As a child, I felt as though I had a frog in my mouth, a hesitation that kept my thoughts from finding their way out. I lived instead in a small wonderland of my own, populated by imaginary friends. As I begin my recovery journey, it feels like I have returned to that same inner world.
A diagnosis does something peculiar. While an entire world rallies around you, another world quietly emerges in solitude. Some days you want to reach out and speak to everyone. Other moments, you want to shut the whole world out. A real dichotomy unfolds within you.
These are not moments of sadness or desolation for me. They are times when my existence feels more grounded than ever.
As I watch others like me share their journeys, I often wonder what it is about this juncture that makes so many of us search for a language, a way to express that we are still here and still tethered to the world. Perhaps expression, in the end, is not about anything grand. It is about the deeply human need to be seen and acknowledged in our most vulnerable moments.
They are existential bids for connection.
The forms vary. The intensity differs. Some expressions are loud, others almost whisper quiet. But every single sharing, in its own way, is about finding a thread, something to hold on to, so we can give it our best fight.
If this stayed with you, write back. I respond to every letter. ireenejkarthik@proton.me
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