This story contains adult content and is only suitable for persons over the age of 18.
The journey of a small town girl who has relationship with a man thousand miles away from her. A story about joining two souls apart from cultural differences, language barrier and customs. A kind of story that only has one percent possibility to work, A story that needs both person to work on and the kind of fairy tale among ordinary and mundane life of ours
Knocking out Depression
I had been that girl, curled up on the bed every single weekend staring into spaces thinking what the fuck was happening in my life. I suddenly turned into the most annoying person people have ever talked to. There was not a single day I did not whine about every goddam decision I have made. I was desperately unhappy and above all the unhappiest thing, I had to lie to myself.
Exactly a month ago, I attended a sharing discussion themed post breakup. I was not in a state of post breakup situation, in fact I was in the middle of a joyful relationship. It was Nurmalia, my partner in crime who was out of nowhere having the urge to be prepared for a breakup. Although, I foresaw myself to have no contribution at all but it was worth a shot. My love life was nowhere far from a long distance story which a lot of people despise and tend to discourage. Shortly, I decided to attend the discussion, I listened to people sharing their painful relationship story and it freaked the hell out of me. I started to form a picture inside my mind, repeating “ what if” and “ what if” all over again.
“ what if my current relationship won’t last?”
“ what if he suddenly disappear, gone and leaving just like other guys?”
“ What if he’s just messing around?”
There was a girl, who kept quiet most of the time, but in the end of discussion, she brought up a topic about suicide and breakup. There was a line from her, although I could not say verbatim it was like.
“Trust me, you won’t dare to do it although the knife is exactly right on top of your wrist”
My lips was sealed, I was about to respond but all I could do was nodding to every word she says.
I had been there.
My mind took me back to scene, when I was crying myself out and holding a knife on my right hand ready to cut my wrist and kill myself.
What she said was right, we always had no courage to do that. In between rolling tears and constant heartache, we would be taken back to our happiest moment which got us thinking if this was worth it.
I chickened out thinking about my parents, people surround me, the career I have built, and the future of my parents. There was always a thing to hold me back. One time, I have envisioned my parents being an old couple without getting what they should have deserved.
It was horrid.
My imagination were constantly running wild as I was crying hopelessly. Till I dropped the knife and fell myself to sleep.
Was it hormonal? Seasonal? Astrological? Am I weird? Too sensitive?
I ended up self -diagnosed myself based on several tick lists that an article over Google told me. There I was, fit as a Bipolar. I should have asked an expertise help or simply share my story over an online supporting group, yet I did nothing. To be honest, I hate going to the doctor, although they would give me a correct suggestion. I had no particular reason to hate, I was just afraid of syringe and their scary diagnosis; a series of complex sentences which got us intrigued to know what actually our sickness is.
I began to see myself as a person with fucked up mentality and has to be cured with medication. I began to browse a lot of drugs prescription which I could easily buy yet I did nothing at all. I simply let myself jump into the pool of depression effortlessly.
Where was that cheerful girl that everyone knew? A passionate language learner, painter, swimmer, who love arts and music? Where did she gone?
Looking for support was really difficult, some took my problem as a joke. I even tried to talk to several close relatives I knew, yet they took me as a joke. At this crucial moment, It was utterly hurtful to know none was able to console me.
I realized one thing, people grew tired of me. They grew tired listening to my problem every single day. It was also quite overwhelming. In the end, being with a depressed person was exhausting and time consuming.
The ambient that I gave to other was negative. I craved too much attention and turned myself into ungrateful whinny bitch. I delivered some sense of guilt to people who I talked to because they felt sorry and simply didn’t know how to react or help.
Everything got worse after my post brain injury. Life was a real battlefield for me; I was unprepared. With the depression that was currently going on, I kept thinking why would I still be alive? Wasn’t it easier for me to simply die that night? It wasn’t painful and that was all I asked that moment; to simply end everything.
I ruined my study career and failed my second semester. Although everyone seemed to be forgiving, I felt like I tortured myself more with the downfall of my study career.
Depression began to took full control of myself. I’ve never felt to be such a failure. All these years, I was a great fighter. I was obedient kid and a soldier who won against all kinds of war. I have always got myself into a reputed school, there was not a day I made my parents unhappy. They set high expectations of me and I was living my life through it. Simply, when I failed to meet their expectations, the urge of killing myself was always higher.
Somehow, That girl’s word, who I saw at the discussion was hitting right into my chest and got me thinking all the way home. As I walked with Nurmalia on That somber evening, I tried to hold my tears thinking about my current relationship. It wasn’t that I was unhappy, I was at the happiest stage of my life, alive and young again. I was having mixed feelings, where would life take me?, what kind of obstacles would I have?, did I really get myself into a trouble,? should I just give it up to save myself before it was too late?.
I cried on the parking lot and told Nurmalia a tiny bit of what I actually felt. She tried to console me and I felt a bit relieved. As we rode back to my place, I felt the wind was speaking to me that I have to let it all go.
My intensity of trying to cure and being curious of my own depression were less. I began to embrace it as a friend of mine, a close devoted companion of mine. I let it stay, I let myself ride through a fun journey over weekend battling against life and death. I was just letting it all flow, until it grew tired. I woke up one day to realize that my life was a corrupt machine. A broken machine caused by an old worn out wire that either I have to unplug or cut.
I kept weighing the possibility to simply unplug the wire which caused me struck into a shit hole. It was a rather tough decision for me. Depression was coming like friend, knocking in my door and I was letting it in effortlessly, I told myself, “ please, I know you have been a devoted companion of mine through all my weekend, now the door is open one more time, I’ll let you go for good, you might be coming back one day but for now, thank you”
In my most volatile situation, I let everything simply got into my way. I could switch my nerve from hot to cold or vice versa. I also began to understand that those who say “I don’t know the cause” were deliberately saying it was not true.
They knew the cause of their depression but unable to express it. They were simply waiting for someone who truly understood to speak up. Being able to speak up without being judged was the only thing that every depressed person wants. It was priceless for us, to get someone listening to our problems. In the end, we would feel ease and slight relieved as if we found another source of oxygen to continue our life.
Finally, with all the effort that I had, I made a peace and agreement with my depression. I decided to open myself up to my mother about my mental state. We talked hours and hours, I was actually afraid that she would be yelling at me, making a bad judgment. I told her that I have been in pain knowing the factual truth of my existence. It was never easy for me to simply put a smile on my face, pretending I know nothing of it. It was hard to curl up every fucking weekend and cried until I fall asleep. It was hard not to do every dumbest possibility thing to suicide. Had it not been the love of people surrounded me I wouldn’t be alive and wrote this story.