There are times when my day is going completely fine, yet a part of me is itching with the feeling that something is wrong and something bad is going to happen. I usually overcome those moments, but I don't know when it started—this need, whenever I am alone, for someone to validate me and remind me that everything is fine and the worst won't happen.
Recently, I went on a 34-day vacation to restart and refresh my mind, as if I were an overused system unit. I fought hard for it, to the point that even the dragon in me was unleashed.
It felt liberating to make it—walking through the aisles of Emirates Airlines, looking for my boarding gate, and resting at the lounge before flying back to where everything started—a place I can now call home.
What I didn't realize was that the very "thing" that paid me and gave me almost everything I wanted had taken its toll on me. It planted something in me that I never thought would grow.
I knew it felt wrong, but I just shook it off and kept going.
It happened when we went to a famous bookstore after lunch. I was fascinated by the books, wanting to buy them but stopping myself because I knew I couldn't read them all. While he was summarizing every book he knew and talking about everything under the sun, a sudden power outage occurred. The whole place went dark. My initial instinct was to run, but he held onto my bag and said, "Don't run, just stay! They might suspect you're running away with the books." It sounded funny, but it calmed my nerves and brought me back to reality: I was not alone, and I was safe.
(I have lived in this foreign land for more than a year—15 months to be exact. Not once had I experienced a power outage or blackout, though I have experienced more than anyone could imagine.)
I didn't think much of it and carried on with my day. It was my happiest day, and I still remember the date clearly. It felt like I finally took a day off from being constantly on guard. I was just myself, and most importantly, I felt safe.
That was until my old friends invited me to grab lunch at the exact same place a few days later.
We were fine, waiting for our meals, when the area suddenly went dark again. My reaction was, "Again? An outage?" We all laughed, but what happened next caught me off guard and disturbed us all.
Just as the power was about to switch back on, a loud noise—resembling heavy-metaled winged planes flying overhead—echoed through the air. Without thinking, I scrambled out of my seat, hurriedly trying to hide under the safety of the table. I was stopped when Flor snapped me back to reality, asking, "What happened to you? Are you okay?"
(I thought this only happened in movies or the shows I watch. I never expected it to happen to me.)
Trying to save face, we all laughed, and I quickly said, "Yup, I'm fine, no worries! Where's the food?"
And we carried on. I brushed it off, and we laughed through the rest of the lunch date while catching up on life.
We bid goodbye and promised to see each other again.
Later, Flor, my best friend, and I were casually recounting what happened at lunch. Of course, we told my best friend how much we missed her, until Flor brought up the moment we were waiting for our food. Shortly after, my bestie sent me a private message: "You had plans, right? To get yourself checked? You said you weren't doing well there. You said you needed help. I think now is the time to reach out and ask for it."
(I have always been confident in my decisions, but this time, my confidence completely vanished.)
I was in a message thread with the guy from the bookstore, sub-consciously asking for companionship—asking if he could go out of his way to be with me on the day I had to face my reality. Unfortunately, asking him wasn't the right idea either.
On the 13th of June, I went alone.
(It is always on the days when I need a hand to hold that I end up alone. Maybe I'm just so used to facing struggles by myself that I automatically pat my own shoulder and say, "You'll be fine, no worries.")
Looking back, I used to think my patients were so brave when they came alone for chemotherapy sessions that sometimes lasted up to 101 cycles. I never imagined I would end up doing the exact same thing—going to clinics for consultations, waiting outside for examinations while everyone else had company.
It wasn't until now that I finally admitted to myself: I am not strong enough to handle everything on my own. I do need a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on.
What I thought was just years of insomnia turned out to be something much deeper that I undeniably couldn't accept:
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) secondary to generalized anxiety symptoms.
My love for reading self-help books, my interest in psychology, and my wish to get a Psychology degree didn't prepare me for receiving this diagnosis myself. It made me want to shut down.
When I got the results on the 19th of June, I couldn't fathom it. I still couldn't accept or believe it. It felt like a sick joke. Why me? I am strong. I am fine. So why me? This battle feels so unfair—I can't see my enemy, and the voices in my head are too much to take.
At 4:00 AM today, my petty anxiety knocked, asking for validation.
I had no one to talk to but myself.
"Are you sure he's the one?"
"Are you sure he's moved on from that 7-year itch?"
"Why isn't he showing you off?"
"Do you think he's real?"
"Are you sure you're not daydreaming?"
I woke up drenched in sweat, even with the aircon set to a cool 24°C. My heart was pounding like I was in a race. I picked up my phone and read my last message to him: "I miss you."
My overthinking spiraled into anxiety, desperate for validation, and this petty anxiety isn't helping anymore.
I know I have to ground myself and remember everything that happened between us: the laughter, the warmth, his smile, his voice. I have to ground myself and hold onto that truth.
I have to fight back against this anxiety and answer:
"Yes, I am sure he is the one."
"He is done with the past."
"He is real—because I held him, I was with him, I heard him, and I saw him."
"And no, I am not daydreaming, because we shared a warm, genuine love."
I hate how unfair this battle is. But the only thing I can do is accept that, for now, I am my own soldier in this fight.
I just wish for this anxiety to go away and leave me in peace.
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
blakekathryn
areudirty
