THE DOOR TO HELL

The lights in that place, though normal, were hurting my eyes. It had been nearly three months since I came out of my room or in other words, stepped out of darkness. Some people find a weird comfort being in darkness. It seems to them as though it conceals everything which they’re afraid to face. I had become one among those people. I was dying to get out of that place, go lock myself in my room and burn myself with self loath. Everything around me was causing me discomfort. But not as much as the bandage which was wrapped tightly around my wrist. The man kept gazing at me, watching each and every one of my movements. He seemed so calm. His smile radiated so much positivity. He was easily double my age. But it seemed as though he had not faced any hardships in his entire life. I envied him. I wanted to yell, break things and run away from there. But I chose to remain quiet.

‘Skriti, I’m still waiting for you to speak up.’

I didn’t answer. I kept facing down, pricking on my bandage until my stitches hurt.

‘I understand the reason for your silence. There is nothing to feel hesitant about. I’m not gonna judge you. I’m here to help you. I’ll wait until you’re ready.’

Almost half an hour had passed. The man patiently waited for me to respond. I finally gave in.

‘I…. I did a terrible thing…. I….’

Tears were rolling down my cheeks while my voice was breaking as though someone had strangled my throat.

‘Okay, relax. Breathe. Calm down and tell me everything.’ said my psychiatrist.

I finally pulled myself together and spoke.

‘I killed my best friend.’

He didn’t speak. He just gestured me to tell him everything.

I took a deep breath and begun,

‘We… were friends since childhood. We always took each others’ side no matter what happened. But eight months back, he came to me seeking my help since he was not feeling good. He... He said that he was feeling very depressed, insecure, anxious and all. He said that he couldn’t sleep but also didn’t feel like getting out of bed. He also said that, on some level he wanted to kill himself.’

I stopped as my voice along with my body trembled uncontrollably.

‘And?’ asked the doctor retaining the calmness in his tone.

‘I… asked him to stop making a fuss out of nothing.’

I wiped the tears as I spoke further,

‘He literally begged me to help him. But I felt that he was being dramatic. I asked him to stop imagining things. I told him that it’s all in his head and that it’s not real.

He even wanted to meet me once. I turned him down saying that I was busy with work. When he asked me multiple times after that, I…. I told him that I didn’t have time for his bullshit… I accused him for using depression as a cover for all his stupidity and mistakes… I… I didn’t care to open my mind to the minimal level… to understand…’

Before I could complete, I lost it. I began to wail wildly. The doctor tried to console me and offered some water. I took it and gulped it down so fast that I began to cough. I was feeling so breathless.

‘It’s okay. Don’t panic. Take all the time you want.’ He said.

I was in such an urge to vent out everything that was making me burn in agony.

‘I never thought it was serious. Until… that day… when I found out that he was no more.

I was at work when my friend called me to inform that Sharav was no more. That he had killed himself.

The moment I heard that, I collapsed. I wanted the earth to crack open and suck me in. I… I could just not accept that he is no more.’

As I spoke, I ripped my bandage open and saw the stitches on my messy reddish wrist. Something kept screaming inside my head that I didn’t deserve the stitches and that I deserved to have bled to death. Well, I couldn’t agree more.

‘I had no courage to go to his funeral. Somehow I did. His eyes were closed. But I felt that he was staring at me with those questioning eyes asking why I abandoned him when he needed me the most. He had sent me around 40 texts that morning describing what he was going through. And the worst part was I did not even care to open those until after his funeral. Ever since I read them, those are the only things I could hear and feel. Every single thing he had described started happening to me every day, every second. I can’t take it anymore.’ I cried.

‘I have to ask what is happening to you.’

‘It is like I wake up every day to the same day. It is like a routine. I wake up inside a dark room. My name is written on the door. Something dressed in black stays there with me. It doesn’t have a face. All that it does is, waits for me to wake up and once I do it clasps my head with its hands. The grip is so tight that I can’t escape. It takes me back to every time when I went wrong. Makes me watch everything and pricks and peels my skin off slowly for every mistake in such a way that I feel pain through every inch of my cursed body. I yell, I scream and apologize a million times. It would be as though my whole body and soul are ablaze. The heat and pain be unbearable. I beg for pardon, I beg to be killed. But it doesn’t let go. Every time I try to go to sleep, I secretly hope that I find an escape. But the next morning, my hopes get shattered. It keeps happening the same way. One day while I was about to go to sleep when the creature revealed the only way out of this torture. I was longing for that. I didn’t think of anything else. I wanted to be free of the torture. I grabbed a knife… and cut my wrist.’

The doctor didn’t say a word. He kept looking at me asking me to speak further.

‘I didn’t want to be saved. I wanted to die. That’s what I deserved. I don’t deserve to live.’

I cried hiding my face in my palms.

‘It was not your way to freedom, Skriti. It was the beginning of someone else’s captivity. Don’t you see that?’

I didn’t understand what he meant by that. I gave him questioning and confused glare.

‘You are just not breaking free of your hell. You are also putting someone else’s name on the door to hell. Once you leave, someone else is gonna go through the same thing you went through. It maybe anyone, a friend who failed to support you, like what happened to you after Sharav or it may be your parents who would hate themselves for not getting the chance to help you or anyone who is related to you. They would start blaming themselves for not saving you. They would deliberately write their name on the door and start going through everything you went through.’

I did not speak. I kept sobbing.

‘The creature lied to you. Suicide is not the only way out. Seeking help medically or through the people you know is also a way out. But it would never let you find that out. You made a mistake by letting Sharav down, I agree. But we are all people. We make mistakes. That’s our nature. You can only learn from your mistakes and make sure not to repeat them. But you can’t change the past. Everything you lost would act as reminders to you for making you stay away from the mistake the next time. Always remember, suicide doesn’t mean killing yourself. It means mentally killing everyone associated to you.’

His words started sinking in. They started making sense. I didn’t want anyone else to go through this shit. Not even in my wildest dreams. I kept looking at the doctor. As though he read my mind he said,

‘I’m putting you on meds for your depression and anxiety. Fight through this, erase your name from the door and help other people erase theirs.’

He took my hand and said, 'This scar is gonna be with you for your life, reminding you of your battle, survival and victory.'

He handed over my prescription along with a badge.

On my way back, I visited Sharav’s grave, cried my heart out and placed the badge near his tombstone ‘Sharav 1996-2018’. The badge read WARRIOR.