2am.
I was lying on my bed alone with my thoughts, contemplating life and thinking about what the point of living even is.
There were often nights like this, where I would touch the window grilles in my room as I contemplate ending my life. I’ve also considered many other ways to take my own life, but on that particular night, the urge I had to really end it once and for all was beyond what I have ever felt.
This time, the compulsion to jump was stronger than ever. I sat up from my bed, which is right beside the window, and looked out. I could have easily stood up, opened the grilles, and jumped out.
I just wanted to end it so that I don’t have to be in pain anymore. And as I looked down, I could imagine seeing my body six storeys down, sprawled across the ground with my head smashed open.
I fought really hard to hold myself back from jumping out the window that night. For what felt like an eternity, I sat there, and if not for that faint inner voice that told me ‘maybe things will get better’, I would have been gone that night.
This happened more than two years ago, but I still remember it so clearly.
It was a very stressful period of my life as I was juggling a lot of responsibilities in school and at my polytechnic dance club, where we were gearing up for an upcoming concert.
Right around that time, I had also just broken up with my ex. My friendship with the two other people I was closest to had started to go sour as well. Everything began to fall apart, because these were three people who made up my only support systems ever since I fell out with my family when I came out to them.
Losing these support systems made me wonder: Is there really anyone there for me? It was the catalyst that drove me to turn to suicide, since it didn’t seem like anyone was going to care.
The pain of rejection and of not being understood by anyone barely scraps the top of the turmoil of emotion which I’ve tried to suppress for a long time, and it is suffocating.
In retrospect, it was also the culmination of all the emotional baggage that I have carried with me ever since my secondary school years.
Even back then, I remember being (on hindsight) a little dramatic as I texted my goodbyes to some friends in a group chat. I was still too young to have the guts to actually do anything, but I cried for a long time after that.
I remember two friends who empathised and asked if I needed help. Then, there were others in the group who started saying things like:
‘what the hell is wrong with you?’ and, ‘if you want to behave like this we should stop being friends’.
I remember trying to seek comfort from my parents, only for them to repeatedly tell me to stop crying. Their intentions meant well, but they just didn’t know how to deal with emotions. They didn’t understand the extent of why I was crying. They probably thought that I was just sad, and they swept that night right under the bus.
And I don't blame them for responding so passively, because that is just the way they, and a lot of us were brought up: We don't know how to talk about emotions.
It was a very dark period and every time I thought ‘wow, can things get any worse?’, things got worse. In that moment, it felt like there’s just no point to life. It also felt like whatever anyone said, nothing really got through to me.
Fortunately, I didn't jump that night.
I held on to that small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will be better.
In my mind, I kept trying to imagine better days. I thought about moments where I felt free and liberated, and I just tried to hold on to that. I tried to envision what could be in 10-20 years: The dream of being in my house with my partner, happy.
Those were both hopeful and depressing thoughts because of how bleak reality seemed at that point. But it helped me rationalise that maybe this is just a Low. Maybe life is just that way.
It’s a bad day, but it’s not a bad life.
This comes from Kimmy Schmidt: Take it 10 seconds at a time. If you can get through 10s, then you can get through another 10s and the next 10s, and the next.
Don’t let anyone put a label on how much pain you are feeling. Sometimes people will say things that undermine the pain you are feeling but know that whatever you are feeling is valid.
As much as it hurts, always hold on to the silver lining and always know that they are people around you who love you. I’ve come to realise this from a video that has saved my life.
It took me awhile to figure this out, but everything happens for a reason.
Good times will come again. It’s very hard to see it and I completely understand, but take it slow. And don’t be afraid to talk about it. Don’t be afraid to find professional help.
This story is written by Millennials of Singapore, as told to us by the featured individual.
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In line with the Suicide Prevention Week, the Millennials of Singapore team would like to show our support to everyone out there who are fighting battles with mental health. Let us #HopeThroughTheNight as we fight against suicide.
If you are struggling, there are many resources available to help tide you through. Never be afraid to talk about your struggles, and if you ever need someone to share your troubles with at any point of time, you can always reach out to @samaritansofsingapore or call 1800-221-4444 for emotional or crisis-support. There are people available there for you 24/7.
(Header Image Credit: Entrepreneur India)
I never knew it would hit me because I have never been the emotional type, but it did, and it has been a heck of a roller coaster ride.
Slightly more than a year ago, I gave birth to Kayla, and for the first three months after, I struggled with this constant ball of fear in my chest. I had no appetite for meals, I cried everyday, I lost weight, and my milk supply dipped so fast that I couldn’t breastfeed even if I wanted to.
As a first-time mother, I was overwhelmed by this new lifestyle that no amount of preparation could truly prepare me for.
Initially, we didn’t plan for Kayla to happen, as my husband and I were only married for six months at that point. And to be very honest, I felt fear the moment I knew I was pregnant. I knew motherhood was not going to be a walk in the park because of the stories I have heard from fellow moms. I was terrified of what's ahead.
Unlike in school where there are lessons and ten year series to walk you through each subject, there is no ‘manual’ for motherhood. Everyone's experience is different and the only way to know what motherhood really is, is when you become a mother yourself.
Nonetheless, I prepared myself for motherhood in the possible ways I could: by making sure we had all the physical stuff ready. Things like the baby’s room, the milk bottles, and the medications. It was an assurance that at least, whatever we need will be available at our disposal when Kayla is born.
The first 28 days was a whirl, but at least I had a confinement nanny around. I was still recovering from the natural birth process and my stitches still hurt. I wasn’t very mobile. As I was breastfeeding, I couldn't get more than four hours of sleep each time. It was really tiring.
Deep down, it started to dawn on me how scary it was that I am now responsible for this little human being. However, I also wanted to give her the best I can, and I tried my best to learn as much as I could from my confinement nanny before she left. And when she left after the first month, I started to lose control.
I lived in constant fear and anxiety.
I'm a self-professed worrier. I think a lot and cannot help but imagine the worst scenarios that can happen. This made me feel anxious all the time.
As a first-time mother, you find yourself forming an idea of motherhood based on what you read on the internet and from other mommies. For me, what I read and hear became a set of expectations for myself. I started to follow these set of 'rules' religiously, and even if the most little of things go out of place, it'll mess me up.
For example, I would expect Kayla to take this number of naps a day, or to finish drinking this amount of milk, and I would get really worried when those 'quotas' are not hit. The pressure of living up to these expectations I placed on myself and the stress of feeling inadequate consumed me over time.
I didn’t know how to handle a child. I felt so lost and lonely. Motherhood was something so new to me and I was just so afraid that I wasn’t doing things right or wasn’t giving my best to my child. I wasn't even in the right state of mind. I was just this person following a schedule: always on stand-by to supply Kayla her next milk feed, change her diaper, burp her, and bathe her.
As a chirpy and outgoing person by nature, I knew something wasn’t right as I was crying every day. I lost all appetite for meals. Waking up every morning became a dreaded affair because I will be filled with anxiety the moment I opened my eyes, and that awful feeling would intensify through the day.
It was so mentally draining.
I struggled with the thoughts of how it was possible for me to have depression. I was ashamed. A part of me felt like I had no right to feel this way since I had been looking forward to being a mother for the past 10 months. How could I be depressed now?
Fortunately, I saw what I was becoming, and I knew that this was not the kind of lifestyle I wish to continue with. It was so painful and stifling to be on the edge of a breakdown every single day.
I wanted the old Meiting back and with that realisation, I decided to open up. I sought help from my mom, whom gave me the chance to have a few hours off per week. I spoke to my husband as well, and I implored him to bring me to a doctor if I were to continue to cry for another week, as I knew I would need professional help.
When I did open up, things started to look better.
In reality, when it comes to handling babies, things rarely goes according to plan.
My mother and husband played a big part in my recovery and it is their support that helped me come out of postnatal depression after two months. The subsequent six to eight months still saw me having moments of anxiety attacks, but it was manageable as I had learnt to talk about my depressive thoughts. And my family and friends became my wake up call.
My husband always tells me to let go and to just follow our daughter's cues. It is reminders like this that remind me of the pressure I had unwittingly placed on myself, and how I need to take it easy.
It’s now my second year as a mother. Looking back at myself as a mother back then, I’m grateful for whatever I had gone through.
I'm grateful for my child, Kayla. We did not plan for her to happen. But she is now, to me, the greatest gift from God. Kayla has completely changed my perspective as a person, and I have grown and learnt so much from being a mother.
This Mother’s Day, I'm also super thankful for my mom.
Without her, I will not be able to go back to work with a peace of mind. Without her, I don’t know how I would have been able to deal with my postnatal depression. Her unwavering love and support for Kayla and me have left a mark on me, and has shown me once again, what unconditional love is. And now that I've experienced it myself, I know how fortunate I am to be blessed with the role of a mother.
No mothers talk about it, but postnatal depression is very real. It is common and 80% of my mommy friends have experienced it, be it in a mild or very serious form. Because nobody really talks about it, you will feel like postnatal depression isn’t ‘normal’ or ‘right’. I know this because those were emotions that I grappled with.
It sucked the life and joy out of me. It affected my husband and made him feel distanced from his once loving wife. It is important to acknowledge that these feelings of fear, doubt, anxiety, and sadness are very real, for this will help you get better.
The start of motherhood will seem scary and lonely, but it will get better. There will be bad days but the storm will pass and you will be fine.
Cherish the good times and learn from the rough ones. You’ll make it through eventually. There's nothing more rewarding and fulfilling than being a Mother. You'll love it. Maybe not now, but you will. We are made for this.
This story is written by Millennials of Singapore, as told to us by Lian Meiting.
Also read: These 14 Heartwarming Stories Show That A Mother's Love Is Like No Other.
(All images used in header image taken from Lian Meiting)
They say that you are a reflection of the company you keep. For Asher, who had his brush with being “a little bit delinquent” in his secondary school days, this couldn’t be more true.
“You know lah, like most boys, I had those days where I was a ‘wannabe <a href=" (gangster)’,” Asher jested. Having a best friend with “a very beng perspective” and whose friends and family were all equally ‘beng’ rubbed off of him. He was on the path towards a similar lifestyle at that point. Those were the days where he would get into a lot of fights, just because.
Growing up in a single-parent household, things weren’t as simple back at home either. Due to conflicts he had with his mother, the animosity between them grew. Things escalated to the point where he decided to leave home. He lived with a friend, taking on multiple part-time jobs to cover his own school fees and personal expenses.
He was just a young polytechnic student at that point.
Then, he started to struggle with body dysmorphia: “I felt like I was ugly and that I was never good enough.” This feeling of inadequacy stuck with him well into his 20s and over time, developed into full-blown depression.
The turbulent emotions from dealing with the transitions in his life, coupled with the complications he faced with a dysfunctional family, led Asher down the path of self-harm. He had even attempted to take his own life as a way out.
“I was actually really good at hiding it—my depression. The ones closest to me know, but it still came as a shock when they know that I hurt myself, especially for my mentors.”
It didn’t help that socially, it was also “not cool to have mental health problems, and not cool to get panic attacks.”
Fortunately, Asher’s personal anchor with his religion helped him out of such a lifestyle that he was on track for: “what really did save me was when I saw how my friends were taking drugs and all, and I saw the kind of lifestyle they were falling into.”
In church, he was given opportunities to work with youth-in-need, which opened up his eyes to social work.
“I was also blessed with mentors, friends, and a community that cared and believed in me. Today I want to give the struggling youths out there the same opportunities that were created for me.”
With that motivation, Asher’s work with youths later culminated in Limitless—a Voluntary Welfare Organisation (VWO) he started.
“Imagine where will you be if all your boundaries are taken away. What can you achieve?”
Asher pitched, when I asked about how Limitless came about.
Together with his partner and a couple of like-minded friends, the initial concept of Project Imagine went through several changes before Limitless came to be today.
“We founded with the main mission of empowering youths, regardless of background, circumstances, or history, to fulfill their potential.”
Three years on today, the team has grown to include 40 volunteers with about 15 to 20 of them supporting Limitless with administration work, design, social media, web platforms, therapy and counselling work, and events.
Mental health is increasingly emphasised and not only do we hear of more people suffering from mental health disorders today, there are also increasingly younger Singaporeans seeking help for mental health issues.
Having gone through a difficult rite of passage himself, Asher explained that a lot of youths struggle with mental health issues because of the changes they face in their transition years: “It is where they are [susceptible to feeling lost and confused.]”
This is where Limitless steps in with various therapy work, befriending and counselling services, and a support helpline to provide a sort of ‘safe haven’ for youths to share their troubles. For youths who are born with disadvantaged circumstances especially, giving them that little boost goes a long way in empowering them to step out of their comfort zone and to fulfill their full potential.
“Say a youth who can’t focus in school because he has bipolar disorder and struggles with thoughts of killing himself. Or the youth who comes from a poor family and when she went to primary one, everyone else could do math already but she can’t because they went to preschool and she didn’t, and that caused her to be behind everyone else all the way into secondary school. So, we see our work as that of bridging that gap.”
Social programmes like dance, music and sport programmes are also avenues Limitless provides to facilitate their aim for the youths they serve.
With increasing focus on outreach and education on mental health, Limitless has also partnered with a network of organisations and companies to provide opportunities like subsidised tuition, internship, or even work for young adults.
Although, running a VWO (charity) in Singapore is in itself the greatest challenge.
“To be honest for the first couple of years, the directors, including myself, were the primary [people funding the organisation]. Meaning I didn’t take a salary, and instead gave to the organisation whenever it was in the red. But it’s gotten better as more people hear about the work that we do.”
Today some of the funds that support their work include the Tote Board Shared Gifting Circle for Children and Youth Mental Health, the National Youth Fund, and private family led funds such as the Zen Dylan Koh Fund—which has been covered in a heartbreaking feature by Straits Times earlier this year.
For Asher, who finds privilege in being able to be surrounded by people in the ‘helping professions’, like counsellors, running Limitless is for himself as much as it is for the youths he champions for.
“When I meet young people who grew up with similar struggles to myself. Those who come from single parent or broken homes, and those who struggle with depression or come in telling me they hate themselves. I see myself in them.”
Although, working in such a social and service oriented industry still takes its toll on him. As someone who relates on a personal level with the many struggles his clients and youths go through, he has to keep steadfast to his vision. This, on top of having to sacrifice family time for work, and having to deal with problems of his own—his position makes it that much harder for him to share his problems freely.
However, he strongly believes that every youth have their own calling in life, regardless of circumstances, and all they need is the opportunity.
“These callings and destinies may right now be in the form of a dream, an aspiration, a strength, a passion, or quoting Marie Kondo: something that sparks joy in their life. I don’t want them to lose the opportunity to live out that potential.”
With a vision to continue advocating the concept of potential in youths, Asher hopes to train people to be able to stand through their struggles, and to be that friend to help others around call out the good in their life.
“If the youths get that support, a mentor, or opportunities in the most mouldable stage of their lives, I believe amazing things can happen. Because it happened for me.”
Also read: Paying It Forward: Why Volunteering During Chinese New Year Was More Valuable Than Any Angbao.
(All images used in header provided by Asher Low)
“Can you dabao McDonald’s home for your dad?”
I felt my palms get sweaty and my heart beat faster as I read the text from my mum on the way home from school one day. Should I think of an excuse to not do so? Maybe tell her I don’t have enough money to buy dinner for my dad?
Surely ordering a McDonald’s meal over the cashier wasn’t that difficult. And yet, the thought of having to talk to a stranger left me in a cold sweat. What if I messed up the order? What would the cashier think of me? I hated how these thoughts would consume me at every step of the way. Why couldn’t I be like the other kids? All I wanted was to be normal.
Whenever my friends ask me, “Why you don’t wanna join us? Don’t be so anti-social leh,” I wish I could’ve told them that it’s not that I didn’t want to hang out with them, I was just afraid that they wouldn’t like me.
Or when my secondary school teacher gave me feedback that went something like, “You’re too shy in class and should open up and take part in class discussions more,” I wish I could’ve told her that it’s not that I didn’t want to participate more in class, I was just afraid of the humiliation from answering questions wrongly. Would I become a laughing stock? And if I get it right, would they think that I’m just showing off?
In school, I pretty much kept to myself most of the time and I didn’t have a lot of friends.. To an outsider, I was shy and introverted. I guess I came across as antisocial at times.
Because everyone kept calling me shy, I believed that that’s all that it was. But no matter how much I tried to break out from my “shyness”, I couldn’t.
One day, my friend noticed that I would get panic attacks before class presentations. My heart would race faster and cause a lump in my throat that made it difficult to breathe. She encouraged me to talk to the school counselor.
My school counselor was the first person to tell me that I may have social anxiety disorder. She referred me to a psychiatrist, who diagnosed me with it.
I was finally able to rationalise everything I had been feeling for the better part of my life. However, I also came to realise that it is much easier to let people think that I was just ‘shy’, because when you start telling someone that you have a mental condition, chances are you’d have to start explaining why you feel certain things—how do I explain feelings that I don’t even want to have myself?
Admitting that I had social anxiety to other people was the most difficult part of coming to terms with my mental health. The first time I told someone about my social anxiety, they said: “Huh isn’t that just social awkwardness? I also have!”
I couldn’t blame them for reacting that way but hearing that from friends was still pretty hurtful. It made me feel that what I felt or thought didn’t matter. Them brushing me off made me even more resistant to tell anyone else about it.
Even today, my parents are unaware of my social anxiety. Growing up, I’ve felt the disdain my parents’ have towards mental issues through the passing remarks they make about mental health patients being “attention-seeking” and “weak”.
Because of this, I hid the fact that I had social anxiety to myself. And for the most part of my teenage years, social anxiety controlled my life because I didn’t dare to speak to anyone about it.
Social anxiety is not being able to answer questions in class because I was scared of what my classmates would think of me.
Social anxiety is having my heart race 10 times faster when I hear the telephone ring, and then having to rehearse exactly what to say before answering it.
Social anxiety is the constant fear of having my friends talk about me behind my back, because in my mind, I'd keep thinking that they don’t actually like me.
Social anxiety is listening more than talking in group discussions because I’ve convinced myself that my opinions don’t matter, and that I will just be looked down upon.
It decided what I did and didn’t do, and this constant self-doubt and fear got so bad that it created limitations that hindered my everyday life. No matter how illogical the thoughts I had were, I would constantly find reasons to avoid situations that could trigger my social anxiety in the slightest way.
Back when I was on an internship, I called in sick on the day that I was supposed to head for a meeting at another office. The thought of facing the unfamiliar and embarrassing myself in front of my boss and associates scared me. It wasn’t just the nerves either. I genuinely feared the consequences of failure. In my mind, this just kept replaying: “If I mess this up, my boss would hate me and my entire six months of internship would become a nightmare.”
Slowly, I realised that I was letting my social anxiety influence my day-to-day decisions. I had let it consume my life in a lot of subtle ways and there was a point I thought I would never be able to overcome my social anxiety.
For years I ignored having to deal with it. I stupidly thought that ignoring it would somehow make the problem go away. But I realised that it was impossible to avoid situations that could trigger my social anxiety forever. After all, I’d have to meet people everyday, be it at work, in school or in public, I would always be surrounded by people. And with that, I would always be scared of what the people around me were thinking of me.
When I joined the workforce at 23, I found that the people around me were a lot more open-minded and accepting, contrary to the people I’ve met in school or at home. That made me comfortable in opening up about my social anxiety.
For the most part, having social anxiety means putting up an act everyday, because it’s difficult for someone else to recognise this disorder, or differentiate it from merely being shy. But finally being able to openly talk about it and realising that there are other people out there who can relate to my struggles made me feel less alone.
I would be lying if I said that I don’t get sweaty palms anymore when I get an unexpected phone call or if I have to share my thoughts to a group of people. And I still often struggle with the habitual thoughts that my friends or colleagues are speaking ill of me whenever I hear them whispering near me.
Social anxiety is probably something that I will never ‘get rid of’ completely, it’s every McDonald’s order, every first conversation, every phone call to a stranger, that has helped me get better over the years.
I’ve come to accept that my social anxiety will always be a part of me and that I should grow with it, instead of against it.
Also read: 8 Singapore Shared Snapshots Of What Depression Was Like For Them
(Header Image Credit: Budagchin Erka)
Violence was prevalent in my family ever since I was 10 years old. My parents struggled with finances and my dad turned to alcoholism. The mounting stress and tension caused my parents to fight a lot and they started taking out their anger on us. They would often punish me over the smallest things, emotionally and physically abusing me (hitting me).
And when my parents fight or have physical outbursts, I’d tell my sisters to hide in the room while I put myself out there to bear the brunt of my parents’ anger. Somehow, it felt like the right thing to do for my siblings as the eldest. I also felt like it was my duty to be the middleman in helping my parents resolve their disputes—a responsibility I carried on my shoulders as the first child. I even took on three part-time jobs while in poly so that I could help with the finances.
There was a lot of emotional void and I was constantly trying to do things to please them or make them happy, so that I would get more love from them. I grew to have a people-pleasing attitude because of that.
Those traumatic experiences took its toll on me and I started to have depression and anxiety.
Then, I had my first mental breakdown at 20.
For eight months, I locked myself in my room and tried multiple ways to kill myself. I was in so much pain internally that I felt like I really could not take it anymore. I felt like there was no other way out of the plight I was in. Everyday was just a constant fight to stay sane amidst the fights, emotional abuse, and physical beatings.
The details are all fuzzy now, but I remember trying to cut myself, hang myself, and overdosing. Fortunately, I didn’t know enough to properly take my life back then, and when the suicide attempts didn’t work, I continued cutting myself instead—to feel the pain. I could not process all those pent-up frustration, anger, and sadness I had, and in order to let out the pain that I felt inside, I felt like I had to feel pain on the outside.
At that point, I had already been going to the doctor’s and had been taking medications for depression and anxiety. However, my parents weren’t convinced that I was struggling with mental issues.
My mom kept my medication and refused to give it to me. To my parents, it was their way of preventing me from overdosing, but even when I needed it, they wouldn’t give it to me—even when I had a full-fledged panic attack, my dad simply stood there and said:
“Don’t be a drama queen.”
As far as my parents were concerned, I needed to snap out of it.
Fast forward to 2014 when I was 25, I had my first major dissociative episode.
I had been feeling really stressed out from juggling a few jobs, and had to complete some work at home over this one weekend, when I already had another part-time job that weekend. I made plans to finish that piece of work on Sunday night instead, only to return home on that fateful night to see my dad and a relative drunk and passed out on the couch. The house stank so badly from alcohol and the pools of vomit all across the living room, and my mom was nowhere to be seen. That was the last straw and was what triggered my first dissociative episode.
I lost my memory and began acting like a child for three months.
I didn’t even have a memory of what happened or how I was behaving, and it was through the people around me that I learnt of it.
It is very scary to know that for three months, you were being taken over by this other personality. I didn't know what was going on and it was very unsettling and stressful to know that I dissociated.
Although, it also gave me a sense of comfort in knowing that there was more to what I’ve been feeling than depression and anxiety. After multiple visits to hospitals and various psychiatrists, I started getting treatments that effectively helped me revert to normal adult behaviour. However, the memory that I lost was still gone.
It was a year later when I got diagnosed with DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder), or ‘split personality’ to most people.
I was doing my Master’s in the United States back then, and it was at a psychiatric ward there that I was also diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalised anxiety disorder, borderline personality disorder, and post-traumatic stress disorder—all of these with triggers that are rooted to traumas that go way back into my childhood.
When all you know about DID is from how awful and terrible it is portrayed in movies and media (like in Split), it makes you fear having DID yourself. I didn’t like any of my personalities when I was first diagnosed, and the denial lasted a while before I accepted my disorders. But DID is far from what is shown in the media.
Having DID feels like having 28 persons living inside me—which is the number of personalities I currently have.
I don’t have any recollection of what happens when one personality takes over. Sometimes, I dissociate within a snap of a finger when the trigger is very strong, like when someone approaches me from behind, at the stench of alcohol, or even men, because of the sexual abuse I’ve been through (I was naive and a people-pleaser). These triggers come from my history—traumatic experiences I’ve had since young.
My past has also made me very sensitive to stress, and I don’t have the capability to handle any change in behaviour from people around me. It’s made it almost impossible for me to get a full-time job. However, I’m also fortunate to be able to make a living from freelance marketing jobs.
But the scariest part of all is not so much of the disorders itself or having to face the people around me. The scariest part is not knowing when I will be suicidal and when I will act on those suicidal thoughts.
With the help of various treatments in the US and in IMH, medications, and focus groups, I have come to understand the significance of my personalities.
There are personalities that take over when there are triggers that make me angry. For example, Angie comes out when I’m really, really angry and when she’s in control, it makes me become uncontrollable, physically violent, and extremely strong. There was an event that happened in the US where three men with big build couldn’t hold me down when Angie took over, and I had to be physically restrained when they took me to the hospital.
Then, there’s Viyolante, who thinks of violence, gruesome and graphic acts, and is very specific about who and how she’s going to be violent towards or hurt, but she will never do anything violent.
On the other hand, there are a lot milder ones like Baby Gayu and Wava, who are childlike personalities, and a motherly figure, Moonlight, who takes care of everyone. There’s also a rescuer personality, Ressie, and a ‘non-living’ personality called Memory (or Mem), which is sort of like a treasure chest that holds all my lost memories.
I’ve learnt a lot more about my conditions, how to process my emotions, and to logically process the traumatic memories I have instead of dissociating upon triggers.
In the process of recovery, I’ve also had to make the extremely hard decision of cutting my family and husband out of my life, which I did five months ago. I realised that there was no way I could properly recover if I still had to face those triggers when I return home to my family every day.
There are many times I feel guilty for leaving home and leaving them, as I feel like I’ve betrayed and ‘abandoned’ them. I’ve always felt responsible to ‘fix what’s broken’ in my family, and I still feel this way. However, I know that if I don’t focus on my recovery right now, there is no way I will be stable enough to face them, much less solve any problems.
I have a dream to be named one of the most influential women in the world by 35, or doing a PHD in South Korea and then settling there. These are ambitious dreams, but are goals I set for myself to remind me that I have to keep going as there are still things I want to achieve in my life.
But of course, living with mental disorders can be so overpowering that despite having all these goals and aspirations, I still feel empty and battle with suicidal thoughts and aimlessness. It’s a constant and daily fight and I still wake up feeling depressed and suicidal on most days.
However, the process of working my way through it, of recovery itself and believing that someday, I will be able to live a normal life, keeps me going—because I don't know what normal is, I never had a normal life.
These feelings come and go, and it’s always a reminder for me to take it one step at a time.
This story is written by Millennials of Singapore as told to us by Gaya.
Also read: “I Kept Hearing Voices Of People Criticising Me, And I Could No Longer Tell What Was Real”.
(Header Image Credit: Shirley J. Davis)
Her home had become a place of solace for her, a fortress she can’t bear to leave.Likewise, this is the case for the many hikikomori in Singapore, who have taken to forums to pour the feelings that they have hidden away from their friends and family.
“Maybe we were too sheltered. Maybe we were too spoiled and everything comes to us easy and without any barriers. Back then, I felt that no matter how useless I was, I would still be able to live comfortably, or still be able to live somehow.”An avid fan of Disney’s classics, Josh had a grandiose dream of being a 2D Animator for Disney. When news broke that Disney closed down their 2D animation company, his hopes and dreams were dashed. Dejected, he let himself waste away, passing the days by gaming and watching anime at home.
In fact, most, if not all, hikikomori hate the plight that they put themselves in, and they are ashamed of it.“When I was hikikomori, I lost all desire for wants. Normal things like going to movies or buying expensive new things don’t interest me anymore. I don’t know why I exist, to be honest. Sometimes I can feel my parents’ disappointment in me and I don’t feel good too,” shares Andrea. They have confined themselves to their homes, but most hikikomori actually want to return to society. However, the fear and anxiety of how society may react to them. Even if they manage to take the first step out of their homes, they are plagued by this constant fear that they are being judged by those around them, afraid that the world wouldn’t come to accept them because of their past. Maika Elan, a Photographer exploring the topic of hikikomori, shared on National Geographic that “Over time, hikikomori lose whatever self-esteem and confidence they had, and the prospect of leaving home becomes ever more terrifying. Locking themselves in their room makes them feel ‘safe’.” Similarly, Andrea admitted that the very paranoia of being judged for being a hikikomori is the toughest obstacle she had to overcome. She would often slip back into isolation because of it. Thanks to volunteer work at a church, Andrea was able to break out of the hikikomori syndrome. She eventually managed to land herself a job through one of the other volunteers. As for Josh, he stumbled upon the animes Re:Zero and Konosuba, which shifted his perspective on life. Both shows feature male protagonists who were hikikomori and Josh was able to relate to them strongly. “In Re:Zero, it tells us that no matter where you are, nothing’s going to change if you don’t put in any effort to take charge and improve yourself.” Witnessing his friends’ success also pushed him to eventually change his lifestyle.
“What gives them the drive to keep doing what they do? Why are they set on improving themselves and going out there to find jobs and socialise, and to be proactive with their lives?”These were the questions that Josh posed to himself, and subsequently embarked on a quest to uncover. “Sometimes it’s hard, but you just have to remember that there are other people out there who are struggling and still trying their best as well.” Today, he works as a Digital Designer, which is not too far off from his initial dream. Although, there are others who struggle to break out. “It all started after he finished his degree overseas and came back. He didn’t find work and just stayed at home gaming and surfing the net. We’d ask him to come out for coffee or meals but he’d always turn us down.” Tim*, a male in his 30s, shares with me about his friend who has been a hikikomori for over 10 years. “I’ve a feeling that the shame of being long unemployed while everyone else is working just drives him to become a hikikomori. I guess his parents still buy him food or give him spending money so he doesn’t need to force himself to get a job.”
“There’s only so much that others can help you with. Only you can change yourself. Even if it’s for your parents or yourself, I hope you will find it in you to want to get better.”“We all are living for a reason. We need to reflect on that more often, to put our lives into perspective. Once things are in perspective, it will all make sense in the end.” “After all, life exists and thrives beyond these four walls, but it’s up to us whether or not we want to open the door to live.” *Names have been changed to protect the identity of the individuals. Also read: It’s The 21st Century, Why Do We Still Treat Maids Like Slaves? (Header Image Credit: Unsplash)
Depression has no face. There are no red flags, no clues, and no measurements to identify someone with depression because each person suffers from and deals with depression differently as well. To understand more about what people with depression actually go through, we reached out to 8 Singaporeans who have fought (or are still fighting) the illness. Here are photos that will give you insights into their lives when they had depression. *Names have been changed for privacy reasons.This is what depression looked like to us just 36 hrs b4 his death. He loved us SO much & we loved him. #fuckdepression #MakeChesterProud pic.twitter.com/VW44eOER4k
— Talinda Bennington (@TalindaB) September 16, 2017
Image Credit: Nawira
“When we're depressed, we often forget the good things about ourselves. We think we're useless, weak, hopeless, and ugly. That's Depression speaking. And Depression lies. I keep this 'Jar of Goodness', which is filled with positive quotes to remind myself that Depression is wrong. I keep it to remind myself of the truth, the good people see in me, and the good I see in myself."
– Nawira
“Depression has gotten the better of me more often than not. It comes gradually but also suddenly. I got these tattoos as they are of the dreams I have and the things I love. It's also a reminder that all things, good or bad, are temporary.”
– Marc
I could hear two voices when there was only one person talking to me.Despite all these, I continued with school and extra-curricular activities thinking it would eventually go away with enough rest, but that did not happen. Things got worse and at one point, I would even be hearing two voices when there was only one person talking to me. I eventually told my parents about it and we went to the nearest polyclinic for treatment.
How was I supposed to keep up with everything when I was struggling so hard to even be alive?Soon after, the doctor diagnosed me with depression. The fight against depression was long and difficult. It was especially tough when I had to go back to school. I hadn’t attended class for more than a month, my attendance was slipping, and I was often faulted for not contributing to group projects because I couldn’t turn up. How was I to keep up when I was struggling so hard to even be alive?
They were the reasons I held on a little longer each week.My spirituality and relationship with God were what kept me going. I stopped feeling suicidal after having my own revelation that regardless of how tough life is, I’ll always cherish this life I have. My family played an important role as well, for supporting me in every decision I made and ensuring that I was taking the steps I needed to get me through every day. I was also in this mental health community called the Early Psychosis Intervention Programme (EPIP), where a caseworker will check on me frequently to ensure that I was doing fine. Being in Club EPIP allowed me to hone and strengthen my cognitive abilities which had deteriorated over time. It opened my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in battling my inner demons. The Peer Support Specialists there inspired me to believe that recovery is possible.
Don't think that you aren't able to help someone suffering from a mental illness.Don’t compare mental illnesses because every symptom experienced by someone with a mental illness is very real. And if you think that you are not able to help someone with psychosis, depression, or any mental illness, know that this isn’t true. Your very presence in times of difficulty and distress means a lot to the person. A genuine “how are you feeling?” and listening to them sharing their deepest thoughts is perhaps all they need. Why should we treat mental illness as a taboo when mental illness is as important as our physical health? With World Mental Health Day round the corner, join us at the Voice Out concert at Singapore Botanic Gardens on Saturday, 7 October, to learn about mental illness and spread love. Also read, My Sexuality, My Right: “A Stranger Wanted Me To Apologise For My ‘Lesbian Appearance'”.
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