This is the face of liar. Don’t take me wrong, I ask no empathy. I was eight years old when I registered being called a liar. An Aunt called me that, not in jest. It happened then and will happen again. The saga continued.
When I went to college out of state, I wasn’t half as independent or quarter as strong. The girls’ hostel I was at was completely incompatible. The owners were totally dependent on every paisa that came from their hostelites. I couldn’t manage a day more and I left to be a paying guest elsewhere. I was in their neighborhood once, to visit someone and the hostess barged into the house. She pulled my hair and thrashed me. Called me a liar. The mental agony (forget the physical pain) was tremendous. No meditation or medication could ever make me normal again.
At one point, I began to think that something was really wrong with me and I must a liar. Otherwise why would anyone call me that pointlessly. The hurt accumulated. 17 years later, I was called a liar by an Uncle and I revolted. This distanced a lot of near and dear. I didn’t want to be a liar anymore. It is easy for people to suggest that I forgive, forget and move on. I understand. They or their daughters were never called a liar.
A friend recently was called exactly that and they landed in the emergency with a panic attack. It could’ve been worse. Not everyone is strong to take the abuses, accusations and ill-will. Not everyone has the courage to stand back up. I wanted to give up many times but started fighting back for myself and those asked for my help. Depression is not just a disease of the mind. It is also triggered from emotional or physical abuse, personal conflicts with loved ones, social isolation and setbacks in life. Before you target someone and call them a liar, think twice. You don’t want to be the cause for killing a soul. It is still murder, just not visible or punishable. Be kind, you never know what demons the opposite person is living with.
(A day late in posting for “Mental Health Awareness Month”) #quotidianblessing