The best thing that happened to me was the worst thing
It’s December 31st 2017, and this past year was amazing…
It started with me hitting rock bottom. Feeling so empty and helpless. Screaming in my apartment that felt so cold and so lonely. Having been brought through the ringer.
My mom had fallen severely ill the summer before 2017 started. As per usual, I held strong. I was the support for others, but did not seek support for myself until I was broken down in the moment, beaten, overwhelmed and completely exhausted.
Don’t cry, I told myself. Be independent, I told myself.
It was in elementary that I had found the world would not look after me. Don’t cry, I told myself. Be independent, I told myself. By the time I was twelve, my resolve had hardened, my trust in others gone, my emotions muted, bottled up and pushed down. Thus in my young adulthood, I thought I never felt stress or anxiety. I knew those words, but they weren’t me. Oh, how I was wrong.
I had to come back in tune with things; to gain heightened self-awareness; to feel the stress, anxiety, guilt, and anger before they flooded out as depression, self-hate, remorse, and rage.
At my lowest points, in complete agony, I would call the crisis lines (also known as suicide hot lines). Some calls I could barely speak through my terrible sobbing. I couldn’t turn to anyone in my life, I thought, could not burden them and didn’t trust them to be there for me. Except for one person, or so I had thought…
There was one person whom I expected to be there for me, my significant other. I thought that they would understand and support me, and hold me while I cried. Instead they grew frustrated that they could not help me, they got mad at my inability to put things into words, they got used to my tears and stopped caring. And yet, I still depended on them as my sole source of emotional support.
Just before Christmas of 2016, my world came crumbling down. After barely making it through to the other side of my mother’s illness, my partner dumped me. My sole support abandoned me. I screamed out in pain. So much terrible pain. ALL the pain.
I could have easily drowned in my sorrow, in my guilt, in my grieving.
The pain would continue pouring out of me. Unstoppable. A wave, a flood, No, a tsunami of pain. That was the amount of water pouring out of my eyes. My mother’s illness, her mortality — it all triggered something. It broke the hatch that my feelings were locked under. Years and decades of pain gushed out. Unstoppable. I could have easily drowned in my sorrow, in my guilt, in my grieving.
Luckily I was thrown a life saver. In fact I was thrown many. The first one was complete happen stance.
It was late summer of 2016, into the 3rd month that my mother had been hospitalized. I had just left the hospital and was on my way home. This visit was a particularly hard one. See, my mother was affected by delirium. Oh, it’s nothing too bad, except for going temporarily insane, hallucinating, not being able to recognize people, losing memories, and not being able to tell the truth from the nightmares. My mother had attempted to escape the hospital the night before my visit. She didn’t understand that she was ill. Every time she asked when she’d be released, she was told soon, but months and months had past by. She was given medicine, and was convinced that they were the cause of her mental deterioration. She would hide her medication and pretend that she took it. It broke my heart that day to see her strapped down to the hospital bed. Her knitting needles were taken away incase she tried to use them as a weapon against the staff. During her attempted escape, she used physical force. A code white had been called and five security guards were needed to subdue her and strap her down. She was at a hyper state of fear and terrified now — her thoughts were confirmed; she was a prisoner being held captive.
I was completely distraught leaving that scene. Hyperventilating, I called the crisis line. I sat on the grass next to the side walk. Strangers passing by as I openly sobbed into the phone. Fortunately, one of those passing by was not a stranger but a friend from university. That was the first time I opened up to someone in my life. The first time I told someone in person that I was scared shitless, yet still trying to be everyone’s bed rock, and how the pressure may crush me into dust.
I knew that this was no way to live life. I couldn’t go on like this anymore. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t go on like this,” I told the crisis line, “I can’t live like this.” These are usually signs of suicidal intent, but instead my next words were, “I can’t keep depending on myself or one other person. I have to open up.” And that’s what I did, to anyone who knew me and would listen. I cold called people who I hadn’t seen in years, messaging them. I told them I’m going through a hard time and needed to talk, and asked them about me. Yes, I asked my acquaintances and old friends to tell me about myself. It was eye opening but rang true. I was a open and closed book. My current emotions were easily read on my face and in my body language, but I never shared about myself. My closest friend at the time didn’t even know I had a sister until she came to visit.
I can’t keep depending on myself or one other person. I have to open up.
My second life saver was thrown to me when a friend responded by opening up to me. Telling me about their battles, their journey, and the lessons they learnt. Through that I learnt about the word codependency.
A funny thing happened when I learnt about the word codependency. I used to believe, at some level, in solipsism, the belief that you’re the only conscious being and that others are essentially due to your imagination, like in a dream. This belief grew when I was young, even before I knew the word solipsism existed. This belief was completed shattered. As I read about codependency and started attending CODA (codependents anonymous), I found myself thinking how could this author and others seem to know me completely? They seem to have the exact same thought patterns I did. It felt like the books were written about me. My sense of loneliness dissolved.
Hitting bottom had made me reflect and inspect my past. It made me realize I was living in guilt and holding myself back. It made me realize that I had a tough life, keyword had. I found out why I didn’t rely on others. I questioned my fundamental messages that my subconscious was sending me. “I can’t depend on others. No on can do this but me. No one will be there for me.” became “No one can do this but me. But I have lots of love and support to lean on when I’m tired.”
I became someone different, I became me. My me, not who I was taught to be, but who I wanted to be.
I learnt to feel my small stress and anxiety, to deal with them before they could overwhelm me. I learnt to sit still in my discomfort instead of reacting hastily, rashly and foolishly. I learnt to talk about me, to hone in on the things I loved. And in doing so, I became someone different, I became me. My me, not who I was taught to be, but who I wanted to be.
And that’s what made my 2017 amazing.
Call To Action
I beg you please, listen into yourself, open up with the small stuff before it becomes big stuff. If there’s no one currently in your life, as there wasn’t at the time in mine, call or text a crisis line. They are there to help 24/7 and listen even if you’re not suicidal in the moment.
USA phone: 1–800–273-TALK
USA text: Text “start” to 741741
Canada phone: 1–833–456–4566
Canada text: 45645 (available 5pm — 1am EST)
For other crisis phone lines click here. For other text lines click here. Including different countries or different minority groups (such as trans, teen, other languages).
