After a while, finally depression caught up with me. I thought I left it when I left the crazy big city life, but right when I thought I was safe and beginning to feel alive again, it arrived.
I should have seen it coming. The manic episode. Everything was exhilirating. I was having the time of my life. I was indestructible.
Then one by one the feeling’s gone. I’m disappointed with a lot of things. People. But most of all, I’m disappointed with myself. I’m hating myself. I hate that I’m helpless. I feel empty and so alone. I try to reach out but again, it brings me another disappointment when people I reach out to don’t respond the way I want them to. I lose hope, and most of all trust, in people. And myself.
And so it begins. The depression. I feel drained all the time. Sleeping is hard, waking up even harder. It’s like my bed is a black hole and I’m struggling to swim out of it. My hands and legs are trembling when I’m finally able to get up. I’m not ready to face the day, let alone the world. Anxious. Panic attacks. Shortness of breath.
I am aware of all of these. I’ve been there before. Twice, to be exact. And I’ve seen my mom going through this before, too. Problem is I keep thinking that I have to function. I need to stop feeling. I need to shut down ‘me’ and let the autopilot take control.
Wrong move, especially when you meet someone who can finally turn the tap on. It feels great to be able to express your thoughts, your fears.. But at the same time I’m repressing other feelings because I know I’m not ready to get hurt. That’s what happens when you open up to someone, isn’t it? You become vulnerable because you let all your guards down. Before I can get hurt, I start to push people away. Feelings are dangerous creatures that I can’t tame. I lost a battle before and I don’t think I’m ready for another one.
And there I go. Spiralling down deeper into the abyss, all dark and alone. Countless times in a day I think of countless ways to end this. End this altogether.
I’m thankful to the small part of my brain that tells me to speak up. Let someone know where I am. I tell my mom and she’s being very helpful. Maybe because she’s been there herself. Although I cannot explain what I really feel fluently, she seems to know and asks all the right questions. She gives me suggestions, a book to read, and she takes me out to our feel-good eatery.
I’m not floating yet, but I’m glad I seek help before it’s too late. I can feel that the negativity starts to fade. I’m beginning to see where the surface is and I’m swimming there with all my might. Writing, doodling, and taking pictures help, like before. They’re my safe channels of expression.
I don’t know if I can fix the human relationships I’ve broken during the episode. Maybe it takes longer, but I hope time really does heal. If you are among those people, I hope you can forgive me.
Having said that, trust me when I say that this is NOT a suicide note. On the contrary, this is a pledge to LIVE. I’m sure there will be stumbles and setbacks but with you, my dear friends, at my side, who have been helping me to see that this life is worth living, I believe this is possible to achieve. Thank you for always being there.
Originally written on May 8, 2014 at 11.34pm GMT+8. About 8 hours later I was rushed to the hospital due to severe tummy pain. I remember thinking to myself it would be ironic if they found me dead in the bathroom and found this draft on my phone. Thankfully, the worst scenario didn’t happen. I’m still alive and feeling much, much better–even without painkillers. Cheers to life! 😉