I agreed – after all, this vendor was a mother, and had years of experience dealing with relationships. back when I was fourteen and struggling with my emotions, a teacher had told me, "maybe it's just too much love" – as if I had to believe that what he had said was the truth.
I had confided in him how I didn't want to disappoint the people around me – especially my family members. I loved my parents so much that I pushed myself to meet to their expectations, and when I felt like I couldn't – it strained me. it affected my behaviour in school, and my classmates were constantly wondering why I would suddenly break down into tears.
little did I know, those moments of overwhelming emotions would lead to something much worse.
every single year, after reaching thirteen, I experienced a period of time where I would be utterly confused by the way I felt – and how I was processing my emotions. my parents thought I was going through a phase – an "identity crisis" – they labelled it.
I had a strong sense of self – and I knew who I was, but my emotional state got the better of me. slowly, I would withdraw, and distance myself from my friends, only to let rumours consume my thoughts. I'd fight them (i.e. those thoughts), telling myself that those words weren't true.
I thought that those phases I went through would be over once I matured.at fifteen, starting school in a new campus was exciting. I just re-read my old blogposts (now kept as drafts) that I wrote seven years ago. I remembered how I loved being surrounded by friends, and making new ones.
but there were certain moments that affected me. times when certain classmates stopped participating in their activities because I joined them, or when I heard more talk spread about me. it didn't help when one of the nosier classmates blatantly called out people who talked about me in my presence.
I grew quiet and distant again, refusing offers to hang out when my friends invited me to.
all I wanted to do was to get back to the shophouse I used to live in. to hide away, and keep my head down in all the projects and assignments we had to complete. our overseas immersion program trip happened, and I was delighted to know that I was going to be travelling to Yunnan, China.
when I asked why I was selected to go to that country (along with another muslim classmate) and not another country where most of my muslim classmates went, I got an answer that I loved.
"It's because you two are the more independent ones."
I loved the independence we got to have when we traveled. a lot of us bonded, and my assigned room mate is actually a course mate in my university today. talk about coincidence.
when I received the news of my maternal grandmother passing away, I completely broke down. I was re-assigned room mates, and a lot of my friends grew closer, and kinder towards me. my friend told me, "maybe that's why you have a high fever."
when we went up to the mountains, I stayed close to her.
I let the snow cool my heavy heart, and little joy that we shared throwing snowballs at each other fill my empty soul.
I found that I relied heavily on the strength of the people around me, because they loved me. even when we got back to singapore, and the closer friends found out what had happened – they were careful, and still giving, lending me their arms when I needed an embrace.
the year that I turned sixteen will always be year I remember. I grew mellow, but confused. despite everything that had happened so far, I was determined to stay strong. however, I was too swayed by certain people, and I let their presence affect me. I was overwhelmed by what people around me thought of me. I let myself go and I lost it.
looking back now at the events that had occurred six years ago, I realised how neglected I was when it came to me addressing my own emotional and mental health. people were telling me this and that, but I lost my own voice in the process. I fought my mind, telling myself to listen and follow the advice of the professionals I saw.
my love to succeed drove me to look past all the countless hospital appointments and consultations. every single pill I swallowed simply became a routine for me. I kept my head in my books, and pushed on. I let my studies define me, and I grew resilient. when people had demeaning conversations about mental health, I simply listened to their careless rants, letting their true nature unfold before me.
being sad is not a hobby.
I once said that I'd rather be depressed than to relapse into a state of mania. I've hurt people because I got too carried away with the happiness I found in the relationships I had. it strained the hearts of the people I loved, and that broke me.
there was a time when I didn't allow myself to feel happy.
because I was afraid of relapsing into a high which I hated.
having saved, and re-read conversations that I've had with the people that matter this year made me realise how important it is to love and forgive yourself.
there are bound to be aspects of yourself that you can love. characteristics and traits that make you loveable to the people who have chosen to stay by your side.
just before valentine's day this year, I made a decision to reconnect with a friend-turned-soul-brother. in the midst of our conversations, he asked me, "please tell me you've found somebody to spend your valentine's day with."
I told him that I did.
but what I didn't tell him, was that I spent that day with many hearts I loved so dearly. I fell back into friendship with people I treasured, and it is through those meaningful connections that I've learnt, time and again, how to fall back in love with myself.
"let's be real," a soul sister from my school told me earlier this year, "love from another person can't cure mental illness."
I agreed and replied, "you have to cure yourself."
"Choosing to be positive starts with you. You have to cure yourself. You can’t depend on any other person. It is really out of pure love for myself and pure forgiveness. To some people, it is easy to forgive themselves but for some, it’s hard. You have to learn how to let go in order to move on in life.
I’d tell myself, hey, I love you, and I forgive you because it is okay to make mistakes. Mistakes and failures are your best teachers. Your best teacher was your last mistake. Without them, no one can go anywhere. Success is defined by how well you pick yourself up after you fail.
When I compare my length of struggle to other people, their timeline is way longer and the severity of their condition is much worse, but look at us now. There was no need for me to worry at all. Everybody’s anxiety is different and tailored to their own life.
Before university, I thought was a nobody. A secure place to pursue my tertiary education was my complete and utter priority. That made my me fall back into severe depression, but the fact that I knew that I had this has made all the difference.
I knew that my anxiety was there to warn me. Relapsing is a part of recovering. Tears don’t mean that you are weak, no. Tears are proof that you are alive. We have been blessed with the ability to feel, so let yourself feel. Emotions are a beautiful aspect of life, and we need to embrace that, in order to appreciate all that is good in this world.
Medicine, to me, is just technology. The one who truly heals you is Allah. He made me suffer every anxiety attack, experience every relapse, gave me conditions to make me feel triggered: just to make me closer to Him.
I will never not be grateful for every single trial and hardship that has been sent my way. I have conditioned myself to be immune to every sort of abuse. They say that people with a broken past have the brightest future. This is true. “Let your past make you better, not bitter."
so, love. there's no such thing as too much of it. our lives are better because of it. I wrote in my earlier blogpost that I'd be writing posts about the conversations I've had surrounding love. this is one of them. for some reason, I can't compose a cohesive conclusion in this blogpost. perhaps I need a little more inspiration before I can do so.
already composing her next posts,
the girl who calls herself nurbzee online,
nurulhuda.
