I think I have the tendency to think backwards. I know that I shouldn't be writing this post, and I know that I'll eventually regret being so vulnerable on the open web.
But I want to talk about my depression.
I think I need to... somehow address it. Irregardless of the outcomes.
I was flying back home, and I had already missed my bed and Brunei heat after being so severely dried up by the cold wind of Japan. My skin was flaky, my nose was bleeding internally, the tip of my fingers hurt and my whole entire body was sore. Albeit exhausting, I loved being away from home - and everything that I've known by heart.
My travel from Japan to Brunei took approximately one day, and as soon as I reached home, I crashed on the sofa. Something else crashed with me. My depression creeped in and I woke up feeling uncertain, uncomfortable and sad. Earlier that day, I had lost my appetite to eat, and I felt squeamish and anxious. I thought I was just exhausted from the flights but those were the pre-symptoms of my depression returning from a vacation.
I tried to put the feelings aside by filling in my day with errands and asking my cousin to bring her sons to our place. I had lunch with my parents, went for a body massage, watched a movie, caught up with my tv-series and yet, nothing seemed to work.
I was in bed until 3 pm the next day. It was not a record. I've had worst.
I used to stay in bed for 3 days and didn't turn up for classes. I've had days when I didn't even sleep at all and didn't eat for 2 days straight. All I know is that, depression makes you feel so exhausted from doing nothing and it makes you feel worthless.
I hate it. I hate it so much.
I thought coming back on Instagram would somehow helped but I was wrong. I was right before when I figured out how toxic social medias could be, yet my loneliness assumed I could find some company there. My phone never buzzed, except when my mother sent photos from KK and some forwarded messages from groups I never really participated in. This is how lonely my life actually is. It still makes me smile when people are so quick to assume that I seem to have so many friends based on what they see on my social medias, yet nobody really knew how much time I spent at home because I have no one to hang out with. Well, I don't even want to go out in the first place.
Depression makes me feel all that. Depression is a lie, right?
When I'm depressed, I get very sensitive and easily offended. Recently someone told me that I should be happy with the little things, as if I chose to be depressed. One time when I had an uncertain anxiety, a friend told me that I should've dug deeper to find the root of it and then find a way to solve the issue. I don't know how to make people understand that everything that I currently am struggling with is not a choice made by me. I can't control everything. You don't ask someone whose leg got amputated to just "walk it off" right?
It's amazing how I could go on a vacation for a week, and be at my bestest and then came home feeling like a wreck.
Sometimes I think, I just hate myself for feeling like this because I have a pretty good life. I have so much opportunities to be better, or to be a better version of myself, yet I wallow into this pit of nothingness, of feeling like a failure and an emotional wreck. I've had fleeting moments of being the best and worst version of myself. Depression is a lie.
I never wrote about this particular incident because I thought it was too personal, and it would make me look weak. Indeed I am weak. No matter how many times I shook it off, it'd come back haunting. Two months ago, I was confronted by my boss and I cried. I cried in my office for the entire day. At that time I was on the fourth month of my employment in UTB, and a number of false rumors had reached my boss. I wouldn't have cried if they were true, I cried because I knew the truth and I didn't realise that I've been working in such environment. That moment marked the beginning of my everyday dilemma of whether I should stay or leave.
A few days ago, I felt humiliated by my seniors. I did carry my depression to work as a packed lunch, but I wouldn't let it show. Everyday I would question my professional competency, of whether this job was meant for me. And what if I'm actually terrible at it? I guess people have been trying to show me that for years and sometimes I think the only thing I'm ever really good at was to never get out of bed. I do want to prove them wrong, but there's this lack of positive energy and motivation that could help and push me to want to be better at my job. Is this normal?
Before I flew off to Japan, I had one of those suicidal-thought-moments. I guess I was never completely aware of the frequency of these disturbing thoughts in my life until I reached that point where I felt like I should go for it. I would never harm myself, but I knew I was hurting internally.
TO BE HONEST ANYWAY
"Is there no way out of the mind?"
- Sylvia Plath
My eyes are filled with tears again
as I stare at the razor blade
and imagining blood rushing through my hands
as I slowly make cuts on my wrist
and clench the razor into my fist
My thoughts haunt me sometimes
My chest is heavy again
as I drive through the highway
and speed through the fast lane
as the rain pours heavy on us
I imagine my car would slip and turn
until it becomes nothing but pitch white
and I'd be somewhere unconscious
My thoughts haunt me sometimes
My body is aching again
as I lie down on my bed
imagining years from now
I might find out that I've been sick all these while
and my time is shorter than I hope
I imagine growing weak to bones and skin
too weak to walk, too weak to love
My thoughts haunt me sometimes
And maybe I've been dead all these while
yet I try and try to stay alive
but my thoughts haunt me sometimes
and make me stop.
*****
When I am in this situation, I feel like I am undeserving of love and attention, yet I crave to be loved, and to be taken care of. I sometimes want someone to check up on me, and not tell me that I should work triple times harder to find a cure to this illness of mine. I want a warm hug, a pat on my back and encouraging words telling me that I've done so well to keep it altogether and all by myself, and I want someone to ask me, how can I still remain so strong when my inside is killing me?
God.
I tried to cry it out. I tried to let it all out but I felt so numb, and so frustrated.
I want to dismantle my thoughts and rearrange myself, and have everything sorted out. I do and I will. Just not now, not today. Not yet.
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