Here’s part 1: How clouds came by – 1
Warning: thoughts of suicide and ideation of suicide is mentioned within this post. These might be triggers for some readers. If suicide and suicidal thoughts are some things that you are uncomfortable with, or are triggers for you, kindly do not proceed. Thank you.
I went for one session of therapy. That’s something you should know. It’s a spoiler. But I did go for one session of therapy.
I probably needed therapy much earlier, though. This was at a time when I was a couple of months into work, I seemed to be drifting away from my friends, I got accepted into a postgraduate program which wasn’t my first choice, and my immediate family wouldn’t stop constantly bringing up my future.
Things were uncertain from every direction, and the only thing going for me at the point was work – and I had a lot of work to throw myself into. No weekends off, and the only days I’d take off is when I’d have no cases, or if I’d taken too many cases the previous day and physically couldn’t get out of bed. All I did was work, eat and sleep.
I’d let go of everything. All my hobbies were non existent at the point. I didn’t remember the last time I’d read a story book, or sung a song, or exercised. I still can’t remember the last time I wrote a work of fiction. I didn’t remember the last time I’d just relaxed with a good TV show, or binge watched an anime series. My life outside my work had come to a screeching halt, and I’d kept myself so busy that I hadn’t realised it.
I had my reasons for staying busy. I felt incompetent. I felt like a failure.
I had worked for years towards an end goal, and the days drawing close to the finale of this goal were few of the worst in terms of my mental health. Mentally, I was in shambles – I used to have anxiety attacks every day, and as D-day drew closer, I had anxiety attacks every two hours.
I started passively considering suicide – a random thought would pop up in my head, and I’d catch myself considering it, before banishing the thought. ‘What if I jumped off the balcony while out?’ ‘What if I slipped in the bathroom and broke my neck?’ These insidious thoughts would start off as casual passing-bys in my head, flitting into my mind once in a while, but the frequency increased over time.
The worst day was maybe around a week, 10 days before D-day – I still had so much that needed to be done, but I was mentally so far gone that I couldn’t get myself to get out of bed and do any work. I stayed under the sheets and binged on Treeman videos (highly recommended if you want to cry) on Youtube for 12 hours straight, without getting out of bed or turning on the lights in the room when it got dark.
There was so much anxiety in the whole process, that when it was finally time to prove myself, I fell short. When I finally got to see the fruits of my work, I was terribly disappointed. I didn’t get out of bed for two days – I just slept. I didn’t have to do anything to induce sleep – my mind just couldn’t handle being awake and remembering how badly I’d failed.
Along side this was having to deal with the sinking feeling that I was losing everyone close to me. I’d been so consumed by working towards one goal that I hadn’t had enough time for anyone else. And since no one in my friends group had the same goal as me, they had enough time for each other. I watched as everyone I used to be close to grew closer to each other, but I couldn’t do anything about it.
Maybe I could. Maybe I could have gone for those meet-ups, or maybe made that phone call. But I was busy doing something towards what I thought would better my career and my future. My priority was no longer to socialise, while their priorities never changed. I didn’t begrudge them, even as things got worse within my head.
I’d managed to isolate myself without realising it. I felt like I had no one to speak to, no one to rely on. I felt like if I did say something to someone, they wouldn’t give a crap, or it wouldn’t matter to them.
The passive suicidal thoughts became worse. I’d consider driving into oncoming traffic while going from visit to visit. Medically, I knew multiple ways of approaching death. The considerations became varied and more specific, and the frequency with which they started appearing in my head scared me.
They really scared me, because I knew I was mentally not in a good place. I was slipping, sliding down a slope I was all too familiar with. And I knew that if I continued to slide, I wouldn’t have enough mental strength to be able to stop myself from going ahead with what were just thoughts at the time.
I needed help. And, in time, I found help.
The last part will be coming out soon. Hope to see you there!