They say depression can be cured. But I doubt so. I grew up feeling suicidal all the time. Every small little thing that happened, be it to me or others, I question my self worth. I always thought of death but I never really felt the urge to kill myself but at the back of my head was a constant reminder to myself that ‘death is beautiful’. I can’t forget the day that I was scolded because of what they labelled me as ‘attitude problem’ but to me I was feeling so much pain. I was 11, standing next to a ledge, on the 3rd storey, tears rolling down my cheeks – the first time ever in elementary, I knew that the jumping over the ledge was the best escape. That’s when I knew how I could kill myself at Primary 5. Being labelled was the worst. Everyone expects something of you. I went through my teenage years with suicidal thoughts all year. My art was an expression of suicide but teachers did not flag them up because I do not look like one who needs help or is going through depression. Not until the day they saw cuts all over my arms. It was too late. I fell into a deep dark trap of self harming and that was the best relief I could get. Depression never heals. I just learn to cope and hide it better from everybody. But until today Death to me is still the most beautiful escape of living.
When I was 10, I got diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, one of the most common mental illnesses. I didn’t – or couldn’t – find a reason to live, get out of bed and do the things that all preteens should be doing. I started cutting around this time, but I was also in denial of what I had. If something simply doesn’t come up in conversation, or never gets mentioned, then it simply doesn’t exist, right?
No, it didn’t work that way. Until I got admitted to the Institute of Mental Health at 12, I didn’t realise that wanting to die, not wanting to do anything and cutting would become so severe as to warrant a stay there. But I did, and recovery isn’t the best at times, I have to admit. I slipped up a few times, relapsed some, but in the end, it all pays off. Trust me on this – recovery is not the best thing you think will happen, but it gets the job done and you out of this mess that you are in.
Cliche as it sounds, the best thing that you could do is to stay strong, and believe that you can do it, that you are worthy of recovery. And you’ll get better. Maybe not in a year’s time, but you will get better eventually.
I’m now 14 and I’m proud to say that I’ve been clean for over a year and I don’t suffer from depression or have suicide ideation anymore.
I was recently diagnosed with clinical depression, anxiety and OCD. I am still learning to slowly accept my diagnosis because when the doctor said I have these illnesses, it was a confirmation of my deepest fears yet a sense of relief and consolation that what I’m feeling is real.
I grew up in a messed up home where my parents were either not home at all or when they’re home, they would verbally and physically abuse me. They are really successful perfectionists so they expect perfection from me as well. If I don’t live up to their standards, I know I would be in deep trouble.
I didn’t think much of all the abuse that was happening because I thought it was normal. I only came to a realization when I entered a local school where teachers questioned beating marks on my body. This happened throughout middle and high school. I hated myself and I wanted to die.
In the 21 years of my life, I have attempted suicide 3 times, all unsuccessful. I felt worthless and a burden to everyone around me. I felt like I didn’t deserve to be at church because people at that particular church were judgmental and topics about mental illnesses and suicide were all avoided. I felt all alone in this world because I had no one to talk to about feeling down. I lost all my faith in God and I stopped going to church.
Around 2 years ago, a friend of mine invited me to her church near my house. I am so glad I went and got to know the people there. They were so loving and friendly, and they were the family I never had. I found people that have helped me realize that it’s okay not to be okay and that it’s okay to feel my emotions, and not bury them.
I am also very grateful and thankful for the guidance of my therapist and psychiatrist for helping through rough times when I felt like I couldn’t go on, and for bearing with me when I have outbursts in sessions.
Today, I am still in the process of learning how to love and be kind to myself. Even though I am still going through a dark time, I am glad to have people that listen. Their very presence brings comfort to my hurting soul. To those who feel alone, please know that you’re not alone. I am here, please do not give up, I am living proof that you can survive this. Stay, you are needed.
I’ve been feeling myself slipping away again.
I first felt it in 2012. I felt my mind turning dark for no reason while my best friend was talking to me. I snapped not long after. Then three years later in 2015, I was diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder and chronic depression. Therapy didn’t work as well as I thought it would — mostly because I had a therapist that talked more than I did. I’ve been silenced most of my life and I thought no one would ever want to listen, and those therapy sessions just seemed to prove my point. It was a bad first experience and I never went back to seek help.
I was blessed to have met the most supportive friends in my school, and ultimately they are the ones who gave me the confidence and love I needed to be better. I believe having them around me constantly cheering me on and encouraging me is what helped me control my anxiety. They were the best thing that ever happened to me.
I’ve had suicidal thoughts and plans. I’ve had one suicide attempt. I’ve had dates scribbled in my planner to take my life, but with each date that passed, I changed my mind. It was usually because someone I loved did something good for me that day, as if they knew what I was thinking. It always seemed to happen at just the right moment. Coincidental nice things save lives.
But since mid-2018, I feel like I’ve been in a never-ending fall. I’ve loved (platonically) and lost, and each loss sends me into awful grief. I’ve been having more panic attacks than usual. I get extremely depressed and stressed out, and I lash out at people. I act like I’m fine and I don’t let anyone see beyond the tough facade but inside I am broken. I used to live my life trying to take care of everyone because I knew what it was like to be unhappy and alone. I used to always put people first. I make all my friends laugh and I’m supposed to be the funny one, so I need to keep that up too (or else, who am I?).
I’m deathly afraid of being alone again but these days I’m finding it harder to control my emotions, and it’s getting harder to go out and see my friends. I just come up with weak excuses and hope they believe me. I feel myself becoming more and more selfish. I’m just trying to keep what little happiness I have left for myself. On the rare days I do see them, I make them laugh, and I hope it fixes something inside me too. But it never works that way.
I know I need to seek help once and for all. Good help this time. I want to go for therapy again now that I’m a little older, and hopefully a little wiser.
I’ve lost my way but I know I need to pick up the pieces, and start right now, if I’m going to make it.
You would think that life is unbiased. You would think that life is fair. Yet, everything crumbled when I found out that one of my closest friends was diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder and depression while the other had suicidal tendencies brought on by stress.
I felt so pathetic and immature as I embarked on a journey to study psychology in an attempt to ‘help’ them, but I honestly felt it was nothing but a ruse to lie to myself as if I were truly helping them. Although learning about psychology helped me understand and be more patient towards my friends and supporting them in their recovery, nevertheless a part of me still resents my childish behaviour and I feel nothing but regret and helplessness for my friends. Why couldn’t I be there for them? But yet, them assured me. They broke through their own barriers to help me, someone ‘normal’. Who says the mentally ill are weak?
In my eyes, they are my pillars of support, the strongest people I have ever met, breaking through one obstacle by other, slow, but always steady. I’m so thankful they are part of my life, and if you do have friends or family who are the same, always remember that they are just like us and as humans, they will always pull through, even if there are days that they don’t seem like they will. Each of us have our own struggles, but what makes us human is the power to persevere on.
I had a rocky childhood: My father was abusive and unfaithful, and my parents divorced when I was 9. My mother never fully recovered from that trauma. I grew up believing I was a burden to my mother, and had my first major depressive episode in my teens. 10 years and countless episodes of depression later, I finally ended up at IMH after coming close to completing suicide. Now, after over a year of therapy and trying three different antidepressants, I can finally say I’m stable. There are still awful days when I feel utterly hopeless and the suicidal thoughts return, but I am now better equipped to handle them. My only regret was not seeking help earlier because I was convinced that how I was feeling was my fault, not something to be remedied. To anyone else struggling as I did: you are worthy of help, you are worthy of love! Don’t hesitate to seek help!
I tried to kill myself just about a year ago. I never intended to make it to my 19th birthday but I did and until now I still ask myself, why hadn’t I try harder that time? If I had ended everything in one go, I would have been free from all the pain and suffering. I didn’t choose to be depressed yet sometimes the people around me talk to me as if I chose to be this way. I would do anything to stop feeling like this too. I have stopped living long ago, doing just the bare minimum to survive. I now drink more than I ever used to and my self-harm behavior is getting out of control but I’m doing whatever I can to help me get through just one more day. I saw how my first ever attempt broke the people around me and this is the only reason why I’m still trying so hard to hold on. If I could die without hurting anyone around me, I would do it without a second thought. I honestly don’t know how long I can go before I attempt again and I feel so alone in this battle.
Everything on a bad day feels like a first draft of an unwritten story. There’s a sense of being too heavy, a sense that the action of rising will require insurmountable effort. If you can relate to this, you’ve probably have days like that too.
There have been days where I have had decided to lie in bed binge surfing on my phone in lieu of a therapy session. When I am most unhappy, I often find myself not wanting to talk to anyone at all. For the afflicted, you probably identify with this too.
Therapy is a hell of a lot like speed dating. I’ve sat on a great many sofas, couches, waiting rooms with certificates and answered many, many leading questions. I’ve been on a carousel of medication, from Ritalin to Xanax to Wellbutrin etc…
There are days where my heart is inscrutable, like a still and vast ocean. Other days it feels as though my will is balanced on something infinitely small and precarious. It makes me angry.
There are, thankfully, good days too. On those days I might feel fascination with an article, a TV show or a good book. I enjoy a good conversation, or the company of my friends.
Depression has many angles of attack. Some days it feels like a stifling boredom, other days an existential despair. In its harshest form it becomes a self imposed exile on Life via suicide.
For me, there really aren’t any “silver bullets” to things, whether you look at philosophy, psychology or psychiatry. In fact, the many interconnecting and sometimes conflicting views provide great anxiety.
Sometimes all we need is for someone, or even ourselves, to tell us, ” You aren’t okay. And that’s okay.”
One day after my 18th birthday, I started self-harming. It started small, using pens or needles to slash my wrists. It hurt, and I wanted to stop, but I also felt… nothing. I did it the first time to stop crying when my father was hitting and hurling insults at me, and I didn’t want him to see me crying to prevent more beatings.
It started to get worse, of course. I used the kitchen knives in my house, and I would cut almost every now and then. I wore jackets to school so no one could tell, but at times I did take my jacket off so everyone could see. I didn’t really care at that point. I didn’t have friends, and I was quite used to being judged anyways.
It got better for me for a moment, until I had a fight with a friend and I tried to end my own life – overdosing on paracetamol but too scared to stab myself with the knife I had in hand.
That was all one year ago. I still have those memories playing in my head like it was yesterday. I’ve gotten better at my own recovery. My self-harming has decreased and I am finding the support I need. And even though I still don’t have as many friends, I know there are people I can rely on.
For anyone suffering through their struggles, I just wish to say that I am proud of you. No one has to go through that struggle, and I know each and everyone of us going through this is strong and capable in their own way. I say, keep fighting. Keep fighting through every hardship and setback you face. I wish someone told me that when I first started, but now I only want to help anyone struggling through that too. No one has to go through it alone.
I’ve always been pressured to get good grades. Multiple tuition teachers have hurled insults like “stupid” & “useless” at me countless of times, with a tuition teacher throwing a pile of newspapers to me because she was so frustrated I couldn’t get any questions right. This made me fearful and scared of everything, as I didn’t want the same thing to happen to me again.
From then on, there was this irrational fear of studies and getting bad grades. For every time I had a bad grade, I would continuously beat myself over it, and there was this point in life where I couldn’t get up and began feeling suicidal and getting suicidal thoughts.
Nowadays in Polytechnic, I still continuously feel sad everyday. I can go from happy to sad in a span of a few minutes and I blame myself for everything, like my emotions, of what I’ve been through. It’s like I’ve trapped myself in a dark hole and I always feel like killing myself.
There are times that I honestly really want to commit suicide but I always found a reason not to do so. Things have gotten bad recently, even though my friends urge me to see a counsellor, I’m not willing to do so because I’m a burden afterall, right?