I've been debating on doing this/writing this/opening up about this. I know that not a lot of people read this blog (even my good friends don't really read this blog), but those who do, thank you. It may be a huge coincidence, but lately I've been seeing all of these mental health/mental illness Instagram posts about this very same topic. I've been wanting to spread more awareness about this, because I'm constantly dealing with it. But what stops me is that it's like a taboo in this society. I'm going to warn you that it's triggering and if you are easily triggered, it's okay to stop here. It's a sensitive topic, and it's a topic that makes everyone feel uncomfortable. It still makes me feel uncomfortable to even bring it up. So, if you decide to stop reading here, I understand. But if you're staying to read about my story, thank you.
Okay, here we go... I think I've briefly touched on this when I first opened up about my mental struggles and before I built the courage to get professional help. Ever since I was younger, and I'm talking about when I was in elementary school, I've always expressed how much I wanted to end my life. As a kid, I didn't know why. I didn't know that these thoughts were considered suicidal. I didn't really know about suicide. I didn't know that I showed any signs of any mental illness. I constantly would say that I hated my life. I would harm myself. I used to bang my head on tables, scratch myself, and hit myself with hard objects. I would harm myself just to feel something and it would be out of frustration. A lot of people just thought I was "too sensitive" or that I'm "dramatic." I mean, we were all too young to understand any of it or there wasn't a lot of awareness around it. I wasn't even aware myself. As I was getting older, I became so good at hiding my emotions. I wouldn't cry as much because people have told me that I cry way too much and for little things. I always showed that I was happy, but would have the occasional breakdown. Despite the fact that I live a good life, have a lot of friends and that my parents would do everything to support me, I would have these thoughts come and go. I still have these thoughts come and go. I constantly would deal with mental abuse as a child and still now at home because mental health does not really exist in a Vietnamese household. I felt the pressure of being perfect all the time. Hence why, I'm a perfectionist. And if you didn't know, perfectionism and anxiety go hand in hand. My anxiety would tell me things like "you're never good enough," "you're annoying," "no one likes you," which would lead me to become depressed. Because I couldn't have one disorder without the other, right? I often will let it all settle and then I will spiral. It was all the mental abuse and trauma plus the anxiety plus the depression coming from that anxiety that would make me spiral from time to time. I can't tell you the amount of times where people dismissed the fact that I wasn't just saying that I wanted to disappear for attention. I literally hated my life, because I couldn't be perfect for my dad, and I always felt ignored at home and in school. I thought no one cared. I thought that if my life were to end, no one would actually care about me. I even thought of scenarios of what my funeral would be like. I would wonder that if I did die, will there be anyone at my funeral? It does sound disturbing for a child or pre-teen to think about, but that has crossed my mind, not once, but several times. There was a time where I would forget about it, because I had so many distractions. I think when I began college, that was when my anxiety and depression worsened. Right when I hit my lowest during my senior year, that was when the suicidal thoughts came back. Most of the time, I just felt alone. And it was the way some people treated me, like I was invisible. There were people who were just shitty and who made me feel out of place. Like, I just didn't belong anywhere, because well, cliques still exist in college and in adult life, and we will always have people who are "followers" rather than their own person. When I hit rock bottom, a friend (who was very understanding) actually encouraged me to get professional help, and she even went with me. I have always been timid to go to a therapy alone, and it was nice that someone was right by my side. I was so scared to actually express anything. The first thing I did when I sat down to talk to a psychologist was cry. I literally sat down and burst into tears when I had to open my mouth to speak.. and then I officially got diagnosed with anxiety and depression. Everything I was feeling and reacting to made so much sense. I was able to steer away from those thoughts for a little while because I was able to see things a little clearer knowing that everything I was feeling was valid. I also was able to realize who my real friends were when I did hit rock bottom. Unfortunately, there was a time where I didn't notice that I built friendships with crappy people and I started to feel unhappy again... even being medicated with Prozac. I began faking a smile again. I began trusting these crappy people, where I was vulnerable enough to open up about my struggles. When I say that they are crappy people, I really mean that they are CRAPPY people. They are very dismissive when it comes to mental illnesses. When I became severally depressed due to heartbreak, my old toxic job and what was happening at home, I was treated differently by them. They would ignore me during the times when I needed someone to be there for me, aka a friend. They made excuses and gave me the silent treatment. Just because everything that they would say to me, made things worse than it should've been and I reacted to their disrespect. I was able to speak up and defend myself, but they took it as if I got mad easily, or that I'm way too sensitive. They consistently showed how much they weren't there for me, and even if they claim they did, they weren't. They weren't good friends, in fact, they weren't my friends at all. One night, I felt like I shouldn't be around anymore, because I was made to think that I was an issue. When I finally expressed how I was feeling towards them and what I was observing and experiencing, the situation got twisted where they played the victim. It was just an attack after another with words, because everything was one sided and it was two girls against me. They say they understand, but yet, they never wanted to be there for me. They probably never will understand. I wanted the pain to go away. I wanted to go away permanently. That night, I just stared at a bottle of prescription pills, contemplating. In fact, they were beta blockers, which slows down your heart rate and if you were to overdose, it causes difficulty of breathing. I already knew that. I couldn't take it anymore and I told them that maybe it would be best that I just go away so they wouldn't feel stressed about me and my emotions anymore and that I was ready with the pills on my bedside table. I thought that this was the only solution since I'm the shitty friend, and that's what I was made to believe. I was made to believe that I'm at fault for everything. I thought that everyone else probably feels the same way towards me. I was constantly apologizing for my feelings because they claimed that my depression is exhausting to deal with and that I'm never concerned about their feelings. They really don't know what mental exhaustion feels like and what anxiety and depression does to a person's mind. One of their responses was: "You did not just go there... that's low, Sandy. So low." With that response, I really thought maybe this is it since they don't care anyway. They didn't care enough to sense that I was in deep pain. I was going back and forth with grabbing that bottle of pills. Most times when I have these thoughts, I try to distract myself or give myself a good reason to stay. But that night, I thought that the whole world was against me and that I was living to suffer. I didn't want to suffer from my thoughts and feelings anymore. If it weren't for my best friend that night, I might have taken that risk. As soon as I reached out about wanting to swallow those pills, she called me. She helped steer me away from the idea after I told her what was going through my mind and what was happening. Somedays, I do think about what would've happened if I didn't reach out. Would I still be here today? For the longest time after that night, I kept having those thoughts frequently because with the mental abuse and trauma I was already living with, I still kept the wrong people in my life. Don't worry, I was still seeing my psychiatrist at the time and I briefly went to a [bad] therapist. It sucks so much because there are so many people in my life who I love and care about, and the last thing I want to do is hurt them by just disappearing purposely. The thing is that I know myself enough to know when to seek professional help, and during those times, I just wanted what I thought was my support system to be there. I'm old and smart enough to understand that not everyone is a mental health professional and that they could be going through something as well, but it would be nice for them to be there as much as they can, like how I am there for them. I may not have a lot to say, but I listen and I observe. I never asked for them to be my therapist. My mind likes to distort things and it's hard for me to gather my thoughts together. Most of the time when I am in the mix of my emotions and negative thoughts, all I really need and want is someone to be by my side, listening, and none of the "you constantly come for advice, and you never take it" kind of bullshit. If I wanted advice, I would ask for it and to be honest, I don't ask for it when I am speaking about what's going on in my head. People can make suggestions and I'm okay with that, but when someone gives unsolicited advice, it makes things worse because their ego gets in the way and I'm being ignored. No one likes being ignored, and that was it. My emotions were being ignored. As I sit here, typing and fixing this up, I can't tell you that I haven't thought about it in a while. I can tell you that I've thought about it recently. I've found ways to cope with it, and no matter how much therapy I go to and self awareness I gain, those thoughts linger. This is why I try my best to spread mental health awareness as much as I can. Because this illness haunts. And quite frankly, I'm getting tired of hearing "go to therapy, and help yourself," like I haven't actually thought of and done that. It makes me feel frustrated because I would try everything possible to help myself and when I hear those words, it's like there's no hope. Except for my recent sessions... those were caused by other crappy people who contributed to me questioning my worth in life, in which I had to work on my self-esteem and anxiety a little more. But anyway, I'm reminded by certain people that I'm stronger than I think I am. Since I don't want to commit to another tattoo, I now wear a necklace to remind me that my story is not over. And this is a battle that I'm going to keep fighting. For those who stuck through this large blog post, thank you for being here. You just showed me that you care.
