saying to a neighbor, ‘so what if she’s dark, she’s elegant’.

I am five feet tall, ‘short’ as per ‘unknown’ standards. I am brown skinned, ‘dark’ as per ‘unknown’ standards. At 5 feet and 120 pounds, I was ‘fat’ as per ‘unknown’ standards. In the eighth grade, my eyesight went poor and I started wearing glasses, ‘soda glasses’ as per ‘unknown’ standards. To add to this, my parents and brother were a lighter shade of brown. So, all my childhood, I blamed myself for not meeting these ‘unknown’ standards. My life was a waste, a curse I told myself looking at the mirror.

So what happens when you go through about twelve years of this cycle (age 5 to 17), these standards get ingrained in you. You blame yourself for your inadequacy without realizing that you are unique. All of this is what makes you, you. You start trying to become someone else. You apply loads of ‘fair and lovely’ cream in the hope that you will become light skinned, like them. You wear heels, to feel taller. You apply make up (this part I couldn’t afford) to look perfect. You transform. You feel forced to build this alternate image of yourself to please the people around you, to feel accepted. In this situation a small compliment, an acknowledgement is like hitting the jackpot. When my teachers chose me to give out the speech on behalf of the 10th grade outgoing students, I was shocked. Why me, I thought instead of thinking, why not me.

We start making adjustments to ourselves, a little here, a little there, to fit in, until we don’t recognize ourselves. We lose our identity. To this chaotic situation, comes a person, your first boyfriend or girlfriend, who is just the escape button your soul needs. You give them infinite chances, so much so that a friend comes and asks you ‘don’t you have any self respect’. In hindsight, it’s funny and he was right. But back then, I was so offended. I was busy moving from one act to another. Then another comes, who promises you the moon. Who claims cannot live without you. Suddenly you have this one person who is making you feel worthy. You jump right into the trap. He sets the stage with all your favorite colors, there’s the moon, there’s the bench by the river you dreamt of. Slowly when he’s understood that you are comfortable, he pulls away the colors one by one. He shows you the beautiful picture now and again, while slowly pulling the rug below your feet. You again pretend, try to be the person who fits his environment. The brother, the mother, the father are all there, so you switch from role to role, losing your self identity completely. Analyzing why they did what they did, the only answer I arrive at is that, they felt responsible to fix this ‘flawed’ being.

Until one day, if you are lucky enough, a friend comes by and points out the horsecrap of a life you have. And then you start the process of rediscovery, of healing, of seeing who you really are. 44 years of my life paying up for ‘I have no fucking clue’. It’s a struggle, everyday, I guess this is how babies learn to roll over, crawl sit up, stand, walk and run. I think I have just rolled over. I need to start crawling, crawling my way back into me, the person I am meant to be.

They say relationships are hard work, yes, even the one with yourself, that’s the hardest one. Everyone faces challenges in different ways. Staying sane through everything and finding your purpose, I guess, is the ultimate goal of life. At the end, maybe everyone does what they think is best, in the process if they poke a few holes in another’s soul, I guess, that’s collateral damage.