From Your Diary: Ashima Pal
Do you remember the times when you used to pretend your stomach was hurting so your parents would let you stay at home?
I always thought that being sick meant that you were visibly suffering.
I was a senior in college when I went to my mom and said, “I am sick, but you can’t see it”. I did not expect her to understand but I was curious, “How do you show something that can’t be seen?” It felt as if I was constantly swimming in the ocean, with no land in sight. This feeling had no name and no visible symptoms to identify.
I was 2 years old when my parents came to the United States, they had decided to leave me with my grandmother in India and a few years later they moved me to my aunt’s house in India. Fast forward to when I turned 13, I finally had the opportunity to meet my parents. At that point, most of my childhood was spent getting accustomed to living with new people at new places.
Although I was living in these houses temporarily, I had built a permanent residence in my own head.
I was unable to form a close relationship with my parents because of the limitations I had created in my mind. Growing up, I had relied on myself so much that everyone else was a stranger so it didn’t matter if I opened myself up to someone because they were going to take the next flight out of my life anyways.
I kept swimming with no land in sight until my days started to constantly feel like drowning underwater. I would come up, gasping for air occasionally and those days I was able to breathe felt like the best days of my life but the next day I would start to feel suffocated again.
My junior year of college, I got diagnosed with clinical depression. I thought to myself, “You are telling me this feeling that almost felt like home to me because I carried it for years is DEPRESSION?” I came out of that therapy session, shrugged my shoulders and told myself I would never go back because there is no chance, I had depression.
Having lived the majority of my childhood in India, I thought having mental health issues meant I was crazy, at least that’s what I was always told. “You’re sad? Just be happy instead.” That was the unspoken subtext. But I didn’t feel crazy, instead I felt empty, unmotivated and tired. My academics were suffering, and my social life was close to non-existent but that’s the version of me that my parents and I had always known.
It wasn’t until I broke the boundaries of my culture and I sought out professional help, I realized that I wasn’t exactly the person that I had always known myself to be. My grades started to flourish, my relationship with my parents improved and the quality of my life had significantly increased. I learned about the baseline resistance I had developed towards mental health issues while growing up in India. It was important for me to accept that I can feel sick even when the people around me can’t visibly see me hurting. More than anything, it was important to forgive the Indian community around me for not knowing any better.
I took it upon myself to educate my parents, my friends and myself about mental health. I believe that raising awareness about mental health starts with educating yourself and your loved ones. Awareness brings acceptance and acceptance leads to a world that you won’t need an escape from. A world you can call home without residing in your own head. A world YOU have always deserved.
- Ashima Pal
