Bent, Not Broken: A Letter To Those Silently Struggling

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
Representational photo

By Nowsheen Mushtaq

There comes a time in life when unexpressed feelings, misinterpreted actions, and hidden scars begin to weigh you down.

There is a struggle that is silent instead of loud. It plays out through muted nods and forced grins. I currently reside in that quiet place. I am bent, but not broken. I am perilously close.

Lately, I've found myself mentally exhausted by the emotional chaos that surrounds me. I can no longer endure the politics, the power plays, the whispers masquerading as conversations, and the masks people wear so effortlessly. It is tiresome walking into places where truth is uncomfortable and bluntness is labelled as insurgence.

My dichotomy makes me feel like a pendulum - collapsing and fighting, panicking and being patient, frustrated and faithful.

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Each day, I find my patience eroding. I used to think of it as the anchor of my being. Now, it has outstripped all manners of optimism. I am enduring, but each passing day diminishes me.

I have chosen silence - not from a lack of words, but because each word feels like a burden. I feel as if every thought is under scrutiny. Each effort feels like treading a tightrope, where one misstep could lead to catastrophe.

I feel immobile - caught in a loop that drags me back no matter how hard I try to break out. Like yelling into a void and watching your value diminish in the eyes of those who see only what they wish.

The sensations do not end there. To further elaborate, I quote Dostoevsky:

“One may insist that life, in all its suffering, is still worth living, yet there comes a moment when the soul, wearied and wounded, must ask whether endurance is truly a virtue or merely a slow surrender.”

It's as if something is choking me nebulously. If I attempt to rise, life notices and tightens its grasp.

“Why me?” - again, the questions nag at my conscience. I wonder:

“Do I deserve this?”

“What precedes this insanity?”

“In what way am I being punished for being sincere, while those playing with strings of manipulation seem to be rewarded?”

“How is it that those who put in less effort celebrate success, while those who pour their heart and soul into everything are rendered invisible?”

This leads me into a spiral of reflection, searching for inconsistencies in my actions in the hope of rectifying myself. But what if the imbalance isn't within me, but in the very paradigms where integrity is questioned and independence is capriciously branded as arrogance? A completely different kind of grief - one that stems from losing faith in fairness.

When I see myself in the mirror, I quietly whisper,“Hold on to your promises,” but even the echo sounds weary, drained.

This isn't a cry for help. It is a message for someone who doesn't feel the same as me - so they may be compelled to see life differently. If you, too, have gone mute... if you, too, are questioned for simply being you, know this:

You are not alone.

Life has moulded us into a specific shape. The goalposts of life do imprison us - but have they shattered us? Not yet.

The tempest we find ourselves in now is training us not to fit in, but to outgrow our circumstances, our conditions, and everything else that dares to defy us.

For now, one step at a time, I proceed. One breath:“I wish things were different.” One muted howl. One silent prayer.

• Nowsheen Mushtaq writes from the quiet corners of struggle, where words become her way of surviving what silence cannot carry.

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