A Life with Depression
Assalamualaikum and hey. I'm back and it's three days away from 2018. It took me a great deal of motivation to just open up my laptop and start clicking away the keyboard. I have been feeling really restless and moody and all over the place lately. All I can think of inside my head is fake, fake, fake and fake.
I have been dealing with depression ever since forever. I could not even remember a point in my life where I have never think of dying. Even when I was in primary school, all I wanted was to die young (so that I would collect less sins, you know). The feelings never ebbed away and it became to too obvious to deny that I have this little voice speaking in my head, telling me things, torturing me to no end when I reached puberty. Henceforth, I tried to cope with my depression. Nothing I did make me feel better.
The only safe haven I found was by hiding myself among books and got lost in them. I was 11 years old and I kept visiting the public library in my town (it was ten minutes walk from my home). It was a very small library with little variety of books but it was my heaven at that time. My family wasn't that well-off, I had no books of my own. The books that I read, were all loaned ones either from my friend or the library. It was a little slice of heaven for me to get on a journey of George, Anne, Dick and Julian and of course the dog, Timothy. Or to get to know Salma (Nancy Drew's series in Malaysian version) and her adventures. To be whisked away in a 1920s American romance with Maureen Dunne and Jason Fuller. To feel the strength of family and sisterhood in the Little Women. I was lost in their universe and my shadow faded away.
Fast forward almost 11 years later, reading is still my poison to escape the reality. The only time I could calm down my racing heart and stop thinking suicidal thoughts is when I hold a book in my hand (or an e-reader). People comes and people goes. Nothing could ever curb my love for literature.
Yesterday was when I had a little thought about the profession I'm taking right now. If you guys don't know, I'm currently studying chemical engineering. It is so cold sounding. So technical. Whereas my heart is warm and poetic. For days, months, hell years, I've been thinking that I had chosen the wrong course. I want to quit so bad.
My dream is simple.
I want to read books. I want to own a huge library. I want to own every books in Harry Potter series (in every version). I want to own every book written by Kristen Ashley. I want to be a librarian. I want to curl up in a love-seat couch by the window, when it's raining heavy in the evening, reading about a romance that is set in a fictional world. Where anything could happen. I want to write review and talk to people who share same worldviews as I am. I need nothing else but my books.
And I need this voice in my head to SHUT THE FUCK UP!
I am tired. Exhausted by life. Proven by what my pollution professor said. It was his words that cause my great depress. He is right. I feel hopeless doing something that I don't love. I want to quit but I have come this far, ain't it? It's stupid to end it. Isn't it?
Anyway, this is not the reason why I decide to write today. I want to talk about depression. Lately, suicides and depressions have been the reoccurring themes all over the world. Beginning with that 'Thirteen Reasons Why' TV-series, the death of Chester from Linkin Park and the recent death of Jonghyun from SHINEE.
My first thought when I read about the last two icons were how could they did it. How could they leave their family due to temporary feelings. I am such a hypocrite when I think back about my first thought. Every day, I think of the same thing. Every day, I am tempted to go to the bathroom and cut my veins open and end it for good. Every day, I feel more and more helpless and hopeless. Every day, I feel that this it. This would be the day I die and fuck it, I feel excited and it break my fucking heart every day to realize it is the next day and I am still damn alive. How dare I am to criticize their choice when every day I am tempted to the same. When deep down, deep so fucking down, I am jealous of their ending. People cry for them and think of the deeds and good things they had done while they were alive. When what would happened to me, when I hardly leave any legacy on this earth. I would leave nothing behind as I am nothing now. Just a burden.
People look at me and said that I look too relaxed, too chilled... when it was not even close to the surface. To think that no one could see my cries beneath my facade. Having a depression that was so embedded deep inside me that you could not tell the difference between the real me or not. To force to seek for love in the most dangerous and wrong way. For a year I was so lost (not that I'm found right now, just that I found a floating wood temporarily).
Every time, my mum hands my pocket money, the more useless I feel. All of my siblings are working, supporting themselves, whereas I'm still hanging onto my parents, bleeding them of money for an education that I don't even want. What the fuck am I doing? I should just die. I should end it 11 years ago. When I was still innocent. When I was still oblivious to what I'm feeling. Why...
I have been dealing with depression ever since forever. I could not even remember a point in my life where I have never think of dying. Even when I was in primary school, all I wanted was to die young (so that I would collect less sins, you know). The feelings never ebbed away and it became to too obvious to deny that I have this little voice speaking in my head, telling me things, torturing me to no end when I reached puberty. Henceforth, I tried to cope with my depression. Nothing I did make me feel better.
The only safe haven I found was by hiding myself among books and got lost in them. I was 11 years old and I kept visiting the public library in my town (it was ten minutes walk from my home). It was a very small library with little variety of books but it was my heaven at that time. My family wasn't that well-off, I had no books of my own. The books that I read, were all loaned ones either from my friend or the library. It was a little slice of heaven for me to get on a journey of George, Anne, Dick and Julian and of course the dog, Timothy. Or to get to know Salma (Nancy Drew's series in Malaysian version) and her adventures. To be whisked away in a 1920s American romance with Maureen Dunne and Jason Fuller. To feel the strength of family and sisterhood in the Little Women. I was lost in their universe and my shadow faded away.
Fast forward almost 11 years later, reading is still my poison to escape the reality. The only time I could calm down my racing heart and stop thinking suicidal thoughts is when I hold a book in my hand (or an e-reader). People comes and people goes. Nothing could ever curb my love for literature.
Yesterday was when I had a little thought about the profession I'm taking right now. If you guys don't know, I'm currently studying chemical engineering. It is so cold sounding. So technical. Whereas my heart is warm and poetic. For days, months, hell years, I've been thinking that I had chosen the wrong course. I want to quit so bad.
My dream is simple.
I want to read books. I want to own a huge library. I want to own every books in Harry Potter series (in every version). I want to own every book written by Kristen Ashley. I want to be a librarian. I want to curl up in a love-seat couch by the window, when it's raining heavy in the evening, reading about a romance that is set in a fictional world. Where anything could happen. I want to write review and talk to people who share same worldviews as I am. I need nothing else but my books.
And I need this voice in my head to SHUT THE FUCK UP!
I am tired. Exhausted by life. Proven by what my pollution professor said. It was his words that cause my great depress. He is right. I feel hopeless doing something that I don't love. I want to quit but I have come this far, ain't it? It's stupid to end it. Isn't it?
Anyway, this is not the reason why I decide to write today. I want to talk about depression. Lately, suicides and depressions have been the reoccurring themes all over the world. Beginning with that 'Thirteen Reasons Why' TV-series, the death of Chester from Linkin Park and the recent death of Jonghyun from SHINEE.
My first thought when I read about the last two icons were how could they did it. How could they leave their family due to temporary feelings. I am such a hypocrite when I think back about my first thought. Every day, I think of the same thing. Every day, I am tempted to go to the bathroom and cut my veins open and end it for good. Every day, I feel more and more helpless and hopeless. Every day, I feel that this it. This would be the day I die and fuck it, I feel excited and it break my fucking heart every day to realize it is the next day and I am still damn alive. How dare I am to criticize their choice when every day I am tempted to the same. When deep down, deep so fucking down, I am jealous of their ending. People cry for them and think of the deeds and good things they had done while they were alive. When what would happened to me, when I hardly leave any legacy on this earth. I would leave nothing behind as I am nothing now. Just a burden.
People look at me and said that I look too relaxed, too chilled... when it was not even close to the surface. To think that no one could see my cries beneath my facade. Having a depression that was so embedded deep inside me that you could not tell the difference between the real me or not. To force to seek for love in the most dangerous and wrong way. For a year I was so lost (not that I'm found right now, just that I found a floating wood temporarily).
Every time, my mum hands my pocket money, the more useless I feel. All of my siblings are working, supporting themselves, whereas I'm still hanging onto my parents, bleeding them of money for an education that I don't even want. What the fuck am I doing? I should just die. I should end it 11 years ago. When I was still innocent. When I was still oblivious to what I'm feeling. Why...
L.
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