Any Tom, Harry & Jane who knows me, will not believe what I'm actually going through, because, yeah, I look normal. I probably look the least troubled, hey what not with a stable career, not much commitments, parents who are thankfully still healthy.
Sometimes I don't know if having the strength to persevere, endure, the strength to motivate myself when things around me seems to be crumbling slowly, is a good thing or otherwise. It definitely took a toll on me over the years.
I am not someone who is able to express her feelings verbally, probably because I'm the only child, my parents and me have this generation gap due to our age difference and that my parents aren't really exposed to what kids/teenagers nowadays do, and we can seldom communicate our message across.
It was a long journey. And a relapse is definitely not something I need, or want.
My "angels" back then when i was growing up came in the form of teachers. I had two, one in primary school and the other when i was in secondary one. I had not much recollection of my time in primary school, other than the fact that i had been constantly bullied, scolded for not scoring well, criticised for various reasons. Mrs James, I remembered her name. No one liked her, she spoke funny (indian accent, what do you expect), but really she's a nice lady. Somehow back then I didn't know who to talk to, I wrote her a note, she noticed a concern for attention through my writings and became this motherly figure for me in school, but not for long, because then i had to sit for my PSLE and then left primary school for good.
Sometimes I wonder if things would have been different if my brother was still around. I didn't liked having to live with a stranger in my house, even though he's just an uncle. The amount of anger i had was immense.
Secondary school. Nothing much changed. Though i have to admit I did have a problem fitting and blending in. I have a wonderful teacher in secondary one, we had journal writing. It was very helpful for me as well. And so happens the same teacher also taught my class science, which then instilled this curiosity for science, and chemistry. I did well for science, but only in secondary one. But then again, she had to leave for Henderson secondary. Glad that i'm still in touch with her on facebook, oh, the power of social media. Ms Kristina Chandran, the teacher who i laughed at when she fell in the biology lab, but who also helped me get through my early teenage years.
Secondary school was hard. Every year I had to endure torments from outsiders. From people who constantly tried to pull and drag me down, who doubts my capabilities, who thinks i cheat in exams, who gets red eyed when i still manage to stay in the express stream, who, are at a disbelieve that i was doing triple pure science and additional mathematics. I'm just down there like, what did i do wrong to these people till they have so much hate?
But there i am, keeping quiet, trying to ignore all the negativities, the condescending remarks. But I had a problem, I couldn't be left alone. I would constantly cry to myself, and even cry myself to sleep. I wished I didn't exist, I wished I wasn't born.
Polytechnic life was another vicious cycle. I did what I did because I had to. Then I found out that I was adopted when my biological father passed away. I was 18. Wham! More drama ensued. I guess some people have the disability to think that for a person my age, certain things are too much for me to take in.
Dramas. Fighting this battle in myself, fighting the battle with outsiders. I told myself, i need to heal. i need to heal. i need to be okay. i hated the counselling sessions. i hate having to eat medications on time, and regularly. I may seem to appear normal, but it wasn't easy.
By the time i "saw the light at the end of the tunnel" I already had one foot in into the working world. Hey things wasn't so bad initially. But if you knew me for the past 6 years then you would have known how much i "suffered".
By then i was off from the shits i was prescribed. I told myself to just think positive, but it wasn't so easy. Sometimes i just gave up and told myself that i'm simply jinxed, and that i'm better off dead. I still think that way up till this day, i constantly have suicidal thoughts. I had to have a clear mind, but i have none of it. I can't seem to let my mind be calm, because by then anxiety would have come and paid a visit, and my head start hurting from the racing thoughts.
I told myself, I can control it. I was wrong.
I had to keep myself busy in order to "control" it. I was juggling my full time rotating shift work with my freelance deliveries, with my online sales, and then having whatever time i have left just resting. That only applies in the day time because that's when I'm free to roam around. But at night, especially on nights where i'm not working or on morning shifts, I can literally go crazy. I get restless, tired from overthinking, tired from trying to shut my mind up, tired from telling myself that everything's going to be worth the wait and effort, tired from not trying to be paranoid: It's a continuous cycle.
Maybe depression is something that not many are willing to talk about openly. Somehow I personally know someone who used to suffer from it. The similarities we have are just so ... coincidental.
I recently seek help again, for this thing i thought i could control. That, is only after being pressured by a close friend. I now have less suicidal tendencies, I can finally sleep well (after 10 years of disturbed, short, poor quality sleep). But my appetite for food is still low, maybe I've been too accustomed to eating less, and i still have problems accepting the fact that I am adopted. I now enjoy my time more at home, instead of dreading off days because i have and i must be home. Work is like a place for me to destress. I don't have much people i could call friends.
But can i say that i am now mentally and emotionally okay? No. I am still drained. Not only do i have to let the anti-depressants do its job, i also have to fight against it. Irony? The people around me also have a part to play. And someone at work is clearly not doing his/her job. In the simplest terms, his/her presence is just to happily trigger my other self that i'm trying to bury deep underground.
Sometimes i wonder how i got the motivation to carry on with life. Other than work being a place for me to destress (also having clowns as colleagues helps take the load off for a bit). That's where the review and counselling sessions come in handy. I use whatever I do best as a source of motivation. It numbs the pain, it kept me going.
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