Bubbles for Thought

This blog is my unfiltered space where I share my thoughts. Thanks for wandering in!

[dumpdiaries]

Call Me by Your Name

‎I stumbled upon a comment on TikTok. It was under an edit about the movie Call Me by Your Name. I haven't actually watched it because I'm afraid I'll become dehydrated from crying too much... Basically, the comment said how meaningful it is to say that phrase to someone you love. You call that person by your name and vice versa—a homage to the idea that you both share the same name and are essentially one person, one heart, and one soul.

‎

‎Then just today, I saw an Instagram reel. The background music was "Mystery of Love" from the movie, and it showed Dean Withers debating a homophobic man. During the debate, this man spoke the most heartwarming and awe-inspiring description of what love is—loving someone as a person and basically not caring what they look like or what their sex is. It was beautiful, yet he still refused to accept who he really is because of his environment and the beliefs he holds onto so tightly. I felt bad for him. He sounded so in love when he spoke about the guy he had kissed; the tone and the emotion just flowed out of his words. And yet, he restrains and denies himself that love simply because of his religious beliefs, or just beliefs in general.

‎A thought came over me once again. If everyone loves, and if God taught us to love our neighbors—to love others as we love ourselves—then why is loving a person of the same sex a sin? Why is it something to crucify a person for? If what God really taught was love, why is the very religion built on his teachings the one restricting people from loving? This fear of religious beliefs and of sinning has turned so many loving hearts and souls into empty shells. It forces them to deny who they are, refuse to believe what they feel, and in some cases, it even leads to their deaths—all when they simply want to love the person they hold close to their hearts, loudly and unapologetically. How long will society force people to deny who they want to love, and keep them from finding that one person they will eventually call by their own name?

[dumpdiaries]

Memento Vivere

Warning: Mentions of sensitive topics regarding mental health.

Memento Vivere — a Latin phrase meaning "remember to live."

I came across this Latin phrase on my FYP (For You Page), and it sparked a deep thought in my mind. It made me reflect on my own journey with mental health issues, depression, and suicide attempts. It made me think about what really pushed me to keep living when I had lost all hope years ago, having already attempted on multiple occasions. I realized that, as cliché as it may sound, love did.

It was the love that others had for me, and the love that I had for them.

For years, a person deeply wounded my emotional state through emotional abuse, which resulted in my mental health issues and those dark thoughts. This person was the driving factor that caused my state to worsen even further. I remember during my last attempt, I was sent to the hospital. Countless nurses asked me again and again, "Why did you do it? You're still too young." I remember staying completely silent, just staring at the white hospital ceiling.

When I was finally transferred to my room, my pediatrician at the time recommended a family doctor because there weren't any psychologists available to treat me. She was a very nice, warm woman. At that age, you don't really realize the full extent of your situation. Who would have known that a 13 year old child would be her first case of extreme depression and suicidal tendencies?

I spent days at the hospital talking to her almost every day. Then came the turning point. Part of her technique as a doctor was to talk to my parents. One of them was the source of my trauma, but the other—my mother—was not, so she was the one the doctor spoke to.

I was watching TV when they finished talking, and I remember my mother walking into the room absolutely wrecked, tears streaming down her face. She knelt in front of me, holding my knees and legs, while apologizing profusely. In that specific moment—after all this time feeling like no one loved me—I realized someone did. My mother did.

I could only watch and stare as she broke down in front of me. I felt her love then and there, and I came to the realization that I had been wrong the entire time. Someone did love me after all. It felt like I was being pulled from the abyss, unlocked from a cage, and finally freed. The treatment I had been rejecting, I suddenly accepted. I followed the doctor's advice and did what I needed to do so that I could heal. I did it not for myself, but for the person whose love I had truly felt.

My mother's love for me, and my love for her, was ultimately greater than any voice telling me to end my life, telling me that I was alone, or telling me that I deserved it. A mother's love saved me. Love saved me.

Now, I want to tell you, or anyone who has ever felt the same way I did...

SOMEONE DOES LOVE YOU. SOMEONE DOES CARE ABOUT YOU. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

As someone who was once exactly where you are standing right now, please accept my tightest hugs.