Disclaimer: In Real Life is a platform for everyday people to share their experiences and voices. All articles are personal stories and do not necessarily echo In Real Life’s sentiments.
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My dad was a heavy-handed workaholic.
When I was a child, my grandmother used to put us in trouble with him, just to see us punished with his blows.
I once felt my hair rip off my scalp because of the strength of his grip.
After she passed, I felt nothing. I’m a full-grown adult now, but that doesn’t stop the inner child in me from shaking.
Now, whenever my dad talks to me, my body tenses up. I still freeze in fear when I hear his car in the driveway.
He doesn’t hit me anymore, but my brain still believes there’s a chance.
I didn’t know I needed to heal.
How my walk with Depression started
They called me the moody child. Of course, this was way before I understood what being Bipolar meant.
I don’t have fond memories of my mother when I was younger. The ones I have aren’t that nice, so I pretend they don’t exist.
My father, on the other hand, was a very prominent figure in my life. Especially in the early stages of my childhood.
I aspired to be like him – strong and powerful. But seeing my sibling’s cheek turn because of his backhand… I hated myself for wanting to be like him.
My teachers, on the other hand, loved him.
“Is that your father ah? So handsome lah, girl,” they would say, nodding in agreement with each other.
I would smile and wave my goodbyes. But often, I wondered if they knew what they were sending me back to.
When my Depression got worse
I was never the best student in school, and yet, I was forced to go for three hours of tuition every day. On top of that, I had taekwondo and piano lessons every week.
My schedules were jam-packed, so I craved every second I had alone. But those times barely came. I wasn’t even allowed to close my room door unless I was changing.
I used to stay up way past my bedtime to listen to music in the dark. It was a safe space, a solace from the chaos around me.
Eventually, I started finding it hard to get out of bed. I remember being 17, at the peak of my SPM trials, breaking down in the morning at the thought of having to leave the room.
At that point, living was a chore.
The times Depression almost won
I almost ended my life on the 20th of October in 2016. I’d overdosed on my sleeping pills, but my sisters found me and rushed me to the hospital.
When I woke up, the next day after the attempt, in the hospital, I cried. I couldn’t believe I was still alive.
I remember waking up to my father’s face – indifferent. Disappointed.
So I cried myself to sleep every night. I cried so much that my tears would dry my eyelids shut. In the state I was in, I didn’t care about anything else. I just wished I had not survived.
My days in the psychiatric ward were short but impactful. The entrance was gated, and above our beds were our names with our diagnosis. It felt like a prison.
When I was diagnosed with Bipolar Type II, my psychiatrist kept commenting on my looks.
“You’re beautiful and hot. So, why not just get a byfriend?” Each time I would see him, he would repeat the same question. Apparently, that was his solution to everything.
Years later, he was outed for sexually harassing his patients and asking for inappropriate pictures from them.
I met a girl with Bipolar Type I who insisted that her lover was outside waiting, and she told me stories about this person she loved.
She’d been there for years. There was no lover waiting for her outside.
How Depression was affecting the people around me
My moodiness was at an all time high after leaving the hospital. I hadn’t planned to survive, so I was even crankier, as if that was possible.
Panic attacks settled into my daily routine, and the days would end with broken glass on the floor.
My mother, at this point, vowed to “make it up to us kids”. She blamed herself for not being a better mother.
At that moment, I blamed her too – because what she was doing now can’t change anything when it already happened.
But, did she try? Yes. With her absolute best.
Though she was clueless when it came to mental health, she spent her nights researching about the disorders I struggled with. My two older sisters, Sarah and Drea, took turns watching me while I slept.
Maybe almost losing me was a wake up call.
The moment of realisation that my Depression isn’t me
At night, I wondered “What If?” What if we truly had been a family? What if we had known love from the start?
Those nights spent awake made me think about how the lens that I had been viewing the world from had changed — going from looking at the world with childlike joy, to feeling utterly lost in life.
Truthfully, I hadn’t planned for life after 18. I just wanted a way out.
I didn’t know what genuine happiness felt like. Was it every time I had my favourite flavour of ice cream? Or the smell of a new book? Or new stationery to use?
All I knew was that I was always sad. On some days, I couldn’t even move. It was hard to take showers, to brush my teeth, or even roll out of bed.
I would lay in the dark, in complete silence. Sometimes, I cried. But most often, I would obsess over the question: “What if? What if there was another version of myself who was happy?”
One day, I woke up and a strong feeling had inexplicably come over me. I wanted to be that version. I wanted to be the one who was okay.
And so, the next day, I got out of bed.
I started seeking help for my Depression
I knew wanting to be Happy was a huge jump. So at first, I just aimed to be Okay.
I went to a different psychiatrist this time, who put me on a new set of medication that I’d never used before.
It was a life-changing experience.
I never understood how Depression truly affected me until it stopped.
I smiled more. I wanted to see people. I wanted to make friends. I went to college. I got into a relationship. I started pursuing creative hobbies.
Most of all, I started aiming to be kinder towards myself.
I stopped putting myself in situations where I would get burned out. I prioritised my inner peace, even if that meant being the bad guy in someone else’s story.
It seems so simple to say it, but it’s so much harder when you’re suffering from an unseen illness.
All we can do is to do what we can
My relationship with my parents is complicated, but we’re at the stage where we’re all trying to make it better.
My sisters are the backbone of my support system, and my current partner has been a major catalyst in promoting a better well-being.
Years ago, I never knew I would be at this stage. I didn’t think it was possible to be so secure in my own self. To be capable of making decisions to make things better for myself and the people around me.
At 25, I can proudly say I’m Happy.
I just never knew I needed to heal.
For more stories like this, read:
After 13 Doctors and 3 Hospitals, I Found The Key To Healing My Depression
Do you have an interesting story? Email us at hello@inreallife.my.
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