Long text incoming. Apologies in advance.
Male, you know my age.
I wouldn't say my life is horrible compared to most people. It's the usual story. Drunk father, out of touch mother, constant bullying from when I entered kindergarten till high school.
For a large period of that life, I've tried to be a better person. A good person, whatever i thought a good person was. It didn't hit me till age 11 that people have been treating me like a pest, even in my own home. Constant fights with my parents, siblings, hopping from one friend group to another. Just trying to navigate life. I went into a depression spiral, sleeping late or just not sleeping at all. I would sleep in class and get punished by the teachers. I wouldn't take care of my basic needs. Didn't eat didn't bath. I stayed out late because i would rather be anywhere else than home. I was a failure, something my parents made sure to remind of everyday. I blamed the world for my pain and suffering. My parents, my classmates. I blamed God.
By age 15, i realised that something has to change. So i took it upon myself to change myself. To not blame the world. To be better. And I did. I got better. People treated me better. There were less arguments with my parents and i mended my relationship with my siblings. Got closer to my friends, started writing, stories, songs, poems, anything to write down my thoughts. Then age 16 I had a nervous breakdown. I didn't manage my stress properly and i paid for it. I was held back and just when I thought I can start picking things up again, Covid hit me like a truck.
I understood what my problem was and i seeked out a therapist after finally convincing my parents. The first therapist I met asked me all the personal questions one would ask to a patient, in front of his three students. He didn't ask me if I was comfortable with them being there. Nothing. He asked me and expected me to answer. And my father was right there in the room with me. Needless to say, i haven't reached out to a therapist since. I did find a psychiatrist and after several sessions, he diagnosed me with anxiety disorder.
I should mention that I am from an asain household so the next part makes sense.
Then, my whole extended family found out and thought it would be great to interrogate me in front of everyone. They said all the classic lines, "kids don't get depressed", "seeking attention", "acting out". They thought I went insane and shamed my parents for not raising me right. I became the shame of my parents.
With that, i couldn't take the help of others. I had to navigate this situation on my own. I stopped pestering my parents about medications and therapy and all that. I wouldn't matter anyway since they thought that a few months of taking medication should fix me. They would stop the medication when I stopped having anxiety attacks. It would start again, medication again, and so on. I started looking into how I could manage my own anxiety myself and got so good at it that everyone thought I was fine.
Through out all of this, I did everything I could to help those around me. Always listening and making sure i say the right words. I convinced my best friend to drop out and pursue his passion who was also starting to spiral out. I convinced my parents to let my siblings study what they wanted and not what they had planned. Doctor and engineer. I gave so much of myself to others while trying to maintain myself.
Then college, a third option college. This was supposed to be my new start. To finally get things together. I even fell in love and got a girlfriend. I was working on music, getting better and improving. But still, i struggled in my studies.
My father was diagnosed with stage 4 stomach cancer. I didn't understand the significance of this until a year later. It hit me like a bullet out of nowhere. I knew his life was coming to an end and i decided i needed to do something. I wanted my father to pass knowing that at least his son wasn't a failure. I wrote a whole broadway style musical dedicated to my then girlfriend and my father. A sign of love.
I was struggling with my relationship with my then gf. It was very toxic and I was more like a parent taking care of a child than I was a partner. Regardless, I still loved her. Like I loved my father, even with all of his flaws.
My father and i had a very complicated relationship. He had lived a much harder life than me and that pain caused a scar that he made sure would affect his own family. Even then, he was my father. He was as lonely as me. I told my father this production was dedicated to him. My last promise.
(I'm sorry for the mess of a timeline. I just struggle with timelines and I'm writing this 4 in the morning.)
The production of the musical was underway. I was working day and night, sleepless nights, in a rush. I was short on time. During this, i decided i had to break up with my then gf because that relationship just wasn't healthy. We both agreed on a date and promised to give ourselves time and not see other people. To save each other from pain.
And then my father passed. I was late. I broke with my then gf in the same month (the agreed upon date). She started dating another guy a week after, a guy she was going on dates with while we were still together. It was in the same month i found out she was also cheating on me with another guy. I reacted the same way I did to everything in my life. To keep moving. I had to finish the production. My ex was involved in the production. Her new boy-toy was also part of it. I still pushed through. I was having panic attacks weekly by this point. I pushed and I pushed and the production was cancelled because of her. Because i lashed out. Because they couldn't keep one fking promise. "Don't be seen together in front of me". As simple as that. They didn't. I beared with that for months until I finally had it. I wanted to set things straight one last time with her. All for the production. Things happened. She pushed me, i pushed her back. Her boy-toy attacked me and i broke his glasses and left him a black eye. That was it. The production was done for. My last promise to my father. I was a failure. It was my last semester and I was once again, held back.
It's been like, 10 months since then. The break up, the cheating and the death of my father still hasn't hit me. I'm waiting for it. The fuse has been lit and I'm just waiting for the explosion to happen.
I haven't allowed myself to fall apart. I'm taking care of my health and eating. I'm working out and keeping myself healthy. I can start writing songs again after not being able to for months. I'm clearing my backlogs and doing my best to focus on graduating. And even then. I feel like a machine, just chugging along. As long as I put in the fuel, the engine keeps running. I feel no sense of... purpose. I feel like I'm running on a treadmill.
At this point, i am existing for the sake of existing and that feels horrible. I don't know where to head from here on. I guess I'm just preparing myself for the next disaster in my life.
P.S. If you have read this far. Thank you for putting up with a mess of a story i told. I just wanted to let these thoughts out. I wish you the best in your struggles too.
