Sex Life And Related Problems Start | Shrink Tales

I had forgotten the assignment that had been given for the previous week. In the previous session, Ish had explained what i had to do. I was to make a picture postcard, addressed to a person or people i absolutely hated. There had to be a picture and on the side for message, some words that i would want to write. 

The strangest thing was that i thought of many people i say i hate, many people i have every reason to hate and yet i just couldn’t find anyone. I have always thought of myself as a person who disliked all people. I like very few people. I can tolerate a small number of people and can talk to even less, i think. Even then somehow my search engine gave no results throughout the week. 

Since my phone was gone for almost a week, i had not been able to speak with Mother. Ish, my therapist had said that i was doing good, initiating conversation with mother. Sleep cycle changed a lot the previous couple of weeks because Deep and Han were at my place. My partner was away on a shoot and we hardly spoke. 

The day i went to the psychiatrist, the strangest thing happened. 

There wasn’t much to speak about to the doctor. It was just a routine check-up. She reduced the dosage of one of the pills – Lithium. Again, she looked at me and said that i was looking good. This again made me think that she was talking about my body. Every time people said that i looked good after looking at me like that, it meant that i had gained weight. It didn’t affect me as much as it usually does. It still remains a thought that i frequent when in the mood to brood. 

But at the psychiatrist’s, i tried to sleep a bit while waiting for the patient before me to leave. After the consultation, i felt that i only wanted to sleep. I didn’t want to go to office. After getting off at Goregaon station i thought if i should take the path that went to my office or the one to my home. I went home and it was shocking for me. That i did that. I missed a day’s work. But it wasn’t to stop there. 

After reaching home i mailed office that i wasn’t feeling well and that i would like to work from home for two days. I did not work. I didn’t write a word. I slept and watched a serial. Oh, you should all watch that one by the way. It's the Danish series called 'The Killing'. 

That night LJ asked me to go for the protest in Delhi by Pinjra Tod – the one in front of the Supreme Court. I booked a ticket. And then i started freaking out. It was not about my safety. I always go to protests preparing myself for death. But the thought in my mind was that it would disrupt my schedule of not working. I didn’t want an aberration. I felt so ashamed that when Hadiya was in a room, not being able to even talk to anyone, i was thinking of my silly existential problems. I cancelled the ticket soon after even while knowing that i wouldn’t get a refund – it is a strange thing for me to do because i am someone who worries about money a lot – like all of India’s middle class. 

During therapy last week, i had shared my problems with sex with Ish. The thing about it is that i don’t even know if it is a problem. What i know is that i am annoyed by it. Maybe writing about it will give me some clarity. 

I don’t think that the urge to have sex is natural for me. 

That urge, that has something to do with my genitals was always about masturbation. 

I absolutely hate that now it is more about penetration. 

Why? Because penetration by penis is not something that i discovered by myself. It was forced on me and was normalized and turned pleasurable by repeated abuse. 

I hate it that i think of men (and women) sexually once i establish some kind of closeness with them. It is as if i want to check and see how it would be like to have sex with them. I can’t even bring myself to believe that i am such a person. 

Ish tried a lot to tell me that it was natural. The problem here is not that i think women who feel this way are inferior in some way. My problem is that i was not  like that and turned into that. Since my transformation happened through a series of abusive relationships that were largely sexual, i think this part of me was never a part of me and is a work of many abusers. I hate that. 

Earlier, such instances where i feel physically attracted to men have resulted in me having sex with them. This again had led to more heartaches and depression. Since me and my partner are in a monogamous relationship i don’t want to end up in yet another situation like that. However, what keeps me from doing it is just my partner. I don’t want to hurt him. That makes me think why it is that i am not indulging in this behaviour because it’s something i don’t want as a person? 

I was tense this week. My bunking office and sleeping like i was in SRFTI (film school) scared me. It was as if something in the air was constantly telling me that something was wrong.

When I Met Mother | Shrink Tales

I had slept very late the previous night. I woke up at 11 in spite of the alarms. I think my partner couldn’t wake me up because he too had slept late. Both of us were trying to convince a common friend that he had to get out of his abusive relationship with another common friend, one whom i loved very much. It was really painful. 

Once again, Ish, my therapist, and i were running late together. I was irredeemably late though and we had to have the therapy on phone. It was a little uncomfortable in the beginning but when i realized that Ish was the same as she is when we interact face to face, i eased up. 

We started talking about my weight and eating issues. She asked me a question. You know how it is? If you are up to something you know you are up to something. A question is all it takes to make you figure out something you’ve known all along. And when that happens with me, i feel like i am alone in a cave that is pitch dark and that some light seeped in through a narrow crack. When i follow that light i realize that i see more details. Say the carvings on the walls. 

Edakkal caves, Wayanad. The rocks in a perpetual kiss.

So Ish asked me about a contradiction in my life – one that i had not thought about or seen. She asked me why it was that i considered my body as something to hurt when i was in pain and at the same time went to extreme means to reach the goal called the perfect body. The answer emerged as i thought, formulated the words and articulated them.

‘Because by trying to make my body look perfect i am doing the same thing – hurting it – like how i punish my body to relieve my pain on other occasions.’

There. That was something i had never thought of. I don’t know what that realization implies. But it is nevertheless a realization that felt very meaningful when i had it. Like the very satisfying sound of a lock clicking open.

Mother – the only thing Ish asked me was if i had ever spoken to her about herself. 

Yeah, i guess, i thought. Stories about her childhood, poverty, her love story with Father. But no. I had not done that in a long time. Somehow, over the years, i had come to resent those stories. When Ish asked me to give it a try, i somehow felt that half my job was done. There was hope. And guess what? I have discovered a new Mother. 

I cry, and feel with her. I imagine myself as her. I even found out that we used to think the same way about love, at the same age. Like how i thought that my love could change the other person. She thought that her love could change Father’s alcoholism. I felt so sad, listening to her speak about how she began her life with Father. 

Over the week we spoke more and more and i felt closer to her than ever. It was a miracle. The most saddening part was that she was just waiting for me to ask her. It was i who had not shown any mercy. One question and Mother was opening up. I felt guilty. But then i realized that there is a reason why i am being able to do this now. It is because my own pain has disappeared, to a large extent. Otherwise, selfish as i am, i was always hunting down my pain and trying ways to deal with it. Mother’s or no other person’s emotions had place there. Now maybe there is some room because a big chunk of pain has just vacated the room. 

Every conversation i had with her made me closer to her. I took care not to say anything about me unless she asked. Pity that phone stopped working. [I didn’t get up on time to turn the tap off. Flat flooded and phone drowned.] I remember LJ educating me on love letters. That it is all about them. Not about us. I never imagined that would make a difference. Here Ish said 'Who is this LJ? I want to meet her.' I rolled my eyes and smiled to myself.

Was shocked to see the wonder that human mind is when Mother started responding kindly to me. The tenderness that i had not felt in years while talking to her came back. At an incredible rate that too. Brings back the memory of me rushing to her and hugging her after reading the screenplay of ‘The Sixth Sense.’ And that was maybe 9 years ago! 

Why do i feel that Ish asked me to do something over the week and i forgot?  

Self Harming, Masochism and Control | Shrink Tales

I realized i wasn’t ready to talk about my weight problems and eating habits. I was just not ready to put it on the list - of things to address. And guess what, i came back home and at night my partner showed me a video from film school where i was dancing in my room and i realized that i had put on weight. Since then my mood has shifted back to those from the dreadful times when i couldn’t stop eating. When i couldn’t walk because i had too much food inside me, when i just couldn’t do anything. Oh my god. That time when i went to a gym in Kolkata. That time when i tried exercising. Even as i type i am welling up. Just because i saw an earlier video of mine in which i appeared thinner. I am now going to on Facebook and delete the recent photo i uploaded when i was so happy that the Hadiya case was moving in a hopeful direction. Probably will end up deleting all the photos in my phone too. 

Ish asked me to remind my psychiatrist of this weight issue when i mentioned how i kept two weighing scales at home. That reminds me. Let me re-re-re-check my weight in the second weighing scale. 

The most hopeful part of that day's therapy was when Ish told me that depression could be shut off forever. It came up because i had been shocked the week before when she had said that it was also her job to make surethat it didn’t come back. It was possible, she said. Usually people kept conditions like ‘i won’t take pills but i can be at therapy’ – this one is just like Mother. She also stopped going for therapy later. In fact people, like how Mother did with me, might even discourage people from doing it. She was very upset when she heard that i had gone to a therapist in Kolkata. The issue was my eating habits at that point of time. There was nothing wrong, that was how all people were, she had said. No, Mother, all people are not like that. We are all, as a family, used to such abnormalities and self-punishment that we feel that it is normal.  

We did a flashback session in which Ish spoke about the major developments in each of our sessions so far. There was a turning point where i realized that the repeated abusive relationships could have come from the normalization of violence in my childhood and life. In fact, i am very thankful to Ish for having recognized that as a serious problem. She herself was surprised, she said, that it was not enough for me to have got abused once, that i went back again and again to different forms of violence in different relationships. I feel so much relieved every time i think of the moment from my first session with Ish, when she said that she would like to start by addressing my recurring abusive relationships. It was an area that only Inji had touched till then. No professional had correctly identified that problem. It was always as if i was waiting for them to identify it and make it go away but when they didn’t figure it out themselves, i deluded myself saying it wasn’t probably important. I thought of Mother’s and Sister’s opinion that it was happening because i had ‘a thing’ for older men. These are educated women, one, a journalist who even writes about abuse. Imagine the horror! 

She also reminded how i always looked up to my sister and how, i always wanted to be like her. Yes, i copied her handwriting, her words, her way of speaking and everything i could because she was the best. But later, when i saw that she was doing things that i couldn't copy, things that i didn't want to copy, it occurred to me that i no longer had anyone to copy. Maybe that's why i stuck to inji like a magnet. Today, i pursue inji's character with the same vigour i pursued my sister's character. That made me wonder why i always wanted someone to emulate. Was it common? 

This reminded me of Mother. While growing up, after puberty, when i started voicing my opinions, i used to find it really annoying when Mother said that she didn't want us (me and Sister) to be like her. I remember getting angry with her even, for always speaking like that. I selfishly wanted a mother who asked their children to be like her, because she was the best. I hated that she had no respect for herself. And look at me now.

 

I think in the next session i should talk about my sex life that got affected. [If it is okay to speak about it during therapy.] The way i am ashamed of being sexually aroused by things that were part of abuse and i got introduced to because of and during abuse. It’s dreadful. I remember a victim of child sexual abuse once telling me that it was a common phenomenon, after i made the film in solidarity with Memories of a Machine. This may also explain why i feel a lot guilty in my relationship with my partner. Sexually. 

Over the sessions we had also touched upon the kind of love i wanted. The kind of love i had. Spoke about Appan. Who never hurt me. About what i thought was motherly love and how i broke that stereotype by understanding that was just a name i had given the love i wanted. 

She asked me when my self hurting methods had started. I told her about the time when i had scored 85% in math in high school and was scared that Mother would beat me or yell at me for that. That was when i firstran a razor blade over my wrist. I remember going home and making some more superficial cuts. I also just remembered that i had the habit of doing stuff like that for apparently no reason too. I remember dripping wax from a candle on my fist to experience that pain. I remember striking my thumb with a stapler just to ‘see if it would hurt.’ These had no triggers, like a poor score in an exam or sadness. 

The next time i scarred myself like crazy was when i heard of Appan. He was losing his memory. I knew that this was the first in the series of things that was going to lead to his death. I thought of him, sitting in the room where i had stuck some of his sketches on the brick wall and scarred my wrist – all superficial cuts, just enough to let me bleed. That was the day i started preparing for his death. 

I remembered how i had broken a bangle and scarred myself in front of Mother when she and i were having one of our arguments. Ish asked me what i felt during those. Frustration. When i thought of it, even though i don’t even remember what the fight was about, i got that feeling i get when people don’t understand what i say. She said that it could be because they weren’t yet there. That made sense to me. I too, have come a long way. I do understand things i never understood when i was younger. It could also be that the other person was shunning me. Could that be intentional, i asked, thinking of Mother. ‘Could be,’ she said. They could be doing it also to protect themselves. From the truth or pain of realization. 

I totally loved that. I no longer feel frustrated. I no longer feel like wringing my body like a cloth till every word that will help others understand how i feel will drip out of my body. Instead, when i think of people who have put me in such positions, i feel sorry, that i even tried so much. Every time i tried, maybe Mother was getting hurt. Or trying hard, not to listen and tried to shun me in ways that hurt me. I feel like hugging Mother now. [Maybe because she isn’t here now. Why don’t you call her, i ask myself. ‘No, that wouldn’t make any sense.’ I will write a mail. I know. Hey Gmail, are you hiring?

I also spoke of how i viewed therapy. How i could see and feel changes. Like how i laughed more, or joked more. There is no desperation about the sexual harassment battle or any battle. There is no thoughts of giving up. How i felt happy that my partner was less burdened with my sadness. Feeling responsible for Mother. The way in which i was handling the situation. 

Ish then said that hurting my body was part of human beings’ strategy of being hard on themselves. All our social values and morals etc. taught us to be kind to others, loving to others [Was Jesus a conspiracy of moral science?] It does not teach us to love ourselves. When she said that, my hopes diminished. It was true. If there ever was a lesson called ‘love oneself’ i was absent in it. Or, it could also be that it wasn’t taught properly. Facebook is always flooded with images of women who say ‘in love with myself’ i don’t think i can ever do that with my whole heart. I got scared that i wouldn’t be able to solve the self harming problem because i was sure that i wouldn’t succeed in loving myself in the manner that Ish was talking about. She further explained that we turned to our bodies because that was ALL WE HAD. That made perfect sense to me. 

Mother, sister, abuser, venomous words and verbal fights could only help so much. Beyond that, i would have to turn to something i had absolute control over because i possessed it. I HAD my body. I could do anything to it. I clench my fist as if to hit someone when i think of it. Get visions of a knife running through my leg exposing blood and flesh. Many more bloody images flash. To think that i had something that i could do stuff to, the power it gave me, it must be really soothing to my brain that i had control over something. That there was one thing i could abuse. For once, i could be nasty as abusers were to me to someone. Something – my body. Whenever i write ‘my body,’ you know what i think of? A sack. Filled with potatoes or something. It’s just a thing i carry, i feel. 

[Read Raya’s update the same day. Commented there.]

Ish’s method of joining feminism in therapy was really good. I thought of NN's mother who she said was a therapist. Her views on things had scared me. It's not about feminism either. It is about dealing with victims. Professionally. Even when i am an atheist i should be able to deal with Mother's problems regarding her faith. 

The sketches i had made for Sanghadita upon Inji's request got published. One day Mother abused Inji and pappu and baby and i thought it was because she had seen those illustrations. I felt horrible and the wound is sore. I need to get out of the frustration to be able to help Mother. I am the strongest and i have the most love. I really long for Mother. There is just this wall in between. I should start making tools to break it. 

One of the sketches i made for Sanghadita on the theme 'Mother and i'. Even though the picture here is not from my life, i added elements from my childhood and filled it with the same love i feel for Mother. The task is to make Mother understand that i love her and that my love is perhaps different from hers.

During the week i thought of an abuser’s psychology. Wouldn’t it be great if i could figure them out? I think it is important to understand their psychology just as i try to understand all aspects of a victim's psychology.

I Like to Laugh | Shrink Tales

In this one, Ish told me that the fact that i was interacting better with my colleagues was definitely a good sign. It meant that my depression was wearing away. When she said that it was because i was working hard, i felt good. Proud of myself. We also spoke about the stigma attached to mental health. She told me that people sometimes were apprehensive about even sharing the contact details of a therapist because it would raise the question of how they had come to have it in the first place. In that context i felt that it was great that i decided to write about therapy when in Kolkata. Remembered Sri  asking me for the therapist’s number and later saying that i was insane. Yet, it felt good. Maybe not everyone might be able to do that. 

Then we spoke about my eating habits. She asked me when the comments about my body had started. The earliest memory i had of it was when sister Jaseena, the nun who sat at the office of my school asked me jokingly if i was eating all of my sister’s food. Because she was thin and i was fat. This must have been when i was in 3^rd or 4^th standard. 

Mother’s comments about my body. The yelling sessions where she would call me a fat thing that was good for nothing – this during and around puberty. The teachers who made comments on the clothes i wore. Mother who did the same. 

She asked me what i felt when i thought of these instances. I felt indignant. It was not my fault. And it was not fair on their part to speak like that. I never even knew that i was what was called ‘fat’ till these people told me. Like how i didn’t know i was dark complexioned till people started ‘joking’ about it. 

I remembered my then best friend telling me that she chose to walk with me because i was darker than her and therefore less attractive. Somehow the taunts regarding my complexion stopped affecting me by 17. May be because a forty year old man ‘took interest’ in me.  I felt like crying. Some people who are not even close to me got to decide how my life would be later on. Without even realizing it. That was just not right, i felt. 

I noticed that i didn’t feel angry about my mother. She did do damage to me and i am trying to repair it but at least she was close to me. From birth i had given the right to her to hurt me. What about strangers! What right had they to pass comments on my body.

Ish asked me if inji was thin. No, i told her. 

I thought of the dreams i get about people telling me that i have put on weight. That’s the most scariest sentence ever in my life. And it was pathetic. Ish reminded me how we were always hard on ourselves. I left my office group because they were constantly engaging in fat shaming etc. [Of other people. Because random people you find on internet can be fat shamed.] Yet in my own life i was chasing numbers on the weighing scale. I am not underweight but i would love to be. In fact my aim is to be underweight. That would be apt revenge on all those people who called me fat, i felt.

During the week i did think a lot about these problems about appearance that i was worried about. How it had come to matter so much to me. Like what Ish said, it was not possible for everyone to even judge me. Yet, i always felt i was being judged. The saddest part, i think is that i don’t want to break away from it. Years of experimenting with my body has taught me a thing or two about it and the only thing i can do is to stick by it even if it is unhealthy. I am always constipated and got my first piles this year but i am willing to pay that price. 

I am willing to not have a baby because that would mean that i’d have to quit smoking and eat healthy. My priorities are definitely muddled but i don’t think much about it because i have sort of made peace with it. 

Happy that my conversations with mother are improving. Maybe i am really helping her. Hope in Hadiya case. The group of women [fighting for her] gives me so much strength. 

From the previous session, there is something Ish said in passing. That she had to make sure that ‘it’ didn’t come back to me. That was when i realized that there was a possibility like that. From the age of 17 i had always thought that depression, suicide attempts and self destruction was going to be my cycle. In 2015 when i popped all those sleeping pills and survived, the first realization that i had was that that was how i was going to die and that there was no escaping that. But here was a woman who was talking about not making it come back, like it was her job. I didn’t even know that that was part of her job. And because i trust women doing their jobs, i felt hope. It might mean that this sadness that i thought was part of me would not be there anymore. But then i thought of priorities. What did i want, romanticising depression or less number of cuts on my wrist. 

Plus, i feel good when i laugh. There was a time in SRFTI hostel when people actually asked me why my laughter was not resounding in corridors anymore. (Because my laughter is another weird thing about me.) It feels much better to laugh than to prepare oneself for some scarring so that you can escape the sadness. 

My question for the session – is it actually possible to eradicate depression forever from a person’s life? Does PTSD include forgetting names and other things i forget? Is there anything i can do about that? 

Free Hadiya: This group of women have provided unimaginable comfort to me over the past weeks. We will not rest till we #FreeHadiya. Wish someone took this news to her.