It’s OK not to be OK: a memoir
In light of the Suicide Prevention day, i reflect to the days i fight off the urge.
Depression and anxiety have always been a constant companion since Junior High. Granted that it entirely self-diagnosed but it’s been impactful and exhausting.
It starts small: feeling insecure, losing someone important, witnessing domestic abuse, subtle (unintended) oppression by your closest people. It accumulated and got substantially, almost exponentially, worse. It hit like a freight train — I was mere 12/13 years old with an existential crisis and reoccurring depression. I don’t know what to do then. My one and only confidante had passed away, my parents still control my internet consumption while i can’t really talk to my parent, my older brother is in uni already and talking to my best friends is embarrassing since their life is also in turmoils. At the time, dwelling my self in study and extracurricular was my pivot strategy.
It was successful until high school. My high functioning life further complicates my life. I was ambitious but skeptical on my own capabilities. I was (and still am) struggling but not struggling enough. I threw myself in so many different things: journalist, research, cheerleading, student board. But i can’t dedicate enough for my mental health. I read, write and watch so much as a distraction. But not until i was rejected by my dream university that i finally admitted that this long series of sadness and anxiety is depression.
I cried for days, but well it hurts. Mentally. Physically. And if you think that it only because i got rejected, you’re totally wrong. The rejection was a slap of reality. I am not good enough. I can’t keep my insecurity at bay anymore. I was tortured by my own thoughts and devil inside me. I start cutting. No, i’m not proud. I was so weak that i resort to cutting. Sometimes on my thighs, sometimes on my stomach. Somewhere hidden. My mother was away studying, my father was in his busiest day — so they hardly noticed.
Now finally to the part where i really struggle with suicidal thoughts. At the end of high school, so many things had happened. And my cutting got worst, the scars in my left arm become a proof of what happened that week. This one particular event, that i don’t want to publicly mention, was the ultimate trigger. I cut so deep, deeper than the usual, as i thought of how i really want to end my life. I take painkillers, more than it supposed to be, and i threw it all up. I just don’t have the guts then. Thank God, i don’t. My mother and father cried so much when they saw my arm. Red lines that slightly swollen. That day, for the first time, i hear my father pray. And well, things gradually got better.
Then university life happened. It was the same cycle as high school, only more complex and harder. My best friends able to consol me most of the time, and i am lucky to have them. But cutting was still a coping method. I don’t know why and when it started but although i distant myself with scissors — when i had anxiety attacks and in distress, i will abruptly scratch my left hand.
In a span of 4 years, i had two failed suicide attempts. Painkillers and sleeping pills. I able to pull off at the right time but still i regret it so much. I realized that i had so much going on that i forgot to love myself. I forgot to look for help. Now i’m in a better place, and i hope that no one has to feel the same again.
I know that you have your own story and struggle but even in rock bottom, you can always find a way to strive.
It’s dark because you are trying too hard.
Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.
Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply.
Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.
