About me
A Singaporean girl chronicling her adventures of life here at home and abroad. Stick around!
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Whatever that you're about to read, that's written below, was written exactly two years ago, on this very date - 14th September. I don't know if it was by a stroke of fate or something, but I happened to click on the draft again today to read it, cuz quite honestly, I forgot how it felt and wanted to understand that feeling again. I was quite shocked to see the date. Exact, same, date, just different year.
Over time, I'd forgotten that I even wanted to publish this thing, I just wrote out everything I was feeling back then, and how I overcame it but didn't think it was the right time to post it. Since the world works in mysterious ways, I take it that this is about the right time. I hope this, in some way, is my small, little part in helping to open up the conversation about mental health.
So here goes, reproduced in its entirety, minor edits for context.
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Before I forget how this feeling felt like, and
the kind of thoughts that can go through a person's mind, I will type this out
and someday publish it when I'm ready to tell all.
It happened just within a span of two days.
I was jobless.
Jobless upon graduation, after returning from my stay in Myanmar and travelling around the region for a total of eight months.
One time, I was troubled by something that happened between me and my friends and my
mom sensed it. I went to her for a listening ear. Then she suddenly made a
remark that wasn't intentional. But I got hurt. I told her, "I really
don't need this now." She thought I was angry, but deep down, I was more
sad and disappointed. I had gone to her for comfort and advice but she broke
that trust for a short moment in time. I felt so vulnerable and overwhelmed by
sadness. As I closed the door to the toilet to bathe, she asked if I was angry, but I didn't reply. Then I merely said, "You shouldn't have said that. And
you know it." I felt tears well up in my eyes. I showered while listening to
music. I felt better.
After showering, she was still awake. I knew she
felt bad. I thought I was over it and told her I wasn't angry. I went back to
my room, closed the door and scrolled through Facebook. But suddenly, I felt this
immense sadness because.... I felt so sad when I recounted what she said. I
cried. And I cried and cried the entire night.
What was it that she said that hurt me?
"All your friends working ah? How come you
not working?" Harmless. Or maybe not? I knew she didn't
mean what she said. She merely said it as a joke. But at that point of time, I
wasn't there to listen to her talk about that when I was seeking advice about
something else.
More than that... I was at a point of time in my
life when I was facing a personal crisis. A crisis of not knowing what exactly
I wanted to do in my life. I had become jaded by the media industry. I wasn't
sure of what my path was supposed to be. I was lost. And her comment triggered
everything.
I cried till 4am before I went to sleep.
The next day, I couldn't bear to talk to my mom.
I was still hurt, and what hurt more was knowing how I had inflicted that
hurt onto her. I refused to say goodbye to her when I left my house to meet my
friends. She said bye bye twice. I knew it was her way of saying sorry. But I
refused to reply. I simply refused to give in.
When I got on to the bus to make my long journey
to Bishan, I sat at a window seat and tuned into calming music to try to ease
my soul. After about 20 mins, I checked whatsapp. She texted me asking if I was
still angry with her, she told me she simply blurted that comment and that she
was sorry. Again, tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn't take how I, myself, had
hurt her. I hated how humans had to be this way. We get hurt, then we inflict
that hurt unto others. I felt bad that I wasn't strong enough already. That I
was too weak to handle a passing comment. And here I was, inflicting pain on to
my own mom. I was hurting her when I shouldn't. What the heck was I doing?! Why
do humans do this to one another. Why do we subject ourselves to pain, over and
over and over again and to each other?
Then, thoughts drifted to my prospective job.
Meaningfulness.
I had lost it.
Back when I was an intern at Channel NewsAsia in
2014, the reason why I was so invigorated to work there was the fact that I
knew I was contributing to something meaningful. That I was doing my part in
society. I went in every day, looking forward to working. I was excited every
single day. I could stay back late in the office. I had great bosses and
colleagues who were my friends. I absolutely loved working. It was my whole
world back then.
I thought I could live this way upon graduation.
But somehow, upon my return to Singapore after
months of travelling and living abroad, I had doubts. I had questions.
Sure, the media can be powerful - It raises
concerns on issues that need to be debated upon. There are stories that need to
be told. There are people's lives on the line. And that's what hit me. If I
spend my life telling stories, is it worth it? Are people watching? Are people
listening? Who watches traditional media nowadays? IS ANYBODY LISTENING? What's
the point of generating content like a machine when there isn't anyone watching
TV anymore. What is the point? Even if it's not traditional media and just
media in general, do people's lives get any better? Does it move people to take
some form of action? Also, what's the point of noseying into people's stories?
They have the right to keep them private. I have no business minding into their
private affairs. I don't see the point anymore telling these stories. I really
don't. I wasn't seeing any impact of what I was doing after all that I had
done. Both in school and at work.
My job at CNA, which I had loved, didn't give me
meaning anymore like it used to.
I lost it. I lost that meaning.
Then I thought about the next possible job
industry that I might see myself in - the public service sector. Really? Can that
effect change? We all know how bureaucracy works. Well, it takes forever for
anything to work. I'm gonna be in this rut once more. Is this what I really
want? I'm going to go through all this mental torture again.
So... what... what then do I want from my life?
If I don't see me in a job where I can have any impact on society and people?
Then the big question would be: What the heck am
I living for? There... doesn't seem to be a purpose. Anymore. I see, listen and
feel so much pain in this world. I know it. I know how I inflicted pain on my
loved ones. I don't see why I should carry on living in a world where people
are suffering all the time. Even I contributed to that
pain. We are just living in this world that's generating more pain each time.
What can I do? I can't seem to do anything. Nothing at all.
I looked up at the skies while sitting in the
bus and thought.... There really is nothing I can do. Even if I did, even if I
helped people, this world, will always be churning more pain. More suffering.
It's never going to end......
Why should I carry on living in a world that
feels like it is all just... a facade.
That was when I realised, that meaning in my
life felt like nothing. I didn't know what I was living for. And that was the first time I had ever felt that way. I had always lived my life fully. Not
always contented but enough. And I was full of life. Never would I have imagined
that I'd sink into an abyss like this.
I thought about my friend who took his own life.
Was this how you felt, my dear friend? I know now... I know what it means to
feel like you can't carry on living with a burden so heavy in your heart.
Living in a world like you were living for the sake of it.
I flirted with the thought. I imagined how it'd
be like. What method would I use? Would my friends and family realise what was
happening to me in the lead up to this? Was anyone listening? Would they want
to listen to these thoughts in my head?
I shook my head and wept in the bus.
Up till today, I remember a young Malay lady, slightly older than I was, who saw the tears streaming down my face. She had a look
of concern, I could tell she wanted to reach out to me.
I will always remember her and her
kindness, even if only for that short moment in time.
Not before long, I had to alight the bus to meet
my friends. Life seemed to be normal again. Greetings, smiles. No wonder it's hard to tell if anyone was distressed. Nobody really shows signs of depression.
Especially for someone like me. Who'd have thought that I had just flirted with
death just moments ago?
And this is when... a listening ear. Just one, any
one, needs to come by.
My dear friend Su Xin. She was there for me. To
hear all my pain, sorrow, and troubles. What would I be without friends?
I poured out my heart to her. I told her
honestly what had actually happened to me earlier. That I was crying in the
bus. That I wasn't happy. But I appeared as if I was after that. The contents
in the bowl was tipped and everything spilled out. It was on the table, for all
to see.
We discussed.
And we came to one reasoning. Indeed, "An
idle mind is the devil's workshop". I needed to get a job. To keep my mind
occupied. To prevent myself from thinking negative thoughts.
But that wasn't going to solve it, was it?
Su Xin listened, she empathised and she offered
words of comfort. For someone like me, that was all I needed. To know that a
friend knows what's going on in my head. And she's positive as hell, so she was
able to get me thinking positive again. That... there is still hope in this
world. That whatever I'm doing right now, the little things, help. Not all is
lost. It is a phase that I have to go through. That whatever pain, whatever
suffering is necessary.
Above all, that there is indeed, a reason to
live. I only needed to figure out how and find that purpose once more.
I released what was in my mind the moment I had
it. But what about those who don't? Those who suffer from their thoughts day in
day out. Who don't have any one to talk to? Who feel an insufferable void in
their hearts? What about them?
This was when I realised how difficult it is to
identify a person with mental illness. It is so easy to conceal it. So freakin
easy. And also so difficult to treat. Because a person may not know whom to go
to or whether it should even be treated in the first place. It's cumulative. It
can become so dark towards the end... Like there's no other way out than death.
When it becomes the only option.
I think that's why men can get hit the most.
Because they have no one to go to to talk about their mental illness. They
can't be vulnerable. They can't afford to. Literally as well. The moment you
declare that you're mentally ill, you lose a job? Maybe lose your family? The
stakes are high. You could lose everything.
All those suffering from it... I feel you. But
every one is unique, whatever you feel, I may not fully understand. But I want you to see that there's hope. Somewhere, any where. A glimmer of it will do for now.
And that you are not alone. You are never alone.
If you ask me, I dunno how I got into that state
of mind. But it sure has taught me what a person with depression can go
through. What it means to lose hope. How life can seem so meaningless. When.... life is simply, nothing.
Right now... I choose to get over this phase.
That there is still hope. A light at the end of the tunnel. I just need to find
it and once I do, I'll find that meaning once more. That I can bring hope to
this world and not all is lost. Perhaps I am too idealistic. Too ambitious. The
little things should count. I try to count them, but I still have that want and
need to bring joy to more people. This world needs it. We all need it.
I am almost glad that I went through this
episode. Life will look up, it will look better. And hope is always round the
corner. Always peeking, never goes away.