I won’t have left a note.
(Crossposted from my socials)
TW: suicidal ideations
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Smogeol – The Smog of Depression
Have you ever had the experience of looking through clouds, or fog?
I had the unfortunate (?) experience of having to walk through an insect fogging before. I could have chosen another path, but I was tired – and it was during the COVID period, so I had a mask handy. I thought, it can’t be THAT bad.
Spoiler alert: it WAS that bad.
Walking through that cloud of insect repellent laden smog was an experience and a half. As you enter it, the smell hits you like a punch to the nose even through the mask. You recoil. And you start thinking, this was a baaaad move.
Read More »Please Stay.
I’m still around. I don’t write as much because the words don’t come as much but I continue to post comics at https://depdavecomics.com.
I wrote this piece for World Suicide Prevention Day 2024 and posted it on my socials. Reposting it here because it’s an important topic. Please note that I am not actively suicidal even if I have suicidal thoughts. Which means I’m not currently in danger.
There’s a lot to be said about leaving.
Leaving means I don’t have to cry on my yoga mat for minutes because it hurts to breathe otherwise.
Leaving means I get to break free of the pain for a good time.
But leaving also means the critic has won. Cruelty has won. Pain has won. And sometimes it still does even if I stay but I can be stubborn that way.
Leaving means I’m transferring the pain to those who shouldn’t have to take the pain I will directly inflict by leaving violently.
Instead, I put on my cap to hide my tired eyes from random strangers, and head out for lunch with my caregiver and wife. And then hide at home after.
Because hard as it is, staying can mean a lot more. Staying means there’s a chance we can make life better for others around us. Break the cycles. Make life better for ourselves. Learn new standards. Learn new things. Love. Care. Be loved.
It’s not easy.
But staying means we can turn things around. Albeit with the help of others.
And sometimes, with a little sweetness, a little kindness, and a lot of rest.
P.s. As I struggle to be kind to myself, remember too, to be kind to yourself. And maybe someone else. Just as a start, for today.
To Hope to Dream
Dreams (for the future, not the sleep ones or the day ones) are a difficult topic for me.
As far as I can remember, I looked down on dreams. When others spoke of dreaming or dreams, I sneered. What are dreams, really, but empty hopes, I’d think. I’d look on for a while, and then I’d turn my back. Whether it was a news article, or someone speaking about it around me. Dreams are useless. Dreams are for the weak and to hold out hope for the empty masses.
It was only after treatment for depression started that I finally understood my connection to dreams.
I’d look on for a while, every time it was talked about. I couldn’t not. I had to.
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Lie – A Poem
Lie for me.
Hide the truth of pain.
A (Specific) Day in the Life
It’s not a difficult thing to head into town in Singapore. Singapore as a city is largely divided into four major portions. The urban center lies more or less at the southern tip of the island, with suburbs all around. The major industrial zone to the west of the island city-state and the world-renowned airport to the east of the island make up the other two major zones. It takes no more than a bus ride and at most an extra half hour hop onto one of the multiple metro lines to head into town.
But for someone with a mental health struggle, that bus ride and metro ride can end up being a living nightmare. However, I decided that for the sake of self care, I would head into town recently. I wanted to physically step into a Christian bookstore, and grab a couple of new Bibles for my kids. Their old ones have been well used, and are heavy. It would “do me good” to get out there, stretch, look at healthy stuff to buy, and breathe.
I could not have been more wrong.
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Room of Rust
It’s a very dark room. I’m near the entrance, having just stepped in. Everywhere I look, there are cobwebs, thick lines and ropes strewn all over. Except that they’re not made of sticky strings, but rust. Thick cables of rust, that as I reach out a hand to brush them, crumble into piles of ochre dust that coat the already dark and ugly floor. Not that I can see through the muck to the floor itself.
And there’re so many lines and ropes. They are grotesque and loom everywhere. I don’t even have to see them to feel the weight of all the rust cobwebs over my head. The ones I touch crumble. But there are so many, and what if they don’t crumble when I touch them? Can I bear that eventuality? Can I put up with it? Do I dare try?
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Living on Borrowed Time
I live on borrowed time.
4 years and a couple months earlier, I returned from my first hospital stay, unsure of my future, but sure that things would improve. Shortly after, my mood dipped again, and I started to realise that this was a long haul thing – especially when I couldn’t focus on my tasks, my suicidality went up again, and I struggled with simple things. I could no longer be certain that things would even improve – for as long as my malady was acting up in my head.
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Dualities, contradictions, and mental illness
Just last night, my wife turned to me and said, “Remember that my love for you isn’t transactional.” Immediately I slunk lower into bed, and my initial reaction was to want to turn my back on her. With conscious effort, I pulled myself up, and made a little noise instead.
That’s progress already. Two years ago, I would have begged, insisted, maybe yelled, that she not say something like that. It would have felt pointless and it would have made me feel way worse than I did. I didn’t know back then but my critic would have raised a stink. As it was, last night, it tried to – but I managed to actively remind myself that this was her viewpoint, and I had to respect it.
If I were to be honest and talk to her about my love for her, I would say the same thing. I love her for who she is, and not what she can do for me. What she does for me is only a bonus and an outworking of the person she is. But yet, applying that to myself is not something that’s possible or easy. There exists in my mind a duality, also a contradiction. Others whom I love don’t have to earn that love, but in *my* case, I need to earn my place in the lives of others, or I do not deserve their love. I am a hypocrite.
And therein lies a contradiction and duality in people struggling with mental health issues that I hope to explain a little with this post. Warning – this is also a rather Christian post, if you are someone coming from a secular background. I still hope it can help a little – feel free to take the Christian taugeh (beansprouts) out.
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Inner Critic Frustrations
I’m frustrated today. I’ve been for a few days now, and I’m not really sure why.
What better time to write out my frustration with a core part of me known as my inner critic?
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