I didn’t go to rehab. There were no clinics, no doctors, no professional help. I was at home — completely alone — recovering with a broken hand after surgery. My health was already weak, and the lockdown only made things worse. The days felt endless, and sometimes I went without speaking to anyone for days. The house was quiet, but the noise in my head never stopped.
I didn’t have routines or motivation. I didn’t eat properly. I didn’t sleep well. I didn’t even feel like doing anything most of the time. But somehow, in that silence, I picked up music again — not to become anything, but just to feel something. I wrote when I could. Sometimes just one sentence in an entire day. I used music and writing to survive those long hours when everything felt heavy.
There was no “recovery plan” for me. I wasn’t posting about progress or talking about it with anyone. I just tried to stay alive and sit with myself. That’s how To The One Trying happened. It wasn’t a project — it was the only place I could say things I wasn’t ready to say out loud.
If you’re going through it in silence too — no rehab, no applause, just you are trying — I know what that feels like. Recovery isn’t always visible. Sometimes it’s just getting through a day without falling apart, and that counts.
Biswajit Gogoi 