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I remember those days when I was trapped in the cycle of thoughts that shout. Shout loudly. Too loudly. I will never forget those days when the flood of my tears watered the paper. Tears, the ink of anguish. My mind was a battleground with demons incessantly rebuking my flaws and mistakes. The rushing wind residenced in my soul and the mighty storm craved an angel to breathe the knot of my thoughts. As if there is no safe space, no inner peace. I would kneel begging God to save me. To pick me up from the depths of despair that persecuted me. My inner child anxiously sobbed, silently crying out for attention and love. I feared that my deepest worry of being abandoned would go unheard. I felt a desperate yet silent voice escaping my lips and crying for help. For years, I fought this barbaric battle alone. Trapped by the invisible enemy in a storm of anxiety and depression, each day I struggled to find the reason and strength to keep going. Indeed it was overwhelming since I saw no world beyond this darkness. The demons clouded my vision. I was drowning And one fateful day, I reached the bottom. The breaking point. My friends were helplessly watching me spiraling further into my abyss. I heard the angel, silently whispering to my ear: ask for help. With a trembling voice and heart palpitations, I admitted they were right and agreed to an in-patient treatment facility. It was my last hope… Dear Diary, I cannot stress enough how grateful and proud I am for overcoming these demons. I wish no one ever has to meet them. I never want to see them again. The first days of treatment were the hardest. I felt exposed and vulnerable. But it was there, amid my brokenness and emptiness, that I began to find hope. Hope that this is temporary. Hope that my tomorrow will be better than today. Therapy is intense, it often brings me to tears. Confronting the darkest corners of my mind is a real battle. But now I am not alone. I am not alone… Facing my traumas feels like drawing again but, surprisingly, it feels like a weight lift off my shoulders. I learned to speak up and verbalize my pain. Express it. Now I finally see that there are people around me who genuinely care. I vowed myself to love and cherish the little girl within me. To be a source of comfort and strength she needed. But most importantly, I learned to forgive myself. That moment was a focal point, a shift in my thinking. It was when my life started changing. I started rebuilding my life. I let the guilt and shame that weighed me down go. I realized that my struggles do not define me. I was not broken, I was simply on a journey to healing and self-discovery. I am journaling not as a cured person but as someone in the process of health. Nevertheless, I am sure I will succeed since I am learning the strategies to cope with reality. My story is one of hope and resilience. And persistence. Today I testify that there is the light beyond the darkness. And, to anyone who is fighting their own battles, know that you do have the strength. You really do. You are stronger than you realize. And the demons within you do not define who you are. Seek help, reach out, and never give up on yourself. The healing journey is difficult but this toil is worthy. You are worthy. And precious. You may not believe me now but there is a better tomorrow. The brighter future. I promise that life, a healthy life, is more beautiful than you ever imagined. With love, Marysia

The fatigue hit Bessie on a bright day, one made for happiness, not for fraught thoughts of suicide. The reticent seventeen-year-old felt abject misery, knew the emotion was unreasonable, yet she was incapable of resisting the depression. “Why was I ever born? Was it so that I could suffer day after day, with no hope of some kind of reprieve in sight?” she typed on her Facebook post. She stared at the screen for some seconds, contemplating whether posting her comment would be wise, or ill-advised. “The trolls out there in cyberspace are far worse than those of myth,” she cautioned herself, finger hovering shakily over the ‘Post' button. Abruptly, as if ripping off an unwanted Band-Aid, she stabbed down on the keyboard. Seconds later, the post appeared on her timeline. It didn't take long for her Facebook friends to respond. Bessie was overwhelmed by the incoming comments that followed each other in rapid succession. The first one read: You were born to be loved, not to suffer. Reprieve might be out of sight, but believe me, it IS there! It was from her Science study buddy, Ghiyona. The next comment caused a catch in Bessie's throat: If you were never born, I would not have known such kindness. You were made to be loved, Bessie. This one was from her gay friend, Willie. Bessie started to cry softly, the pain in her heart feeling like a knife being shoved mercilessly deep into her soul. “I love you, Willie,” Bessie responded to his comment; she felt at a loss as to how to reply to Ghiyona's, so she simply attached a heart emoji to the girl's comment. More comments followed, each one listing reasons why Bessie should hold on to hope, fight against submitting to life's harshness, believe fervently in herself. As Bessie was about to log off Facebook, one more comment slid in under the post. It caused the distraught adolescent to pause. Your life was given to you as a gift. True, it is your right to accept or reject the gift, but why would anyone refuse to embrace what is more precious than treasure, more profound than the knowledge of the ancients? Why would you, Bessie, forget how inimitable you are, that there is literally no other quite like you? The comment continued for a few more lines, but Bessie's vision blurred because of the tears streaming down her face. She was confused, for the comment was from the one person Bessie was convinced hated her the most. The very person who had brought this despondent mood upon her, who had been relentlessly criticising her each day for the past two weeks. Bessie blew her nose and read the last part of the comment: You are stronger than you know, but that core of steel will carry you across all obstacles. Have faith, Bessie. Some hitherto hidden door of insight swung open widely in Bessie's mind. Her worst critic, her Maths lecturer, was also her greatest supporter…

Stillness in Motion Where are you, my serenity?  A heart engulfed with ice, I'm lost in the oblivion of time, everything is frozen, I can't breathe.  Months went by with everyone stuck inside, some witnessed new beginnings and many witnessed sad endings.  Winter came in a blink of an eye, even the birds couldn't say their last goodbyes.   No matter how wide the world is, I had no destination just like everybody else. Everyday was a repeating episode of the previous day. I was in a loop of time, with nothing else to do.  Just get me out of here I cried in agony, but no one listened to me except me.  If you get out, don't come back, that's what I replied.  Covid made me greedy Covid made me selfish Covide made me desperate  What can I do? Everything is monotonous.  Wake up, wash, eat, watch, eat, sleep Routine made my depression flare up.  Covid made me anxious Covid made me scared Covid made me uncertain  When is this going to end? A question I kept asking, hoping someone might give me an answer, but all replies were filled with silence. All these thoughts made me question my sanity.  I locked myself in my room from morning till evening until I couldn't tell time. I kept the windows shut, the lights off and even befriended the monsters under my bed. My intrusive thoughts ate me alive, and all that remained was an empty shell.  Everything was still, yet everything was in motion, at the same time. It confused me?  How could the world move on while I'm stuck? Can't it just give me a second to catch up?  I can't comprehend.  I was fading away, until someone took my hand and forced me outside.  I felt the rays of the sun touch my skin, I felt the fresh air fill up my lungs. Why was I hiding?  What was I hiding from?  Till this day I can't seem to be able to answer these questions.  When you're losing yourself hold on to the people closest to you, and when they reach their hand, grab on tightly and never let go.  There's light at the end of the tunnel although I haven't reached it yet, I saw a glimpse of it in the form of my Yuki.  They told me I needed to fill my hollow heart with love, but I had forgotten how to love until I got my Yuki. It made me wonder, how could I learn how to love from such a small creature? until I realized it just happens naturally with time.  How much time? I don't know, but what I learned was, I was loved by someone who didn't ask for anything in return.  Love unconditionally that's what I learned. 

The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience? “Obstacles are designed to teach us, not to break us.” My physics teacher Kakai's motto has been reminding me about his strength and knowledge about life and study. I have always appreciated this phrase and whenever I failed, I always repeated it within. However, before his arrival at our school, I was losing my hope. I come from Uzbekistan where the President of the country Shavkat Mirziyoyev, established Presidential Schools in 2019 for youth in order to produce workforces who can compete with the other staff worldwide. Students were selected by testing their knowledge about mathematics, English, critical and logical thinking. As the education system was based in Cambridge there were several challenges for me to get used to having some insufficient results. Question types were strange and answering them in English was agonizing. My results were falling consecutively. Then one day, an international physics teacher arrived. He was Kakai Wasula which then became one of my best friends who is always with me when I feel depressed. The main point in which he helped me was changing my mind about failure. Before his advice, whenever I get low results, I used to get depressed instead of learning from my mistakes. However, after a talk with him, I changed up my mind. After that time, I started looking at my mistakes from the bright side. Instead of being upset, I tried to master the questions that I had made mistakes. Then my results started to show an increase in my worldview. He has been telling me that failing is part of success and plays a good role in life. This golden phrase was my motto if I do something wrong. After a while, there was a big test at school and all the students were stressed because it was the Educational Agency of Uzbekistan itself taking it. The test was the most serious one, as its results play a vital role in my graduation marks. I went to Kakai and asked for some advice. He repeated his words: “Failure is the part of success; it is what you are going to learn tomorrow and don't forget, you are not going to fail. There is something inside you telling you that you can achieve your target. I believe!” I was so proud. Maybe Kakai was lying – there was nothing inside me shining so bright. But, after his motivations, there was a fire burning inside my heart and its sparkles were illustrated by my eyes. That was the time when I learned to be motivated and unstressful. Because I experienced how both ways, being stressed and in opposite being motivated, might have an effect on future progress. Whenever I believed myself and did the test I got high results. With these thoughts in mind, I went to the hall, where all the students were waiting for their papers to arrive. I preferred to sit in front of the camera, while the rest were arguing to sit at the backside. It was lovely to believe in yourself and to know that at least a person believes in you. When the papers arrived, I happily turned the page and saw an easy problem there. I was passionate to finish the test with the best result and justify the confidence of all who believed in me. The test was over and the results were out. I started to search for my name from the bottom so my happiness will be greater if I find myself at the top. There my name was! At the top of the page! Just as Kakai told me, failures made me stronger than before. It was part of my success. From that time on, I get happy when I face some challenges or failures that now I can learn something new.

April second 2020, Bryan, my beautiful boy, lost his fight with addiction by an accidental overdose. I lived through those five days of him in CCU, sitting every day at his bedside, but I still have a hard time grasping that it is real. Somewhere in the back of my head I know it happened, but I won't accept all of it. If I do, I will surely fall off the face of the earth. The autopsy would determine the actual cause of death was fentanyl intoxication. I wasn't there when Bryan overdosed. I was on vacation, and I am learning to forgive myself for going and that somehow if I was home, this wouldn't have happened. On that Friday, Bryan had gone to the park with his sister, brother, sister-in-law, and his nephew. They would recall that Bryan was in a great mood, playing with Nolan and running around. They said he was happy. But that's what's hard about anxiety and depression. People can't see what's in the inside and addicts are good at hiding their addiction. They were all to go bowling that night, but at the last minute, Bryan decided to stay back at the house. He told them all to have a good time. He was going to watch TV and go to bed early. They returned three hours later. The lights were all on. They comment to each other that it was weird that Bryan had left all the lights on. Even stranger was the fact that the front door was locked. Bre went downstairs to turn off the lights and when she turned to go upstairs, she heard Justin screaming. “Call 911! Call 911!” Bryan was slumped over on his bed, face down, with one foot on the floor. He was pale and had blood coming from his nose. There was vomit on the bed where he laid. “I knew he was gone when I was pounding on his chest,” Justin would later tell me when recounting how he gave him CPR until EMS showed up. When EMS arrived, they administered two doses of Narcan. They were able to restart his heart and get a faint pulse. He was rushed to the hospital where he was put on life support. The day that Bryan was brought in, the doctor told us that in his opinion, Bryan was brain dead, but he needed to run a series of tests to confirm his prognosis. For twenty-four hours, Bryan was put into cold therapy. This would allow his brain and body to heal at a faster rate. After forty-eight hours, they began to warm him and run tests. Bryan failed the response test. This meant even though he wasn't on any pain medications, he didn't respond to pain, light, or breathing stimuli. He also failed the apnea test, which was, when taken off the ventilator, he could not breathe on his own or keep his blood pressure up. Then they performed an EGG and CAT scan. He had slight brain activity and blood flow to the brain. Unfortunately, the part of the brain that regulates breathing, swallowing, blinking, basically anything that would allow Bryan to function, was completely dead from being without oxygen too long. The part that was receiving blood flow was memory, and was nothing that would matter for Bryan to come back to us. The doctors could not legally declare him brain dead and call a time of death. Wednesday morning, Bryan's kidneys shut down, he developed pneumonia in his right lung, and he could no longer maintain oxygen saturation above eighty percent. Gift of Life deemed him unable to donate. So at 2:45 p.m., I made a phone call and as a family we decided to end Bryan's suffering. I couldn't see through the tears, and I felt suffocated with my mask on. I rip off my mask and take his limp, swollen hand and rub it all over my face. I fold down the blanket and pull his gown over to the side and place my cheek against his chest and breath him in. Under all the antiseptic hospital smells, I can recognize my child's scent. It's a strong, warm, sweet musky smell, and I inhale it as if it is a life source to me. It actually is. At three p.m., the doctor came in and explained what was going to happen. I listened to every word, nodding as she spoke, but inside I am screaming, Don't let this be happening! She turned off all medications. His vitals started slowing down within seconds. Oh God he's really dying! I laid my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat for the very last time. The respiratory doctor announced that she was turning off his ventilator. No, don't leave me! But Bryan did leave me at 3:45pm that day. Every sound, every smell, every second of that afternoon is forever etched into my memory. Goodbye, my Beautiful Boy. I love you and I'll see you when I see you.  

What does it feel like to be invisible? So invisible that when you complain about it, people won't even notice. The feeling of invisibility more often than not comes as an escape, whether you just want to get out of a crowd unnoticed or stay in bed all weekend. Everything is perfect, but sometimes, you just feel like a ghost going through the wall. It's the feeling of standing in front of the class trying to talk over the chatters that drown your voice. It's the feeling of being chosen last in PE class. It's when your dearest friend finds a new best friend and assumes you're okay with it. It's like walking next to a bedazzled famous model. They focus on the other person, but never you. But you like being invisible so much that most of the time, you accept the feeling of being left out. It's okay if they don't invite you to dinner parties. It's okay that some people in the class still don't know your name. It's normal that you never get any texts and waiting for you when you go home. You convince yourself that this was your unique way of owning your life. It was your decision to fade away from the center of attention. Yet, sometimes, you feel like a spare person that people brought along to a party out of of pity. Nonetheless, what really saddens you is how invisible your feelings are to the people that are closest to you. You make myself too easy of a target to be used, be thrown away and be left out. Some people have mentioned that they didn't feel as guilty as they should when they made you suffer, because you're so forgiving about everything. Those remarks only reminded you of what your mom always said, that she always became angrier when you cried, but softened when others shed a tear. Your pain acted more like a sign of weakness than something everyone should sympathize with. All was to be dealt with alone. Thus, whenever you were sad, depressed, feeling left out or angry, you just tried to hide it more. Who will care if you showed your true emotions? Wouldn't everyone perceive it as being overreacting or possessive? In the end, you blame yourself. You knew it was you who made yourself become that invisible person. No one else should be at fault. If only you had someone who dealt with pain the same way you did, you might feel a little better. You wonder if someone's standing in the same blood rain as you too, letting the bullets sear through their hearts just as you do. Deep inside, you know the chances of discovering that 'someone' is impossible. Like you, they've blended their shadows with the darkness. The bleeding is internal. Nobody will be willing to admit that they hurt you. No one at all. Yet, you still come crawling back to them, because you love them so much and you feel like being the better person. You feel like not talking about what others have done to you because you've promised to be this humble piece of rock that just exists for everyone to step on. But no matter how many times people kick and throw you away, you'll always have that hard external cover to prevent yourself from looking scarred and injured. People look at your rigidness and keep on throwing you elsewhere. If they knew how much hatred you've carried around, they wouldn't dare bury you in dust again. But you can handle it a little longer, don't you think?

It is no lie that Covid-19 changed our lives in more ways than just one. We had job losses, deaths, and even became secluded from our loved ones that needed us the most. Our lives became a nightmare for a year, and it is now just beginning to become normal. Well maybe for some of us. The ones I am referring to are the people like me who are still trying to find their soul that Covid took from them. Before the pandemic, I was a happy-go-lucky 23 year old that was on track to graduate college with her second degree. I was getting married in the summer, and life was grand. In a matter of a second my joy was ripped from me. The virus took over my happiness, freedom, and safety as an adult. I lost my internship, and had to find a supplement for the requirement. I lost friendships I was creating during my college years. I had to miss moments with my family that can never be remade. I had an ungodly amount of stress, anxiety, and depression that entered my life. It literally changed me into a person that I had no idea existed. I had struggled with depression in high school, but I had never had depression hit me that hard. I was in a dark spot, and wanted to give up on all my dreams and ambitions. I had to dig myself out of a dark rut. I knew I had to get out before it was too late. How was I to do that though? I had never dealt with such a high amount of anxiety, or fear before. My fears became small and big. I feared I would lose everyone around me to the virus. I feared that life would never return to normal. I feared that I would never see the places that I dreamed of seeing as a child due to Covid-19 being so violent, and devastating. It closed down places in a matter of weeks that had been standing for over 50 years, so I became even more depressed. I watched people lose jobs they have had their whole lives. My empathetic side started to come into play. It was horrific seeing individuals losing their homes due to job losses. People had to start applying for unemployment to survive. Unemployment became such a dire need that folks crashed the phone lines. Talk about a nightmare for people all over the United States. Needless to say, life became a game, and the outcome was crappy each time a person played. How was I ever going to get out of the darkness with everything going on around me? I still had no idea, for days upon days. However, I knew I was going to get into the sunshine again someway. Just I didn't know how. Until one day, I was shopping in one of my favorite stores, and I found a Chakra kit. I had always heard about balancing your chakras, but I had never looked into it. Well that day I found that kit, I made the decision to start my spiritual journey, and find my soul and spirit again. I was so lost that I wanted to give up on life. I debated on taking out my pain in ways of self harming, but then I thought what would that solve? A temporary stop to the pain that would still continue to be ongoing? Exactly! So, I knew I had to woman up and face my demons myself. I broke down, and talked to my doctor. I explained that I was concerned about my mental well-being. I was having nighttime anxiety that was creating insomnia. This fed a monster that I had not yet faced, and kept me in bed until 3 in the afternoon at times. I decided that I was tired of missing the days that God had given me to enjoy. This allowed me to wake up one day knowing I had to change. I knew I had a bigger purpose than what the darkness was allowing me to see. So, I decided to try a new medicine rather than the one I had been using to fight my PMDD (Pre- menstrual dysphoric disorder) symptoms. This medicine helped tackle the areas I was experiencing darkness, and allowed me to become my idea of what normal is. By tackling this aspect, I was able to start my spiritual journey which I am still learning about, and I hope to one day share that story with the world. So in conclusion to this madness I have written this beautiful July day. I am still a masterpiece in the making. Life is less hectic due to the slow down of the spread of Covid-19, so this allows me to work even harder to work on becoming me again. I am starting to see the sun peak through the clouds, but I know I have a little bit longer to go. I may want to rush at times, but honestly I am excited for the ride. Cheers to new beginnings, because I know I am ready.

Quarantine is a word that I never would have thought would define my life, but the more I think of the word the more I realize this is the perfect word to define my entire life. I have always been isolated to my own mind despite my best efforts. I always wanted to be one of those care free people who seem so unaffected by the world around them but that is the opposite of who I am. I don't share more than I have to of myself and as I get older I find myself holding tighter to pieces of who I am for fear of losing them completely. If someone were to look at me from the outside I think they would see someone who has friends and family and a smile on their face and would never think I was someone who is anxious and depressed. That has been by design and I have worked hard to appear ok, when in reality, I am not ok most days. I have worked hard to not draw attention to myself and to blur into the ordinary. The pandemic has only made me painfully aware of this self inflicted isolation. My daily routine consists of all of the things I did before COVID 19 stole our comfort, freedom and lives as we knew them. I still go to work, although I did lose my job right before the world shut down and was unemployed for almost a year, I still see friends and family and I still give my son the best care I know how. What has changed (aside from the obvious masking and awaiting what new rules the world will have each day) is my ability to be ok with my isolation. That is all quarantine is, after all, it is just isolation. You would think that I have been preparing for this my whole life based on the little information I have given you but it is not so. I have somehow lost my ability to cope with my anxiety and hide my depression all together. My new routine has become some form of dragging myself out of bed to do the bare minimum when all I want to do is sit in bed and sleep and cry and sleep some more. I now feel as if I cannot focus on anything where I used to thrive on having a task to do. Work has become unbearable and I have always loved working. Inadequate is probably the best way I would be able to describe how I view myself now. Ironically I have never suffered from terribly low self esteem, despite not being very confident, I have always been confident in who I am. Not anymore. You see, this quarantine life that we are all living has flipped our world upside down. I did not know how fragile it was until 2020 shoved that fact down my throat and it was an inconvenient pill to swallow to say the very least. Life is fragile and society is fragile and no matter how regular your routine may be there is no hiding from that fact. It scares me. I can only guess this has contributed to my lack of control over my emotions. I now live in my head always. I cannot find my words when I am in a group of people because I am trapped in the quarantine of my mind. I tend to be an optimist and I know things will get better, even if only mildly so, but I now struggle to see how or if it will be too little too late. Will my son remember my smile or my tears? Will he remember that I played on the floor with him or that I didn't have the energy to get up? I am fortunate to have a child who is not yet old enough to remember most things but there is no way that my pain of being trapped in a mind that is dark and sad and anxious most days is not going to effect him somehow. I have to make a change. Being physically quarantined to my own home is not so bad because it is still beautiful outside and I can walk in that fresh air. I have a loving man who never lets me talk bad about the woman he loves and my house is often filled with laughter. I only wish that I could sleep without dreaming because it is exhausting always being trapped in that brain when I am awake, and instead of resting in my sleep, I am dragged deeper into my own quarantine routine. My own anxiety causes me to worry all the time and my depression sucks every ounce of me away until I feel like a walking shell of a girl who used to hide on purpose. If I get nothing else from this pandemic I would be happy if I can just take away the knowledge of who I do not want to be and that is who I am now. I will write and I will get this ugliness out one way or another so I can enjoy the beautiful life I have right in front of me. My new routine will be to escape the quarantine of my mind by writing as I used to when I was young. This new routine will free me from myself and free my family from getting a lesser version of me. I know there are many who have it worse than I do and I cannot let myself worry for them, rather I will acknowledge them and hope for brighter days and strength to come their way. I believe we are all feeling alone together and I am going to start closing that gap where I can in my own life. My new routine will be to smile until it is real and eventually the world will settle and my restless mind with it.

.GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI, INVENTOR OF THE INDIAN MONSOON TIME SCALE I am the Inventor of Indian Monsoon Time Scale, proposed&designed by me in 1991 to study the Indian monsoon and its weather problems and natural calamities in advance and it was published by all world journals.But our India was not recognize me. Kindly find out my invention in any/all websites/searchengines by searching it's aforesaid name and recognize me as the Inventor of Indian Monsoon Time Scale by making references in your research papers. Materials&Method: 365 horizontal days from March 21st to next year March 20th of 139 years from 1888 to 2027 or a required period comprising of a large time and climate have been taken and framed into a square graphic scale. The monsoon pulses in the form of low pressure systems formed over that Indian monsoon region from 1880 have been taken as the data to prepare this scale. Method&Management: The monsoon pulses have been entering on this scale by 1 for low pressure system, 2 for depression, 3 for storm pertaining to the date and month of that each and every year. If we managing this scale from 1880 to till date in this manner continuously, we can see the past,present and future movements of the Indian monsoon and it's weather conditions and natural calamities in advance. Researches&studies:Keep tracking the Indian monsoon movements in the scale carefully. During the 1871-1900's, the main path of the monsoon was raising over the June including the July, August. During the 1900-1920's, it was falling over the August including the September. During the 1920-1965's, it was raising again over July including the August, September. During the 1965-2004's, it was falling over the September. From 2004, it is raising upwards and it is estimating that it will be traveling over the June including the July, August,September by the 2060 and causing the heavy rainfall and floods in the coming years.. Study&Discussion: Let's now study and analyze the information recorded on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale with the rainfall and other weather data available from 1871 to till date, During the period the period of 1871-2015, there were 19 major flood years:1874,1878,1892,1893,1894,1910,1916,1917,1933,1942,1947,1956,1959,1961,1970,1975,1983,1988,1994. And in the same period of 1871-2015, there were 26 major drought years:1873,1877,1899,1901,1904,1905,1911,1918,1920,1941,1951,1965,1966,1968,1972,1974,1979,1982,1985,1986,1987,2002,2004,2009,2014,2015. Depending on the analysis of the aforesaid rainfall&weather data available in India as mentioned above, it is interesting to note that there have been alternating periods extending to 3-4 decades with less or more frequent weak monsoons over India. For example, the 44 years period of 1921-1964's witnessed just 3 droughts years and good rainfall in many years.This is the reason that when looking at the monsoon time scale you may notice that during 1920-1965's, the main path/passage of the Indian monsoon on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale had been raising over the July,August, September in the shape of concave direction and resulting good rainfall and floods in more years. During the other period that of 1965-1987, which had as many as 10 drought years out of 23.This is the reason that when looking at the Indian Monsoon Time Scale you may notice that during the period of 1965-2004's, the main path/passage of the Indian monsoon on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale had been falling over the September in the shape of convex direction and causing low rainfall and droughts in many years. Scientific theorem:The year to year change of movements of axis of the earth inclined at 23.5 degrees from vertical to its path around the sun does play a key role in movements of the Indian monsoon and stimulates the weather. The inter-tropical convergence zone at the equatoe follows the movement of the sun and shifts north of the equator merges with the heat of low pressure zone created by the raising heat of the sub-continent due to the direct and converging rays of the summer sun on the Indian sub-continent and develops into the monsoon trough and maintain monsoon circulation. Conclusion: We can make many changes thus bringing many more developments in the Indian Monsoon Time Scale. GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI Email me: girlapati@aol.com WhatsApp me: 91 6305571833

You tie knots around the inner linings of my ankle. You push me down underneath, everything I already see. You make me blind and silent. Cowardice and shy, an imposter and a rare oddity. You wrap these knotted chains of steel around my ankles and my wrists. You make my bare and naked body, feel every gut wrenching rip and tear of my own flesh. You tear me apart, you defy me at every turn. You don't want me to be noticed or recognized for what I stand for. You hold all the control and because of that I have no control. You're the puppet master and you're pulling on all my strings. You decide when I can let go, when I can unchain myself. I can stop being the anchor, when I can be fully clothed. Fully enraptured in the glory of what is mine and you want me to see me for what I really am. An anchor. An anchor that on cue, holds in place and doesn't disable. Or become incapable of holding still, an anchor that takes everything that is forced upon. An anchor to be walked upon, to live only in the eyes of what lies underneath. Not what is residing above the surface. An anchor that doesn't defy. That only listens and that is simple and uncomplicated. An anchor that resides at the very base of the sea. When the anchor forgets it's purpose, the anchor wants to believe it is something else. When the anchor does not agree with every forced decision placed upon them, the anchor wants freedom. Control, untainted love and to have an understanding. To not be told that one day, it'll "thank you" for all the shit you put it through. When the anchor wants to be left alone, the anchor is just done. It wants no more of this pushing down or pulling up, bestowed upon it. It just wants to be an anchor. It wants to remain at the base of the sea. Unbothered. Untouched. Unloved. Unlinked. Unacquainted. It just wants to be left. Forgotten. It wants no one or anyone to depend on it. To seek things from. To expect things from. To lust for things from. To be full of greed for. To be consumed in. The anchor just wants to be an anchor. Simple. Left undone. Left to be unbroken. I am the anchor. And I just want to go on being an anchor. Left to no longer exist above the surface where the world is always watching me. I just want to be an anchor and be done.

Just one word to describe this year, and it's a 'hell'. I don't know if it's because of the pandemic or I'm just too tired, but I've been experiencing mental disorders since last year. Something 'big' happened last year, it should've been the start of my brilliant career, but it turned out to be a trigger that caused my depression. That something big was many people's dream job but not my dream job. I got that job, but I wasn't happy with that. I told my parents about how I feel, but they kept pushing me to just accept that job for my future's sake, and yeah, I initially tried to do that and tried to accept my 'splendid' destiny. But at that time actually, I started living in hell. You know, I prefer fighting with other people than fighting with my own mind. That's so freaking hard! I fought my depression, I cried every single night, I couldn't sleep, I didn't eat or drink. My world turned upside down, but no one cared, no one asked me about it. This year my condition was getting worst, I started harming my body, even trying to kill myself several times. Yeah, I was a suicidal who tried several silly methods to end her life. I tried to make myself overdose by drinking a lot of pills, I tried to hurt myself by drinking ethyl alcohol, and the climax was when I tried to kill myself by eating rat poisons. The last trial ended with me being rushed to an emergency room and needed to be intensively treated there for half a day and needed to stay in hospital for two days. Rat poisons were not good, they're the worst! I tell you, my stomach was in extreme pain at that time. I cried aloud because of the unbearable pain, the doctors and the nurses did their best to save my life by doing many emergency treatments. For the first time in my life, I experienced a horrific experience when they started entering a hose through my nose to my stomach. They said that was the method to rinse my polluted stomach. For one day that hose stuck into my nose and that's extremely uncomfortable! I couldn't even eat and only drink milk through that hose. After that ugly experience that felt like a nightmare, I was interrogated by my parents as to know why I did that stupid action. And here we go the drama. I cried while explaining my real feeling and my mental condition, I told them that I couldn't do it anymore, I couldn't do that job anymore. I wasn't a saint, I wasn't a good person, I didn't want to pretend to be righteous by kept doing that job. I thought they would understand, I thought they could see how pathetic I was after seeing me in critical condition, but I was wrong. Instead of feeling pity, my father decided to disown me. Yeah, my father was angry, and starting that day, he ignored me like a plague. We lived under the same roof, but he never saw me as if I was invisible. Do you know the pain in my heart? That's beyond painful, I don't even know how to describe that. My mother was a saint. She hugged me at that time, saying that I just need to do what I want to do and that I don't need to force myself to do something I don't want to. Do you know? That sounds like Calum Scott's song titled No Matter What, and that's my favorite song anyway. I lived in hell after that. The place that once I called home, now it's a hell. I was jobless so I stayed at home all day, doing nothing. The anxiety attacked me so many times that I cried over the smallest things. The smallest things like when my internet getting slow, I cried. When my computer mouse stopped working, I cried. When my sister didn't answer my call, I cried. I cried every day and that's tiring. My depression wasn't different. I felt so depressed, I completely changed my habit. I used to be a clean freak, my room used to be ant-free, but now my room is ants palace. I didn't even want to take a shower, I didn't do the skincare routine, I didn't even eat and drink. I was a complete mess. You know, there's this guilty feeling inside my heart. I've disappointed my parents. I don't blame my father for his cold treatment towards me, I know he's just very disappointed in me. I just keep blaming myself for everything. I don't know whether it's caused by my depression or not, but I really can't stop blaming myself. My family was poor, I should've given them a better life, but I failed. Lately, I have also experienced a worse physical condition every time the anxiety attacked. I experienced breathing difficulty, my chest was stuffy that I couldn't breathe properly. I'm also scared when I'm outside and meet people. I'm afraid that they would judge me. That's suffocating, that's terrifying. I know I need to see a professional's help, but now I'm jobless and penniless so I can't do that just yet. I can only distract myself by writing since originally I love writing. Writing is like an escape, I feel safe when I'm writing. I hope one day I will be able to get through these tribulations and proudly say, "Once upon a time I lived in hell, but now I'm happy like in paradise."

This is my story as a 20 year old boy fighting depression and my choices. It all started when I was forced to migrate to Nellore from Chennai as my parents were in search of better educational standards in the school I study. But what they were really interested in, was to replace all of my extra-curricular activities with books, so I'd turn out to be a total geek and start the same old man-machine cycle. The cycle involves getting a high-paying job, serving as the ATM for a family for several decades, leading another descendant to starting this whole thing again and of course die a seemingly meaningful death. Ever since I reached Nellore, I felt my sub-conscious telling me all the time that it was not the right place for me. We landed in a creepy house, home to lizards, mosquitos, frogs, cockroaches, moths and what not. I got diarrhoea within a few days of staying but somehow my parents seemed to like the place. The school I got admitted into had a cemetery right behind it. All of these were definitely not good signs. I left the school within a year of joining after pleading my father. The next house we moved into was comparatively expensive but that's much better than a house of horrors, isn't it? I got admitted into a much smaller school but that's better than a big school with a bad omen, isn't it? Although I was satisfied that I could keep the past aside and move on, I always felt incomplete. Ever since I watched Dhoni hit the six and thus win the world cup for India, I kind of became a daydreamer. I either used to imagine myself hitting the six or taking the last wicket of my opponent team and winning the world cup in the end. I always used to request my father to help me join one of those cricketing academies. In reply to that, he would either hang up the phone or divert the topic. A few years passed and my high school was done. My parents immediately suggested on preparing for the JEE-Advanced test and joining a secondary school that'd coach me for that. I had to say yes and had to regret saying it for the following two years of my life. The secondary school had nearly 11 hours of classes a day and I used to feel hungry everyday on my way home. I performed extremely underrated and my parents used to yell at me at will, reminding me about the amount of money they paid so I could study and the problems they faced as kids. None of that got into my brain as it was already pre-occupied with un-fulfilled dreams. I didn't even come close to qualifying JEE-Advanced and that very thought made me feel worthless. In the end my mother developed anxiety issues whereas my dad developed short-temper issues, all of this as a price for migrating from Chennai to Nellore. I was heartbroken of the fact that while many other teens of my age were out there preparing for their U-19 trails and some of whom were playing the U-19 world cup and thus the IPL, I was aging really fast into probably a helpless old man. I joined a small under-ranked university and my parents were not too amused with that. Everyday they used to lecture me on how their relatives and my fellow-mates made it to prestigious institutes while I had to settle for something small. From that moment on, I got addicted to the pokemon anime which I was watching back then. After I saw the main protagonist Ash Ketchum loose one pokemon league after another, a spark got lit deep inside me. I wouldn't say it was much but It reminded me of myself and my failures. I felt like I was watching my story. So I kept watching of the hope that someday he'd win and that would change my fate as well. In the meantime I was able to convince my father into joining me in a cricket academy. Although I felt like things were slowly going in my way and I was going to do something extraordinary, I eventually realized that I was too late. My age criteria for the U-19 trails confirmed that. It tore me apart. In 2019, the spark that had lit itself in my mind years ago became much brighter as I watched my favorite protagonist Ash win his first championship after loosing six. A dream that lasted nearly 2 decades, reality! That gave me hope that maybe, success is nearing. This gave me a bit of confidence preparing for my do or die U-23 trails. But just as I was so anxiously waiting for my trails, the lockdown came as a party-pooper. Finally, I realized what my second chance was. I realized that my dream of playing for India was already done and had to be replaced by a new one. I decided that even if it means that I'm going to play for a different nation, I'll not give up on my dream. I planned and I executed. I got the highest package ever offered in my university but didn't settle for temporary satisfaction. I passed the IELTS test with flying colors, developed a really high profile on my CV, pleased my parents and am looking for my next country to land on.

The girl with the gentle eyes and soft touch is the same girl who calls herself useless and a burden, but no one sees that so it doesn't matter. The same girl who smiled no matter what in grades k-5 is the same girl who tried to commit suicide in sixth and seventh grade. She might not show her pain but she feels it deeper than most. Every night when she believes no one is looking she bursts into tears wanting to use her skin as an outlet but she won't let herself. The thoughts that seem to be in her mind as often as the blood in her veins are never positive. She promised many people she wouldn't cut again after she almost went too deep. For her, this promise is almost impossible because she never feels like she's enough. No matter what she does she can't outrun her thoughts. She begins going numb, she cuts once again just so she can feel something and she breaks her promise. She never truly believed that she could keep it but she tried. In the end the promise she couldn't keep was a dangerous one, it was a promise of staying alive.

Covid was a wild ride. I have been struggling with depression as long as I can remember. It was not until covid hit, that it finally came up to my parents. There were long, rough nights, and times I didn't even think I would make it. I ended up self-harming so bad from all the stress, I was put in the mental hospital. Besides the depression I had to deal with trauma that had happened to me that year, and if that wasn't enough stress, I was also dealing with a drug problem. It was rough. I was self-medicating to try to push down the underlying problems. The mental hospital didn't exactly help either. I was unstable and couldn't see a point of living. In my mind I have nothing to look forward for. The country was having social unrest, the economy was collapsing, nobody seemed to be able to agree on anything and the political war was out of hand. I felt like the media was shoving all the problems down my throat and I just couldn't breathe. That was the one good thing I got from the mental hospital, a fucking break. I couldn't handle it. What do you do when your life already feels like it's going to collapse and now, you're in a middle of a pandemic. The cancel culture was getting out of hand and social media was becoming a huge problem. No one could tell fake news from real news and everyone was scared if they said the wrong thing they would be shamed. The pressure was unbearable. This led up to my suicide attempt that landed me once again in a mental hospital. It was awful feeling being trapped in the same four walls, constantly being watched by the staff. It was a nightmare. I couldn't decide which one was worse, being locked up and forced into therapy 24/7 or being out in the real world full of problems. I was lost and there seemed to be no answers. Again, and again I continued to relapse, unable to pull myself out of the bad habits. Soon there was not an inch of my body not covered in scars, but the physical scars didn't even matter anymore. The emotional scars left behind wouldn't heal like the physical ones would. I went through many therapists trying to find someone who could help me. No matter what I did it seemed like my trauma seemed to always resurface. As a woman it was extremely hard for me to come to terms with what happened. I felt so violated but the stigma around my abuse was a thick cloud no one wanted to break. It seems it was never the guy's fault but always the girls. We must have led them on, worn something wrong or said the wrong thing. Now in lockdown I had plenty of time to sit and think about everything causing my life to spiral out of control. There were no distractions to keep my mind at bay. Everything was shut down. Nothing to look forward to, to keep my spirits up. Prom was canceled, and graduation ceremonies don't seem like an option. As a young person it is very hard to get the attention we may want, and if we do it is a negative light. We cannot tell out stories because they are not valid until we have “lived life” and “truly experienced the world” I am tired of people telling me I'm lucky that I am young. What good is youth when we cannot enjoy it. The same people that tell me I am in my prime age are the same ones who played in the streets and went wherever without worry. I was not allowed in the streets; I was not allowed to adventure and be a kid because when I grew up there were to many criminals on the loose. We could not walk down the street without an adult in fear of being kidnapped. We were deprived of a lot of freedom because of what the world had become. So naturally when I became a teenager life did seem like the prime. Maybe we do have lots of mental health issues and other problems that are not being addressed as much as they should, but at least we got the taste of freedom. Long nights with friends, school dances and activities, being dumb teenagers. Maybe we didn't fully get to experience being a kid but we sure as hell weren't going to let our teenage years go to waste even if it may not be as glamorous as it seemed. Now even out teenage years are being ripped away from us. No more high school, hanging out, long nights, school dances, and being dumb teenagers. We were told to stay inside and be safe, to wear our masks and hide from society. I am tired of living in a world that doesn't seem to want me here. How much longer can I stand being beaten to the ground before I won't get up again. Every day I question the benefit continuing life. How can I “just get over it”? I've been through so much and all I get in return is a little gold sticker and the promise it will get better soon. Covid has been a blessing and a curse. It lifted me up and bit me in the ass. Without it I may have never gotten the help I needed with my depression; I may have never told anyone the horrible things done to me that creep into my nightmares. But with it comes the impending doom that everything was for nothing. My life is a mess and that's just how it will always be.