Happily Deprrssed : A Broken Heart's Road to Repair

By Dr. Sristi Mohapatra

PROLOGUE

First of all, let me introduce myself to you. I am Dr. Sarah Becker…. Pretty much going through her quarter life existential crisis. Believe it or not, even doctors go through emotional crisis. I assure you I am not using the prefix as an antidote to my anxiety. I am a graduate in MBBS from Cornell. And currently, I am looking into various residency programs, if you will, for more than a year now. That’s right…. just looking.

 Well, my LinkedIn profile may describe me as polyamorous because of

 my marriage to Medicine 

my affair with literature

and love for wildlife… if it only was just that easy!

Being a lover of literature, stories and the motion pictures... I grew up, much to anyone’s expectations, a hopelessly dramatic person. And yet being overly and excessively competitive. I wanted to be the best at everything. I wanted to be the topper. I wanted to be all of my teachers’ favourite. I almost always refrained from interacting with girls of my batch who were into extracurricular stuff or rather beginning to explore the nitty grittiness of life, if you will. I despised men. I almost made myself take a vow of celibacy and never to get involved with a man… let alone getting married and having kids. I never took part in debates or academic competitions of any sort lest they push me behind on my syllabus... the irony?!  In short, I was the obsessive, overly anxious, excessively sensitive goody goody girl with impossible unattainable goals. And with my family strictly inclined towards academics, it made me oblivious to the monster that inevitably bloomed in my unconscious mind. And so, the trauma continued to accumulate over time in the hindsight, rendering me almost powerless and in desperate want of peace. I ached for a good night’s sleep. This struck me while I was trying to make it on my own for the first time, away from my family, in the dorm rooms of Cornell.   I know I know… it seems pretty opposite of the western culture but this is precisely how I was raised. Too sensitive, excessively pampered and all-the-time perfectionist. So, no wonder I landed up with borderline personality disorder. 

After many over-the-top traumatic arguments with my parents, breakups, innumerable sleepless nights, hugely unsuccessful and infamous hostel escape, parasuicidal adventure with medication overdosing, falling in love hopelessly and head-over-heels with emotionally unavailable men, failing the entrance examinations and falling, deep and hard, into the pit of depression…. I landed up at my therapist’s door.

Being a medical professional, I was not opposed to the idea of mental health… not for others at least. For me, it was stigmatising initially. Found it hard to cope with the fact that I was now a patient rather than a physician. I guess it’s more common than you can imagine in people with white coats. So, it was difficult for me to accept the situation and seek help from a psychiatrist. 

Surprisingly though, over time, I found it liberating. The medications and therapy gelled well and it broadened my perspective over life. Now I feel grateful every day that I can summon the energy to push myself out of my bed and do some positive stuff to distract myself, in adverse situations, in contrast to the days where I just lay almost lifeless on bed. 

This piece of literature is not constructed to convince you to take therapy. No. This is simply intended to share the change in my view of the world and life as a whole, over time. 

This is my story of love and heartbreaks. This is ME…….

CHAPTER 1 – DENIAL

Denial? Against what?

A simple word of six alphabets to some but one of the shades that I have been smeared with my whole life

A defence mechanism? Maybe.

Constant denial, that I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t of a good colour. I wasn’t thin enough. I wasn’t smart enough. That I wasn’t the best and the most desirable. I was now the patient and not a physician. That depression had now its claws deep in me and was basically ripping me apart. I was going to a psychiatrist. I was seeing a therapist. I am to take medications and so many more.

All of these “denials” can be somewhat traced to my extreme sensitivity in my childhood, the fact that I always thought I was special and was pretty much “entitled” always to the best and the happiest of stuff out there. When denial plagues your brain, you either end up feeling that you are a special one-of-a-kind piece on this planet or you end up feeling that you are on the very end of the spectrum of nihilism. I went with the special one.

And the main factors that literally drove this thing to the edge are my intense, passionate, over-the-top, gonna-die-if-not-you kinda relationships. Boy, did they drive me crazy!

My first fling with a guy, let’s call him Michael, is the epitome of that. I was away from my parents, away from the protective Disney bubble that I used to shell myself in. And here was this guy, Michael, who was upfront flirting with me and I had no idea how to handle boys. I met him while I was at my grocery shop. We picked the same tomato sauce, having not the slightest hint of the tangy storm brewing just a little away from us. We kicked it off immediately. He was practising to be a pianist, wanting to enrol in the Royal School of Music in London, while pursuing a degree in biotechnology. Basically, a cool, musical genius with a gig. The camaraderie between us was hilarious. And he quickly seemed to make his way into my group of friends at Cornell. We hung out at parties, cafes. He seemed to be a great friend to hang around with. Everything was all hunky and dory.

 And then he starts flirting. I get scared and confused. I had never looked at him that way. I did not want to lose him.  And I did not have the slightest idea that a “no” never really matters to a person and that they can pretty much get over that easily since it was nothing but an early 20 summer infatuations. So, after putting out my naïve, foolish ideas into the universe, I caved in. It was the start of a summer fling that disguised itself with “the one” vibes for me and I happily danced along to its sweet tunes. It was a crazy, whirlwind romance and I transformed to a girl finally having a boyfriend for the first time, dreaming of asking him to make it official after my exams. But the sun had already set in our paradise. I became insanely possessive and jealous while he was bordering on the lines of whether I was just a crush or a liking in true sense of the word. Obviously with both of us being on extreme ends of our spectrum….it ended. The worst part, it ended up being one of the most traumatic times of my life. I was a girl with a broken heart because of a dead-end equation. I sank into the deep pits of depression, blaming myself for everything. I pretty much “denied” myself of the fact that good things do come to an end and it was ok. Just a normal phenomenon. I cried out my heart night after night, sleepless, bunking classes, losing my appetite and weight (I lost around 10 to 12 kilograms). I denied myself any feelings of still being worthy of anything. And the mess dragged on around for what seemed like a year and a half. I tried my infamous unsuccessful hostel escape and wandering about the streets at night hoping to hook up with danger. I still cannot really figure out the survival part but a huge portion of that credit certainly goes out to my friends Henry and Emmett. 

The reason why I mentioned this, was the fact that I wanted to show you, the reader, that this whole mess would probably have had a smooth ending had I not attached myself to him excessively and simply accepted the truth that the fling was over. I denied myself from the truth and everything that could have comforted me through this storm. I denied myself from anything good that there ever was and locked myself up in the dungeons of insecurity and guilt only to later find out that the escape was excruciatingly painful if not impossible. 

In short, denial can be helpful in the way that it can guide us to better possibilities restricting ourselves from the hurtful. But as always, anything in excess is bad.

CHAPTER 2 – ANGER

After almost 2 years to that fiasco, I had another point of inflection for me, all suited and lined up, nice and tight.

I met Roger. Roger was essentially all sweet things packed up into a bear physique. The witty, gentle, loving partner that any girl would readily lap up for life. He still remains high up on my list of some of the best people I have across list. I still have a lot of respect for Roger and probably will last till I rest in my grave. 

Roger was a senior at Cornell. We had interacted for the first time when his batch was conducting the annual Halloween party and the prom. I was up for anchoring the event owing to my speaking fluency in English. Roger had a great hold on the language as well as he co anchored with me but not essentially with words. He was inherently shy and an introvert but with me he was expressive. We would talk for hours on end and I would end up pouring my heart out about my disastrous dating life…… inevitably blaming Michael for everything, painting him as a villain. All the while, being supportive through and through. One can very easily see his fondness and affection for me as clear as through a glass. My friends vouched for him. Emmett went on to advertise and showcase him in front of my parents, stating that Roger was a Godly human being. Literally everyone around me, my friends and his, were praying for us to get together. Roger had that kind of a personality to him as well. He was a homemaker and a family person. And he also confessed to his liking for me afterwards but in a very dignified manner. That proposal still remains the best that I have ever had.

I knew he was being protective and hurting at the same time. And eventually I surrendered and accepted my defeat before his love. Roger and I had a great time. It was my first “serious” relationship. That happiness lasted around for 2 years. While Roger and I were very compatible and had a great relationship…. things were not that bright inside. I was struggling to reciprocate my liking for Roger. Honestly, the fling with Michael had given birth to a fear of commitment that was way beyond my comprehension. I liked Roger a lot. Now that I think about it, maybe even loved him too. 

I used to plan all these little surprises for him to cheer him up in any way I could. And he reciprocated with his tokens of love. And yet I felt the pressure of having to reciprocate. The feeling of being inadequate, the messy one. While he was incessantly perfect. God that infuriated me so much. The fear, the insecurity, the inadequacy grew over time and almost became invincible. We had to be in a long-distance relationship due to the pandemic. US had lockdowns written all over it. While he was struggling to get through his internship and studying and managing my tantrums… I was in Nova scotia (by the way, that’s my homeland) feeling lonely and stuck and inadequate while trying to cope with the fact that my father was admitted in Beth Israel centre, miles away from mom and me, connected by technology only. It was one of the times when I was pretty much scared to death for even getting out of bed. I had no idea how to get through it all. Roger was away and busy and I was grief-stricken. The feeling of loneliness snowballed and gave away to innumerable, annoying fights. 

As if that wasn’t enough to break down our imaginary sand castles…. I ended up falling head over heels for…. enter Edward.

Let’s call him Edward (after Edward Cullen from Twilight, of course). I came across Edward for the first time, at least that’s what I remember, in our anatomy dissection hall. Edward was Edward in some ways and not in many other ways. Unlike Cullen, Edward was not considered as an attractive guy by many of the girls in our batch or maybe he was, I don’t really know. He had an unwanted tag of underconfident, shy and underneath it all, I-am- going- to- stay -in- a- corner- no-attention-for-me sort of a guy. That tag still remains. He was great in academics and skills. And like Cullen, Edward was an old-world guy with conservative opinions about his life. Having been brought up in a modest and most humble family, Edward was inherently a down to Earth fellow with a heart of gold. Despite his introvert nature, he had no awkwardness with offering up a helping hand and overall, a great Samaritan. He literally had kindness and politeness written all over him. 

Edward and I ended up being the closest of friends. Something that I had not really experienced ever before nor anticipated, was our frankness, our connection. We shared with each other everything about our personal lives. My miseries, his childhood, studies, our deepest darkest secrets. Oddly, he was also one of the people around me who heartily advocated for Roger.

But there was something in our closeness, something that I couldn’t untangle since the beginning of our friendship. I was attracted to Edward. Hell, it would not be an overstatement, if I were to say that I was head- over- heels in love with him, unconsciously, dying to be his Bella. I was not even aware of the strength and the power the attachment to him. He seemed like family to me. A part of me, to be honest. Before Roger had come into my life, many a times, Edward and I had discussed the possibilities of how it would really be if we ended up with each other for the rest of our lives. We knew each other in and out. The flirting was great. The friendship and the bonding seemed rock solid. And for the first time in my life that I can recall, I was having dreams of getting married to him. That’s right…. the girl who despised men. Probably the only guy in my life I had thought about in that way. And sadly, the status remains pro quo till date for me.

But like I said, he was not Edward in many ways, at least not anymore for me. 

He did value me most but probably never saw me that way, still does not. He does have a chiselled look with a diamond shining skin. But the love Edward nurtured for Bella in Twilight…. was nowhere in sight for me and still is not. 

I was close and a priority but not his Bella. 

He would come up, without any doubt, to help me in adversity, even if it was at 3am in the morning. But not his Bella.

 His eyes welled up, indefinitely, each time he saw me in my broken heart phase after Michael. But not his Bella.

 He would walk me back to my hostel, every single night after studying in library for hours on end, to make sure I was safe, even if it meant him walking alone to his room through the dark streets of Cornell. But, not his Bella.

 His assurance of having an excruciatingly painful time if I had been away from him and not uttered a word throughout the week. Still, not his Bella.

 Him, going after hot, sexy blondes, thinking they are his type, even after all the closeness and intimacy. Still, not his Bella.

 Staying in touch after all these years, even after the bridges had burned away mercilessly. And yet, not his Bella (About the burnt bridges… you will know about it shortly.)

Finding it impossible to say goodbye and part our aways, 

Walking up to the theatre corridors of Cornell, Holding hands with teary eyes full of pain and with an unkept promise, that we would still be this way for eternity, no matter whoever came into our lives…

STILL, NOT HIS BELLA.

STILL, NOT HIS BELLA.

STILL, NOT HIS BELLA.

I never was, nor I am and neither will I ever be his Bella. 

The denial to accept this, the undying hope that, someday, this tragic story would have an alternate happy ending, is what kept me going as well as eating me alive.

And, as all you intelligent folks might have guessed it correctly by now…. much like Bella, the 2 versions of Sarah Becker, collided resulting in the most gothic, gory and destructive big bang ever. Instead of stars dying out, our hearts died. Instead of meteors moving aimlessly, our feelings were shattered and wandering. Instead of debris, the ashes of our confidence and love piled up. 

All that was happening, the aftermath of the storm, ended up with me breaking up with Roger. I confessed that I, no longer, could handle the pressure of reciprocity and that the love that I harboured had sailed away. This shook-up Roger to his very core. And as all breakups end…. We ended up with gripes and blame game.

 I know you probably might have been bored to death by now, struggling to find the relevance…. Let me tell you…. The anger and the rage that arose between me and Roger was something that I, inevitably, redirected towards Edward...

I displaced all my anger, all my darkest and most sinful words and acts towards Edward, smashing him to smithereens. My mind tricked me into believing that it was because of him that I ended up losing Roger, turning a blind eye to my own faults.

 Taking the responsibility of your actions is tough. Blaming it on others is way easier. And I chose, unwittingly of course, the easier path, burning the bridges to all my dreams and hopes. Seeking the short-term validation cost me my relationship with Roger, my friendship, my bonding, my connections with Edward, dreams and prospects of a happy wedding and a family with Edward.

It's rich and rightful, when they say that rage can destroy anything and everything in its path. And that words once spoken, cannot be taken back. The denial, to see my faults, to accept that I could commit mistakes, that I was not Bella and the wrongful misdirection and displacement of my rage towards Edward, cost me my sanity. Rage is inevitably a poison in excess and you can’t deny that.

CHAPTER 3 – BARGAIN AND DEPRESSION

Now bargain is basically where you try to strike a deal in return for something. Like, maybe you pray to God for letting you pass in the exams with flying colours in return for speaking no cuss words for a month or so on. You know the drill. Bargain done for the right thing counts.

To shed more light on this, after the whole fuss, Roger went back to his home after completing his internship. Before he left, we had decided to meet up once, for old times’ sake. After this can of worms, it was really mighty of him to even agree to this, let alone meeting me. By that time, I was aware a bit about the wound that I had gifted him. And terribly guilty as I was feeling at that time, I knew I could not reverse it. So, I had made up my mind to give him a good farewell from my side. That was the least and probably the most that I could do for him then. We met, talked our hearts out. I gave him my number on a tissue paper imagining an alternate scenario and we had the most romantic dinner date under the stars. When we knew it was time for us to go back to our realities, I folded my hands together and cried out my eyes, begging for his pardon for all the hurt that I had given him. He saw something maybe. He knew that I was not faking it. I was neck deep in agony for my deeds. Just then, it started pouring down. And while it was raining cats and dogs outside, looking deep into my eyes while under the asbestos roof of a shop, shedding a few tears, he kissed me on the cheek and whispered that his love for me was always genuine, truer than truth itself. No more words were exchanged. No further gestures made. I was drenched not with rain but with shame and guilt and crying incessantly, I rushed back to my hostel without looking back, until I was within the premises. And then as I turned to look back, I could see him walking away, head hung down and then disappearing off into the dark, showering night. That was it. That was the end of our paradise. And I have not really heard of him ever since. I hope he found it somewhere in his heart to forgive me

Coming back to Cornell, moving away was not really an option for either Edward or me. We were stuck… both belonging to the same batch and having mutual group of friends but with an ocean of separation now between us that seemed impossible to cross. Edward and I were both aware of it fully.

 I was literally a guilt driven zombie by that time. The parasuicidal adventure that I had mentioned earlier…. about drug overdosing, was something that had happened a few days back. I was not able to function. I was not able to breathe properly. It felt, as if some building had collapsed over me and I was unable to respire. Like, even if I were shouting at the top of my lungs…. the voice would still be lost in silence. NO one could hear me. NO one could see me. Sheer guilt had me in its control and occupied my mind like never before. All day long, negative, self-harming thoughts were all that I could muster up in my mind. And hence the incident. I call it parasuicidal because I was too scared to die. 

In that frame of thinking, just like the strike of a lightning, you end up choosing one of the paths. Either you complete the attempt or you have a new will, a new found interest to heal yourself. Fortunately, as you all know by now, I chose the later one. And that was the first time I had consulted a psychiatrist. But maybe stigmatisation led me to leave the treatment incomplete, only to discontinue it later. 

I somehow struggled my way to the surface of it all, trying my best to keep my demons at bay. Edward was slipping away. I could feel it. The unbearable pain of loss, burdened with the guilt of hurting him, was just too much for me to bear.

Meanwhile, Cornell had, most wittingly of course, lined up all the remaining exams that were due owing to the pandemic. This has to be the institute’s smartest decision ever!

I pooled up all my energy towards passing the exams. I knew that if this were to turn its back towards me…. I would literally have nothing to fall back on. And fortunately, at the end of it all, there were no back logs left.

Guilt and worthlessness having replaced my consciousness entirely, I was in the apologising mode. I have had time to ponder over my actions and the waves of regret had drowned me under. I kept apologising to Edward in every way I could. 

Pleading, begging… you name it. I knew I was in the wrong here and left no stone unturned to give all of my love and sweetness that I could muster.

This was the BARGAIN that I was talking about. The Bargain, that if I apologised enough, maybe I could have him back as my friend.

The BARGAIN, that if I prayed for his health and wellness before deities, maybe we could reignite our bond.

The BARGAIN, that maybe if I showered earthly possessions and materials, maybe… just maybe, I could win him back.

I know what you must be thinking right now…. Girl, how much more desperate could you be and why? It’s better to move on and look out for your soulmate.

 Or even, Girl… do you really need him in your life? I mean, he isn’t your oxygen, right? You had a life before him like the one you would have after him. So, go on. Kick up your heels and paint the town red. All good. 

But what kept me coming back to this was probably the bonding that I, so desperately, was after. Edward was like a magical spell from Dumbledore’s books in my life… hypnotising me, allowing me to levitate, flashing glimpses of the connection that I never knew I wanted so badly. The friendship, the frankness…. just being there with each other was enough to transcend me to another reality altogether. The parallel universe where we both existed, content with our careers as health professionals, lying on the dewy green grass with a babbling brook and the birds chirping cheerfully nearby and a giant wheel in sight, much like a visual from Central Park in the United States on a spring morning. Oh, the feeling. The thought of him, resting with his eyes closed, head in my lap…. Our fingers intertwined like intricate threads unwilling to untangle, him playing with locks of my hair. The only sounds reaching each other were those of the meandering river and the birds nearby and the whispers of our relaxed breaths. Oh, was there anything in the world that I would not trade to be there? In the security of his loving arms…. probably not. The mere thought of being his spouse, of carrying our children, was enough to make my uterus skip a beat. The sight of our child, a baby girl (I am biased towards girls…. But I also know that the sex of the baby was not really my job), adorned with his beautiful features and diamond skin…. a girl who would be the prettiest thing on the planet, a daddy’s princess indefinitely and spoiled in the most obvious ways by both of us. This was my dream. This was it. My happiness. My family. My future. With Edward being IT. 

And yet, here I was, sinking in the quick sands of my actions, my hopes escaping like sand from a closed fist. How could I not be crushed? How could I not be shattered to countless pieces? How could I not? Bella was incomplete without her Edward. And so was I.

Every moment that my eyes caught a glimpse of his perfect face… my heart ripped into shreds; gut wrenched with real, physical pain. The veil of guilt and shame was too heavy to lift and too opaque to see through. The ruthlessness of this reality plunged me into unfathomable bouts of depression which resurfaced later on. I had a dream that I had crushed with my own hands. How could I not regret?

CHAPTER 4 – ACCEPTANCE

In this way, we both somehow managed to make it through our med school years. Edward and I had indefinitely drifted apart with only remnants of the past. He had his own little world now, in which I played the role of merely being an acquaintance. And gradually, as time passed, even I had a closed knit of my own people, trying desperately to keep in them in my loop.

Henry had stood the test of time in the sturdiest way possible out of all of my colleagues. After the Roger incident, I did feel hesitant in sharing a lot of my emotions. Even he had a life. And he knew that his dim-witted damsel friend would almost always put herself willingly in the path of distress. So, probably that would have hurt him too. But over our internship years, the time that we spent taking care of our patients together, somehow ignited the spark in me that maybe, just maybe we could have our bond back.

The emotional turmoil had brought out the worst in me by now. I was a depressed lark, with no music in her to reach out. I was scared. I was jealous. I was unstable.

Yet somehow, we made it through all of that and in the blink of an eye…. It was time for us to take our leave from Cornell.

Cornell was, incorrigibly, the single most important factor in shaping up and changing me as a human. The negative and haunting memories stood tall but ultimately won over by the love and care that I received from Henry and the rest of my group. Something that I still am flummoxed as to how it stood its ground and its existence throughout. 

As the time dawned on us to depart, our emotions effortlessly resurfaced. We knew that the bonds in Cornell were the strongest in Cornell and now it was time for those bonds to shed its physical touch, leaving all of us in doubt whether it would still remain forged with love. 

I was the first of our group to depart. I had shamelessly asked my group and other close friends to be there when I leave Cornell. And like rats following the piper, they all had come down to bid me farewell, with best wishes in their hearts, for the new chapter that lay ahead of us. It was not pompous or extravagant. It was silent and yielding and emotional. And as much anxious as I was about it, I never, in my wildest imaginations, had struggled that much to let go, except for Edward. I distinctly remember it, as one of my core memories itself…. the moment I was about to board the train, I turned to have a glimpse of all of them before I stepped onto the train. And just then, miraculously, as if reading my unspoken thoughts, Henry cuddled me for the last time. The sheer warmth of it…. the unspoken feelings about each other…. the hideous and yet most obvious gratitude for one another washed over both of us. And momentarily… we both regressed to the time when our friendship had blossomed. It was one of the strongest forms of love. And even though everybody at first were perplexed at the nature of our equation… we both had realised that it was way beyond the paradigms of a romantic relationship, beyond our comprehension. We were bonded together in the most platonic way ever. And it was one of those bonds that catchy friendship songs symbolised. We had struck a gold mine. We had won the lottery that only a handful of humans get to cherish in their lifetime. And there was no desire to let that go. No stepping back.

The hug had further solidified in me the urge to keep in touch with Henry. This piece of work is mainly a tragic story of love and errors….so Henry remains undefined. And yet, I still need to pour out certain shades of Henry.

Henry Smith, the breeziest and most insane person to ever exist on this planet, was undeniably one of my closest friends at Cornell. Even though he was a guy, which he claimed to be…. his perks were something that teased the limits of sanity and needless to say, were beyond the comprehension of a sane human mind. Taking unlimited advantage of his innocent handsome looks, he delved into some of the filthiest jokes that one could construe at any given time. Vulgarity and cuss words were his staple and still remain to this day. No one, in their most sane consciousness, could ever come to the conclusion that he had the capacity to possess the dirtiest mind ever! Yet he did and staying in his aura had not made me immune to it either. He precisely, can be summed up clearly, to have taught me the underworld of profanities that I was so reluctant to take up on my own. This way, as he calls it, is one of the most common unprescribed drug to stress release. And I do believe that to be true. Beneath all the dirty puns though, lay a shining emotional core, that never failed to make its presence felt. Beyond everything, he was still childlike, refusing to -give in to the stressful adult life. And with him, the child in me, despite all of the adversities, had managed to breathe somehow. And owing to his presence, I made it somehow through those dreadful moments. 

Henry had tantrums even more than me. According to him, everything has to be reciprocated in a proper ratio to make the other person know that you prioritise the individual. If he made a call, that should be reciprocated in the near future. 

If he visits you, ready up your vehicle to visit him.

If he gives you shoulder to cry on, then be ready to offer up yours whenever he needs it.

Such are his whims. While his perks definitely eased the process of keeping someone in the loop, it still was a herculean task for me. I always found it difficult to start up a conversation, let alone pick up the phone and call someone. The brunt of which Henry willingly bore throughout those years. And yet, with profanities as greetings, he took it on himself to make the call, always. Somehow that did get to us. The fact that he always made it a point and I could not reciprocate. And yet his priority in my life soared high, even though I was unable to express it. So, after leaving Cornell, I had blatantly confessed all of this to him and spoke out my insecurities. And, as heartily as always, he willingly took it in his stride to stay in touch. But one could most definitely say that he was hurt. And it upset me immensely.

Returning to my final day, I shook hands with all of them. Hugged my ladies goodbye, while pushing back my tears. I cannot begin to elaborate about my girlfriends at Cornell. This would end up being an incomplete piece forever. But I can vouch that they are one of the best girls out there.

And so, with a heavy heart, I bid adieu to all of them, as I was swept away by the hurrying engine. They eventually got smaller and smaller, ultimately vanishing out of sight. And thus, my saga at Cornell breathed its last.

Living in my homeland surprisingly seemed alien to me somehow. Sudden transition from the hectic duty hours of an intern to the abundance of nothingness at my home haunted me. I was not working. I was not having a job anymore. I was a medical graduate stuck with her big stacks of textbooks.

I had willingly decided to take a drop to study for the residency programs at the ivy leagues pretty much like everyone else. But getting into the Ivy meant meticulous hard work for the next 8 to 9 months. While the duration was good enough to boost your preparations, I was blatantly oblivious to the toll that it could take on me and my mental health.

As I started with my preparations, I had to tackle the inertia and practise sitting at my desk for long hours and mugging up stuff. This was a given. Medical science is based on rote learning and memorizing stuff, sometimes even more than conceptual understanding. You must endure the long hours and have the patience and tenacity enough to make it last for 9 months. Even then, cracking the entrance exams is still no cake walk either. Being cautious enough and taking steps to avoid silly mistakes in those 3 and a half hours is a task one needs to master. One mistake and you will end up cluttered with low ranks, losing out on not just your seat at the Ivy but also a year of your life. Such are the stakes. Adding to it, the emptiness, was a whole new mountain that I had to climb while being totally unaware of its treacherous treks.

Almost all of my colleagues, including Henry, had decided to take up temporary duty at local hospitals. Their life was pretty much spent, for the said duration, running around to and fro, between their hospitals and apartments. And, as obvious, the communication with my fellows dwindled to weakness. 

To tilt the balance in my favour, luckily, 2 of my old friends from high school, Suzanne and Selena, had voluntarily contacted me and I was pretty much basking in the happiness of having them around. Thinking naively…… maybe this was not that tough at all. This seemed so doable. With my 2 girls at my side…. what really did I have to worry about aside for my preparations. I wasn’t lonely. I had my girlfriends with me for crying out loud, literally and figuratively. Little did I realise that it would be the lowest point of my life so far.

Suzanne Moss and I started our grad schools together. While she was at John Hopkins, flourishing in her studies…. I was spending my time at Cornell. We both had been friends for over a decade now and knew each other inside out. 

Suzie, as I fondly call her, understands me like no other. She has a niche for psychology and psychiatry and gets to the bottom of workings of the human mind better than most. She is not at all judgemental, strives to be familiar with your childhood and hideous mental trauma and pretty much, like an expert, digs out the most unearthly solutions for the same. So, sharing with her the skeletons in my closet was better than a paid therapy session. She was literally my therapist cum sister.

While Selena on the other hand was an artist. And a gifted one at that. Her paintings had been selected for the Smithsonian Museum recently and we were all over the moon, rooting for her success. Her next target was the Metropolitan Museum of Art and if she wins over the critics then definitely she would pave her own way to being the new star on the block. And we all had unflinching faith in her that a celebrity was on the horizon and deservingly so.

Selena and I had met for the first time nearly 10 years ago at the Rockefeller centre. Cornell was conducting its Annual Brain heart symposium with residents from all around the world while Selena had an exhibition right below. Medical students at Cornell were handed out special free passes to the symposium and so we all had gathered our notebooks and pen, eager to note down any new research trials that would be up for discussions.

After finishing for the day around 5 in the evening…. Some of our colleagues, including me and Henry, marched our way into the corridors of the gallery. We stared and observed all the pieces of art that were put up for the public to gawk at. Henry had found a Russian at the bar and was busy impressing her…hoping to get laid and I was stuck at an abstract which, no matter however I looked at it, made no sense to me at all. I uttered the words” what a goober” without realising that Selena was standing right behind me. That led to a series of sugar-coated rebuttals and polite arguments that night which set the cornerstone of our friendship. We have been close friends ever since.  Selena was an overambitious perfectionist like me. So, relating and sharing my woes with her was all too easy. She and I, more often than not, had pretty much the same idiotic reactions to inflections in our lives, cementing our bonds further. But Selena and Suzie barely knew each other having grown up in far apart neighbourhoods.

So, with that in mind… I continued to prepare for my exams. I started going to the nearby gym to maintain some physical activity. I resumed with some of the novels that I had listed down to read like a year ago and was chatting with 2 idiots almost on a daily basis.

Months passed by. Anxiety and envy had made their new homes in my head. Suzanne and I had both our guts tight in anticipation of the exams and Selena was on her nerves lately owing to the delay for the date of her exhibition at the MET. Social media proved extremely detrimental to us at that time. My envy only witnessed growth thereafter and anxiety was at its peak. 

A month passed by and I started experiencing panic attacks. Just as literature defines them… panic attacks are episodes of crippling anxiety with palpitations and hypotension and a clear sense of impending doom. Often confused with heart attack or any hormonal emergencies... these suckers could last for up to 20 to 30 minutes at a time. And so, they did… Depression gave away to insomnia and in turn all of these symptoms snowballed, crippling me and rendering me useless. Preparation was way out of the windows and there seemed no way to redeem it now. The only thing wholly positive in this whole scenario was that I was not experiencing suicidal thoughts. I was pretty much howling silently, like an animal hurt horrendously and about to die. I continued to cry incessantly almost every other day with sleeplessness to top it off. Selena and Suzanne were out of their minds by now and Suzanne made sure I consulted a psychiatrist. I never informed my parents to avoid them from getting all worked up over this. Neither was I in any contact with any of my Cornell colleagues. I had deliberately shut myself off and away, to avoid further anxiety and negativity from social media. Typical avoidant behaviour. Besides, Selena and I were medical graduates and had some idea regarding panic attacks and anxiety, if not being experts at it.

Suzanne took me to a well-known psychiatrist in the area and I started with my medications and therapy with a clinical psychologist. 

It was so stigmatising…… finding myself as a patient…. Crippled with anxiety and yet unable to confront the truth. My sensitivity had gotten the best of me. Confessing before a therapist was even more staggering than admitting to your sins at the church. I was diagnosed with severe depression with anxiety disorders and I was to continue my medications for over a year as per the guidelines suggested by classic psychiatric textbooks and manuscripts. Even buying medications became a hassle. It seemed to me as if judgemental eyes followed me everywhere, tracking my every move. I felt looked down upon. I felt inferior. Going out now seemed as despicable as jumping from a hot pan into the fire. I was all alone…. even with Selena and Suzanne with me. 

Henry, along with some other colleagues had tried to contact me several times but in vain. I never called them back. I was completely scared the whole time.

Henry even visited my house a couple weeks later… around 2 months before the exam. I was relieved to see him… but soon relief gave way to a full-blown panic attack before him when I tried to answer his “how you doin?” question. The whole time Henry and I ended up holding hands…. him trying to calm me down while I tried desperately to grasp for air.

Time passed by. And the combined psychopharmacotherapy seemed to work. I was starting to get better, albeit slowly. But still a progress. Panic attacks seemingly reduced. Sleep started returning back to its normal cycle and rhythm. I had started to smile again. Normality still seemed like a far fletched dream but not an impossibility.

I had informed my parents around a month before the scheduled date that I was not going to appear for the examinations that year as it would be a total waste of finance and other resources only to plunge my morale further down. Gradually they absorbed the news and accepted. They were happy seeing my recovery.

And just when things were starting to seem like falling back to their own rightful places… Edward showed up. 

CHAPTER 5 - NEW BEGINNINGS

Edward had tried several ways to contact me but I avoided him for the same reasons as I did with Henry……. I was not ready for any sort of human interaction.

This time… he showed up right in my living room, his face smeared with curiosity with hints of worry. 

He had not changed at all. The orange and white polo neck t-shirt fitted his physique perfectly. His clogs neatly paired and kept outside. His phone bulging out of his blue jeans pocket. He had paired it with a dark blue woollen jacket, neatly folded adjacent to him while he donned a beige scarf around his neck. His chestnut brown hair dishevelled. The chiselled jaw with his chin pointing down at me. His lips cracked and curved into a frown. Anyone who would have seen him now…. would have very easily arrived at the conclusion that he had simply put on some clothes for the sake of societal rules and headed out straight from his bed even without brushing. Despite his ragged looks, he still managed to give me tachycardia.

Edward and I flitted off to the nearest subway store and ordered up some food. While we gobbled up our sandwiches... we ended up reminiscing our times at Cornell and how magical it had really been all along. He told me that he had managed to secure a seat in radio diagnostics at Harvard and just how hectic his initial months at residency had been. While I was happy for him….an unfamiliar sense of envy seemed to overwhelm my heart. I was feeling inferior not having cracked the exams yet. But the hint of nostalgia in his eyes, making its presence known, had successfully melted it all away. There was a hint of agony in his voice as well… which evoked a silent cry inside me. How happy we had been before all of that crap. How peaceful and exciting it had been. Oh, how much we missed those days. There was no need to give a voice to our yearnings for those times. Our muted speeches expressed it all. The scent of longing was looming at large in the air. While all of this was happening… my mind and my heart quickly drifted to my comfort place…. the Central Park spring morning…. breaking the chains and restrictions. And for a moment there I sat lost in my thoughts of how we would look like… a boring and a stable couple maybe?

After having talked for what seemed like a century maybe…. he dropped me off at my home safely, the chivalrous man that he was and headed back. 

Thereafter our interaction continued. We ended up chatting with each other almost on a daily basis and I continued to ride high up on cloud 9, all the while knowing that it was nothing but a fantasy cooked up in my thoughts. 

I looked forward to interacting with him every day. My heart pounded in anticipation of his texts. But they often dropped in late. He was caught up in work while I droned away half the day, lost in his thoughts, now completely set on our wedding.

It continued in the same way for another six months with his replies getting delayed with time. He was exhausted, overworked and finding it hard to cope up with his residency. Staying up through majority of the nights in a week owing to his emergency duty at night, presenting papers and seminars and his dissertation and thesis. He was caught up entirely in deliveries and c sections. 

The frustration of which was often directed in our discussions. While I was taking my time to come out of my mental health disorders, still anxious…. He was losing out on patience. It broke my heart to pieces, as if it wasn’t already broken. And yet I continued to dream…. Hoping that someday, by some miracle, it would come true.

During an afternoon in the fall season, knowing his work schedule in advance, I decided to surprise him. I went down to Harvard and was sitting on one of the benches, holding 2 coffee and waiting anxiously for him to appear in my sight. I called him up about 3 to 4 times but he did not pick it up. I waited for an hour. The sun had set and the lamps had already started to glow giving a starry appearance to Harvard. I thought of trying for one last time before I walked away. He picked up the call and answered in a sleepy grumpy voice. He had been through an emergency duty the night before and was practically spent. Around 30 minutes later he showed up.

I was shocked to see him. There were huge dark circles underneath his eyes. It seemed like he had lost a ton of weight and looked extremely exhausted. He was practically a walking zombie.

I offered the coffee to him. He gulped it down eagerly and we talked. I did not know why it had to come out at that time. How stupid could I have really been to say this crap? Even the stupidest person on the planet would be smart enough to avoid a conversation like that and yet it slipped my tongue and out of my mouth like a warm slice of butter.

“You know…. I do believe that, someday, some years down the line…. we would end up getting married and start a life of our own” He laughed. And I died.

After a moment later…. having realised that there was no joke in the statement at all… he could not believe it. 

He cried” Oh, Sarah, you don’t really believe that now, do you?”

I will spare you the conversation that followed right after because I would not be able to hold it all in if I spelled it out…. but let’s just say that the land beneath my feet had given way and I was endlessly falling to my own demise. All those years spent in hope and expectations came crashing down on me. The dream bubble had popped. It was time to wake up and return to reality. No matter how much I loved him and wanted him to be my life partner…. It was just not meant to be. 

He did care but he did not love me like that. 

He was curious about my status and whereabouts but he did not love me like that.

He did consider me as his family but there was no love like that.

He was not mine.

And as he slowly woke me up to my senses… He could see the broken dreams in my eyes.

His face turned to a hue of anguish and he did not say anything. He knew I now came with a broken heart. More obvious than ever before.

And I asked for a wish instead.

I told him to never ever contact me again. As precious as our bond was to both of us, we knew it in our hearts that neither of us could live in peace with the burden of expectations. It would not be fair to me. It would not be fair to him. It would not be fair to our friendship. We knew we had to stop. And that……… THIS WAS IT.

Flash forward to a year and a half later… I am anxiously waiting for my turn to present my paper on the advances in rhinoplasty. 

Yes, I had cracked the examinations. Yes, I was now pursuing my dream branch, otorhinolaryngology, at John Hopkins. I was more than enjoying my time being a first-year resident and completely lost in the maze of Scott Brown and Cummings.

After the seminar was over for the day, some of my colleagues and I flitted up to get a view of the other seminars that were being held there.

It was a bright clear day at Stanford and we pretty much gawked at everything, in sight, cursing and reiterating on the outside that our college was way better but really, at the same time, admiring its beauty. 

Just at that moment, as if by virtue of some miracle, I happened to look up towards Annexure A. And there he was…. looking deep into my eyes as if trying to stare at my soul, his chestnut brown locks styled up while he donned on a dark blue formal suit with a black tie and white formal shirt. The sun was casting down its rays…. glowing up his face with a reddish golden hue, giving the moon a run for its beauty. That was the most beautiful sight I had seen in a long, long time. It seemed eons ago somehow. We both stared at each other and time had practically stopped. His lips curved into a smile and his expression…of a perfect ratio of happiness and agony. He was, is and will forever be the most beautiful human I have ever come across in my life and that was a fact. And my heart melted away like molten wax. I knew then and there that I was still crazy for him and that my heart had silently wailed all this time at his absence. 

As I tried hard to conjure up a smile on my face, vision became moist and blurry. I realised that my heart had started to ache, gut tight and in pain, body craving his physique and my soul his company. But then I realised that putting up a fake smile, as if to show that I had been perfectly alright and happy in his absence was  to simply cook up the whitest lie and shove it into his face. He saw through me and we both knew that. So, surrendering my efforts to fake it, I smiled for a second as my vision became even more blurry. I tried to look at the green grass ahead instead. And with a heavy heart and smiling soul, that I was lucky to capture his physique now as a beautiful picture to cherish for a long time, I WALKED AWAY. 

                         THE END

By Dr. Sristi Mohapatra