There are days when I wake up with a throat that feels like it’s choking on invisible grief. A sadness so thick it wraps around my chest like a belt, tightening every hour. I stare at walls, make detailed suicide plans in my head, thinking of all the ways I could just stop. Stop hurting. Stop pretending. Stop existing.

Then — like a twisted joke — evening comes.

Suddenly, I find myself standing in the kitchen, wondering if I should cook paneer or have toast with my evening tea. I scroll through food delivery apps. I crave hot, masala chai. I plan tomorrow’s breakfast. The same mind that was digging my grave in the morning is now planning dinner.

The next day, same spiral. Full commitment to die. I cry in silence, imagine letters I’d leave behind. I beg the sky to just take me. And yet, hours later, I’m in the market buying new notebooks, colored pens, maybe even a plant or two. I come back and make a study schedule. I clean my desk. I revise old chapters. I create a new to-do list like my life depends on it.

And it does.

The next wave hits. Same darkness. Same desperation. But then I buy another stuff, because maybe  this plan will finally fix the chaos inside. Sometimes it does, for a while. I study. I exercise. I dance. I brew coffee. I clean my room. I talk to my plants. I try.

Then it loops again.

What Does This Mean?

It means I’m surviving. On edge. Every day feels like a coin toss between death and dinner. Between despair and hope. Some might call it high-functioning depression. Some might whisper bipolar. Others will say anxiety. Labels don’t matter when you’re in the middle of it. When you’re just trying to stay afloat, whether by crying into your pillow or color-coding your study notes.

Why Am I Writing This?

Because maybe you’ve felt it too. The confusing mess of being suicidal at 10 AM and excited about biryani at 7 PM. Of making a suicide plan one day and planting tulsi the next. Of feeling completely broken, and then suddenly...a bit okay.

If this is you, know this:

You’re not alone. You’re not weak. You’re not beyond help.

What Helps Me Sometimes:

Giving structure to my day instead of relying on motivation.

Writing, even if it’s ugly and makes no sense.

Treating my body kindly even when my mind is cruel.

Accepting that healing isn’t linear. Some days, the only goal is “stay.”

And for now, maybe that’s enough.

You never know which day might be the one where the cycle starts to shift — not into another loop, but into a new beginning.