“Bravery— by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you think?”
– Mycroft Holmes
Some time, some place, some one decided that bravery was a commendable attribute of humanity and we all followed him like brainless sheep. I agree with Mycroft, bravery is fine up to a degree. But too much of it, without thinking what repercussions you are going to face due to the chronic stress of incessant struggle, is just plain stupidity.
Sometime ago, my sister took me for a facial (a procedure where they plaster your face with creams and then squeal “OMG! You are glowing!”), and I noticed something weird. Every time the beautician’s hand touched my nose, I felt as if she was going to choke me. I literally would stop breathing!
Last month when I got hospitalised, I realised why I had felt like that. You see, the first procedure the doctors follow in my case is to ram a Ryle’s tube from my nostril to my stomach. They themselves say that it is one of the most torturous things they have to do, because of the gagging, suffocation and pain the patient feels. But every time, I would feel all those things but not react. I was being ‘brave’. And ultimately, inability to address pain in this situation had transformed it into a latent, deep-seated phobia.
This time I decided to stop being brave, because I have a theory — wounds which bleed, hurt much less than those which do not. Maybe it is the built in pressure, maybe it is the toxins accumulated inside, but closed, hidden wounds do hurt much more. So this time, I decided that I will react when something pains me.
The theory came to trial phase when they were trying to insert an IV’s canula into my impossibly thin and difficult to find veins. Finally finding a vein, he inserted a huge needle into it. It hurt so much that I could see stars in broad daylight, and I, for the first time, screamed. He immediately stopped persevering at that spot, changed the location, and a less painful procedure ensued.
I later found out that he had mistakenly jabbed my hand’s bone with the needle, and today, even a week later, that area is paining. Imagine what would have happened had I been brave and not screamed? Probably a permanent injury.
Mental wounds are also like physical wounds. You have to bleed yourself. If you are suffering, you have to scream and cry and make people understand that they are doing something to hurt you. Indeed, psychology has a term called “bleeding”, an example of which is funerals. All visitors go to the bereaved to ask “Kya hua tha?” (even after knowing), and the grieving person keeps repeating the incident. The first time they are too overcome with grief to speak. The second time they cry. But the Nth time of that incessant repetition, the poison and pressure inside has slowly bled out, and the wound starts healing.
Experts say that one in three people in India suffer from a mental illness, mostly depression. That means someone in your family, someone among your friends. Yet, people say that you need to be positive. You need to be brave. That you shouldn’t share your problems with anybody, because others will laugh at you. Why do you care what others will do? The aim is to bleed out the poison, the toxins and the pressure from inside your wounds. Sure, maybe don’t tell anyone and everyone about what you are going through, but keep at least a couple of people close to you so that you can vent out whenever you need to.
Learn to scream. Learn to cry. And above all, learn to be weak at times.
That, perhaps, is the bravest thing you can do.