Tag: depression

I never knew it would hit me because I have never been the emotional type, but it did, and it has been a heck of a roller coaster ride.

Slightly more than a year ago, I gave birth to Kayla, and for the first three months after, I struggled with this constant ball of fear in my chest. I had no appetite for meals, I cried everyday, I lost weight, and my milk supply dipped so fast that I couldn’t breastfeed even if I wanted to.

As a first-time mother, I was overwhelmed by this new lifestyle that no amount of preparation could truly prepare me for.

Initially, we didn’t plan for Kayla to happen, as my husband and I were only married for six months at that point. And to be very honest, I felt fear the moment I knew I was pregnant. I knew motherhood was not going to be a walk in the park because of the stories I have heard from fellow moms. I was terrified of what's ahead.

Unlike in school where there are lessons and ten year series to walk you through each subject, there is no ‘manual’ for motherhood. Everyone's experience is different and the only way to know what motherhood really is, is when you become a mother yourself.

Nonetheless, I prepared myself for motherhood in the possible ways I could: by making sure we had all the physical stuff ready. Things like the baby’s room, the milk bottles, and the medications. It was an assurance that at least, whatever we need will be available at our disposal when Kayla is born.

Then, Kayla Came

Image Credit: Meiting’s Instagram

The first 28 days was a whirl, but at least I had a confinement nanny around. I was still recovering from the natural birth process and my stitches still hurt. I wasn’t very mobile. As I was breastfeeding, I couldn't get more than four hours of sleep each time. It was really tiring.

Deep down, it started to dawn on me how scary it was that I am now responsible for this little human being. However, I also wanted to give her the best I can, and I tried my best to learn as much as I could from my confinement nanny before she left. And when she left after the first month, I started to lose control.

I lived in constant fear and anxiety.

I'm a self-professed worrier. I think a lot and cannot help but imagine the worst scenarios that can happen. This made me feel anxious all the time.

As a first-time mother, you find yourself forming an idea of motherhood based on what you read on the internet and from other mommies. For me, what I read and hear became a set of expectations for myself. I started to follow these set of 'rules' religiously, and even if the most little of things go out of place, it'll mess me up.

For example, I would expect Kayla to take this number of naps a day, or to finish drinking this amount of milk, and I would get really worried when those 'quotas' are not hit. The pressure of living up to these expectations I placed on myself and the stress of feeling inadequate consumed me over time.

I didn’t know how to handle a child. I felt so lost and lonely. Motherhood was something so new to me and I was just so afraid that I wasn’t doing things right or wasn’t giving my best to my child. I wasn't even in the right state of mind. I was just this person following a schedule: always on stand-by to supply Kayla her next milk feed, change her diaper, burp her, and bathe her.

As a chirpy and outgoing person by nature, I knew something wasn’t right as I was crying every day. I lost all appetite for meals. Waking up every morning became a dreaded affair because I will be filled with anxiety the moment I opened my eyes, and that awful feeling would intensify through the day.

It was so mentally draining.

The Shame That Came With Having Postnatal Depression

I struggled with the thoughts of how it was possible for me to have depression. I was ashamed. A part of me felt like I had no right to feel this way since I had been looking forward to being a mother for the past 10 months. How could I be depressed now?

Fortunately, I saw what I was becoming, and I knew that this was not the kind of lifestyle I wish to continue with. It was so painful and stifling to be on the edge of a breakdown every single day.

I wanted the old Meiting back and with that realisation, I decided to open up. I sought help from my mom, whom gave me the chance to have a few hours off per week. I spoke to my husband as well, and I implored him to bring me to a doctor if I were to continue to cry for another week, as I knew I would need professional help.

When I did open up, things started to look better.

Learning To Let Go

In reality, when it comes to handling babies, things rarely goes according to plan.

My mother and husband played a big part in my recovery and it is their support that helped me come out of postnatal depression after two months. The subsequent six to eight months still saw me having moments of anxiety attacks, but it was manageable as I had learnt to talk about my depressive thoughts. And my family and friends became my wake up call.

My husband always tells me to let go and to just follow our daughter's cues. It is reminders like this that remind me of the pressure I had unwittingly placed on myself, and how I need to take it easy.

It’s now my second year as a mother. Looking back at myself as a mother back then, I’m grateful for whatever I had gone through.

Image Credit: Meiting’s Instagram

I'm grateful for my child, Kayla. We did not plan for her to happen. But she is now, to me, the greatest gift from God. Kayla has completely changed my perspective as a person, and I have grown and learnt so much from being a mother.

This Mother’s Day, I'm also super thankful for my mom.

Without her, I will not be able to go back to work with a peace of mind. Without her, I don’t know how I would have been able to deal with my postnatal depression. Her unwavering love and support for Kayla and me have left a mark on me, and has shown me once again, what unconditional love is. And now that I've experienced it myself, I know how fortunate I am to be blessed with the role of a mother.

To all first-time mothers and mothers-to-be

No mothers talk about it, but postnatal depression is very real. It is common and 80% of my mommy friends have experienced it, be it in a mild or very serious form. Because nobody really talks about it, you will feel like postnatal depression isn’t ‘normal’ or ‘right’. I know this because those were emotions that I grappled with.

It sucked the life and joy out of me. It affected my husband and made him feel distanced from his once loving wife. It is important to acknowledge that these feelings of fear, doubt, anxiety, and sadness are very real, for this will help you get better.

The start of motherhood will seem scary and lonely, but it will get better. There will be bad days but the storm will pass and you will be fine.

Cherish the good times and learn from the rough ones. You’ll make it through eventually. There's nothing more rewarding and fulfilling than being a Mother. You'll love it. Maybe not now, but you will. We are made for this.

This story is written by Millennials of Singapore, as told to us by Lian Meiting.

Also read: These 14 Heartwarming Stories Show That A Mother's Love Is Like No Other.

(All images used in header image taken from Lian Meiting)

“Can you dabao McDonald’s home for your dad?”

I felt my palms get sweaty and my heart beat faster as I read the text from my mum on the way home from school one day. Should I think of an excuse to not do so? Maybe tell her I don’t have enough money to buy dinner for my dad?

Surely ordering a McDonald’s meal over the cashier wasn’t that difficult. And yet, the thought of having to talk to a stranger left me in a cold sweat. What if I messed up the order? What would the cashier think of me? I hated how these thoughts would consume me at every step of the way. Why couldn’t I be like the other kids? All I wanted was to be normal.

LEARNING ABOUT SOCIAL ANXIETY

Whenever my friends ask me, “Why you don’t wanna join us? Don’t be so anti-social leh,” I wish I could’ve told them that it’s not that I didn’t want to hang out with them, I was just afraid that they wouldn’t like me.

Or when my secondary school teacher gave me feedback that went something like, “You’re too shy in class and should open up and take part in class discussions more,” I wish I could’ve told her that it’s not that I didn’t want to participate more in class, I was just afraid of the humiliation from answering questions wrongly. Would I become a laughing stock? And if I get it right, would they think that I’m just showing off?

In school, I pretty much kept to myself most of the time and I didn’t have a lot of friends.. To an outsider, I was shy and introverted. I guess I came across as antisocial at times.

Because everyone kept calling me shy, I believed that that’s all that it was. But no matter how much I tried to break out from my “shyness”, I couldn’t.

Image Credit

One day, my friend noticed that I would get panic attacks before class presentations. My heart would race faster and cause a lump in my throat that made it difficult to breathe. She encouraged me to talk to the school counselor.

My school counselor was the first person to tell me that I may have social anxiety disorder. She referred me to a psychiatrist, who diagnosed me with it.

I was finally able to rationalise everything I had been feeling for the better part of my life. However, I also came to realise that it is much easier to let people think that I was just ‘shy’, because when you start telling someone that you have a mental condition, chances are you’d have to start explaining why you feel certain things—how do I explain feelings that I don’t even want to have myself?

Admitting that I had social anxiety to other people was the most difficult part of coming to terms with my mental health. The first time I told someone about my social anxiety, they said: “Huh isn’t that just social awkwardness? I also have!”

I couldn’t blame them for reacting that way but hearing that from friends was still pretty hurtful. It made me feel that what I felt or thought didn’t matter. Them brushing me off made me even more resistant to tell anyone else about it.

Even today, my parents are unaware of my social anxiety. Growing up, I’ve felt the disdain my parents’ have towards mental issues through the passing remarks they make about mental health patients being “attention-seeking” and “weak”.

Because of this, I hid the fact that I had social anxiety to myself. And for the most part of my teenage years, social anxiety controlled my life because I didn’t dare to speak to anyone about it.

WHAT DOES SOCIAL ANXIETY FEEL LIKE?

Social anxiety is not being able to answer questions in class because I was scared of what my classmates would think of me.

Social anxiety is having my heart race 10 times faster when I hear the telephone ring, and then having to rehearse exactly what to say before answering it.

Social anxiety is the constant fear of having my friends talk about me behind my back, because in my mind, I'd keep thinking that they don’t actually like me.

Social anxiety is listening more than talking in group discussions because I’ve convinced myself that my opinions don’t matter, and that I will just be looked down upon.

It decided what I did and didn’t do, and this constant self-doubt and fear got so bad that it created limitations that hindered my everyday life. No matter how illogical the thoughts I had were, I would constantly find reasons to avoid situations that could trigger my social anxiety in the slightest way.

Back when I was on an internship, I called in sick on the day that I was supposed to head for a meeting at another office. The thought of facing the unfamiliar and embarrassing myself in front of my boss and associates scared me. It wasn’t just the nerves either. I genuinely feared the consequences of failure. In my mind, this just kept replaying: “If I mess this up, my boss would hate me and my entire six months of internship would become a nightmare.”

Slowly, I realised that I was letting my social anxiety influence my day-to-day decisions. I had let it consume my life in a lot of subtle ways and there was a point I thought I would never be able to overcome my social anxiety.

For years I ignored having to deal with it. I stupidly thought that ignoring it would somehow make the problem go away. But I realised that it was impossible to avoid situations that could trigger my social anxiety forever. After all, I’d have to meet people everyday, be it at work, in school or in public, I would always be surrounded by people. And with that, I would always be scared of what the people around me were thinking of me.

LEARNING TO RIDE WITH IT

When I joined the workforce at 23, I found that the people around me were a lot more open-minded and accepting, contrary to the people I’ve met in school or at home. That made me comfortable in opening up about my social anxiety.

For the most part, having social anxiety means putting up an act everyday, because it’s difficult for someone else to recognise this disorder, or differentiate it from merely being shy. But finally being able to openly talk about it and realising that there are other people out there who can relate to my struggles made me feel less alone.

I would be lying if I said that I don’t get sweaty palms anymore when I get an unexpected phone call or if I have to share my thoughts to a group of people. And I still often struggle with the habitual thoughts that my friends or colleagues are speaking ill of me whenever I hear them whispering near me.

Social anxiety is probably something that I will never ‘get rid of’ completely, it’s every McDonald’s order, every first conversation, every phone call to a stranger, that has helped me get better over the years.

I’ve come to accept that my social anxiety will always be a part of me and that I should grow with it, instead of against it.

Also read: 8 Singapore Shared Snapshots Of What Depression Was Like For Them

(Header Image Credit: Budagchin Erka)

Violence was prevalent in my family ever since I was 10 years old. My parents struggled with finances and my dad turned to alcoholism. The mounting stress and tension caused my parents to fight a lot and they started taking out their anger on us. They would often punish me over the smallest things, emotionally and physically abusing me (hitting me).

And when my parents fight or have physical outbursts, I’d tell my sisters to hide in the room while I put myself out there to bear the brunt of my parents’ anger. Somehow, it felt like the right thing to do for my siblings as the eldest. I also felt like it was my duty to be the middleman in helping my parents resolve their disputes—a responsibility I carried on my shoulders as the first child. I even took on three part-time jobs while in poly so that I could help with the finances.  

There was a lot of emotional void and I was constantly trying to do things to please them or make them happy, so that I would get more love from them. I grew to have a people-pleasing attitude because of that.

Those traumatic experiences took its toll on me and I started to have depression and anxiety.

Then, I had my first mental breakdown at 20.

What Is There To Live For?

For eight months, I locked myself in my room and tried multiple ways to kill myself. I was in so much pain internally that I felt like I really could not take it anymore. I felt like there was no other way out of the plight I was in. Everyday was just a constant fight to stay sane amidst the fights, emotional abuse, and physical beatings.

The details are all fuzzy now, but I remember trying to cut myself, hang myself, and overdosing. Fortunately, I didn’t know enough to properly take my life back then, and when the suicide attempts didn’t work, I continued cutting myself instead—to feel the pain. I could not process all those pent-up frustration, anger, and sadness I had, and in order to let out the pain that I felt inside, I felt like I had to feel pain on the outside.

At that point, I had already been going to the doctor’s and had been taking medications for depression and anxiety. However, my parents weren’t convinced that I was struggling with mental issues.

My mom kept my medication and refused to give it to me. To my parents, it was their way of preventing me from overdosing, but even when I needed it, they wouldn’t give it to me—even when I had a full-fledged panic attack, my dad simply stood there and said:

“Don’t be a drama queen.”

As far as my parents were concerned, I needed to snap out of it.

Fast forward to 2014 when I was 25, I had my first major dissociative episode.

https://www.facebook.com/millennialsofsingapore/videos/2331802640396827/

I Lost My Memory And Dissociated

I had been feeling really stressed out from juggling a few jobs, and had to complete some work at home over this one weekend, when I already had another part-time job that weekend. I made plans to finish that piece of work on Sunday night instead, only to return home on that fateful night to see my dad and a relative drunk and passed out on the couch. The house stank so badly from alcohol and the pools of vomit all across the living room, and my mom was nowhere to be seen. That was the last straw and was what triggered my first dissociative episode.

I lost my memory and began acting like a child for three months.

I didn’t even have a memory of what happened or how I was behaving, and it was through the people around me that I learnt of it.

It is very scary to know that for three months, you were being taken over by this other personality. I didn't know what was going on and it was very unsettling and stressful to know that I dissociated.

Although, it also gave me a sense of comfort in knowing that there was more to what I’ve been feeling than depression and anxiety. After multiple visits to hospitals and various psychiatrists, I started getting treatments that effectively helped me revert to normal adult behaviour. However, the memory that I lost was still gone.

It was a year later when I got diagnosed with DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder), or ‘split personality’ to most people.

I was doing my Master’s in the United States back then, and it was at a psychiatric ward there that I was also diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalised anxiety disorder, borderline personality disorder, and post-traumatic stress disorder—all of these with triggers that are rooted to traumas that go way back into my childhood.

The Scary Part About Having ‘Split Personality’

When all you know about DID is from how awful and terrible it is portrayed in movies and media (like in Split), it makes you fear having DID yourself. I didn’t like any of my personalities when I was first diagnosed, and the denial lasted a while before I accepted my disorders. But DID is far from what is shown in the media.

Having DID feels like having 28 persons living inside me—which is the number of personalities I currently have.

One of her 28 personalities, Saddie. This was done by Saddie when she took over. Saddie is a sad personality who cries over everything.
Image: Gaya

I don’t have any recollection of what happens when one personality takes over. Sometimes, I dissociate within a snap of a finger when the trigger is very strong, like when someone approaches me from behind, at the stench of alcohol, or even men, because of the sexual abuse I’ve been through (I was naive and a people-pleaser). These triggers come from my history—traumatic experiences I’ve had since young.

My past has also made me very sensitive to stress, and I don’t have the capability to handle any change in behaviour from people around me. It’s made it almost impossible for me to get a full-time job. However, I’m also fortunate to be able to make a living from freelance marketing jobs.

But the scariest part of all is not so much of the disorders itself or having to face the people around me. The scariest part is not knowing when I will be suicidal and when I will act on those suicidal thoughts.

Road To Recovery

With the help of various treatments in the US and in IMH, medications, and focus groups, I have come to understand the significance of my personalities.

There are personalities that take over when there are triggers that make me angry. For example, Angie comes out when I’m really, really angry and when she’s in control, it makes me become uncontrollable, physically violent, and extremely strong. There was an event that happened in the US where three men with big build couldn’t hold me down when Angie took over, and I had to be physically restrained when they took me to the hospital.

Then, there’s Viyolante, who thinks of violence, gruesome and graphic acts, and is very specific about who and how she’s going to be violent towards or hurt, but she will never do anything violent.

On the other hand, there are a lot milder ones like Baby Gayu and Wava, who are childlike personalities, and a motherly figure, Moonlight, who takes care of everyone. There’s also a rescuer personality, Ressie, and a ‘non-living’ personality called Memory (or Mem), which is sort of like a treasure chest that holds all my lost memories.

Another personality: Rebbekkah, a rebellious, cunning, and sneaky teenager. This was done by Rebbekkah when she took over.
Image: Gaya

I’ve learnt a lot more about my conditions, how to process my emotions, and to logically process the traumatic memories I have instead of dissociating upon triggers.

In the process of recovery, I’ve also had to make the extremely hard decision of cutting my family and husband out of my life, which I did five months ago. I realised that there was no way I could properly recover if I still had to face those triggers when I return home to my family every day.

My siblings and I when we were teens
Image: Gaya

There are many times I feel guilty for leaving home and leaving them, as I feel like I’ve betrayed and ‘abandoned’ them. I’ve always felt responsible to ‘fix what’s broken’ in my family, and I still feel this way. However, I know that if I don’t focus on my recovery right now, there is no way I will be stable enough to face them, much less solve any problems.

Staying Alive For The Prospect Of Better Days

I have a dream to be named one of the most influential women in the world by 35, or doing a PHD in South Korea and then settling there. These are ambitious dreams, but are goals I set for myself to remind me that I have to keep going as there are still things I want to achieve in my life.

But of course, living with mental disorders can be so overpowering that despite having all these goals and aspirations, I still feel empty and battle with suicidal thoughts and aimlessness. It’s a constant and daily fight and I still wake up feeling depressed and suicidal on most days.

However, the process of working my way through it, of recovery itself and believing that someday, I will be able to live a normal life, keeps me going—because I don't know what normal is, I never had a normal life.

These feelings come and go, and it’s always a reminder for me to take it one step at a time.

This story is written by Millennials of Singapore as told to us by Gaya.

Also read: “I Kept Hearing Voices Of People Criticising Me, And I Could No Longer Tell What Was Real”.

(Header Image Credit: Shirley J. Davis)

Caution: This article contains potentially triggering content. “Hey, do you remember Anthony*?” “Yeah, why?” “He’s gone…” I was in my early twenties then, still finding myself in the corporate world, and my poly classmate had just taken his life. I remember how confused I was when I saw that text message, and the shock that followed when my friend confirmed that Anthony is really gone. I wasn't particularly close to Anthony, but I knew him nonetheless, and I teared when his loved ones delivered their eulogies during the funeral service: “He was always so jovial and giving.” It was this sentence that hit me hard, because he was exactly that kind of person in poly—happy and jovial—yet, depression took him. Similarly, I can only imagine how painful it must be for the family, friends, and fans worldwide when Linkin Park’s lead singer, <a href=" Bennington took his own life. People were shocked at the severity of his depression. Depression has no face. There are no red flags, no clues, and no measurements to identify someone with depression because each person suffers from and deals with depression differently as well. To understand more about what people with depression actually go through, we reached out to 8 Singaporeans who have fought (or are still fighting) the illness. Here are photos that will give you insights into their lives when they had depression. *Names have been changed for privacy reasons.

1. Jar Of Goodness

Image Credit: Nawira
“When we're depressed, we often forget the good things about ourselves. We think we're useless, weak, hopeless, and ugly. That's Depression speaking. And Depression lies. I keep this 'Jar of Goodness', which is filled with positive quotes to remind myself that Depression is wrong. I keep it to remind myself of the truth, the good people see in me, and the good I see in myself." – Nawira

2. Tattoos

Image Credit: Weiling Rai

“Depression has gotten the better of me more often than not. It comes gradually but also suddenly. I got these tattoos as they are of the dreams I have and the things I love. It's also a reminder that all things, good or bad, are temporary.”

– Marc

3. Lotus Flowers 

Image Credit: A
“I shut everyone out when I’m depressed and I become irrationally terrified of speaking to anyone. I also have suicidal thoughts pretty much every day. The only thing stopping me from doing anything stupid is the thought of how it’ll affect my mother. I’m still finding ways to cope with depression right now. One of the ways is finding my way back to religion. I’ve started wearing prayer beads and got myself this lotus bell jar. The lotus is an amazing flower. It is so pure despite its muddy beginnings and that’s where I hope to be one day. Since it features so strongly in Buddhism, it’s also extra significant for me.” – A

4. Pain

Image Credit: V
“My belief was 'only pain can overcome pain'. During periods where I couldn't evoke feelings like happiness, sadness, or even anger, the pain was the only way for me to feel less empty. The sight of blood was somewhat satisfying to me too as it was the equivalence of a release, as opposed to suppressing the fear of being a liability to people around me. The scars above the cut have been there since I started physically harming myself in secondary school, but I didn't realise what I was going through exactly, until I got diagnosed last year.” – V

5. Alcohol

Image Credit: S
“Antidepressants aren't a panacea. They just prevented me from getting worse, or so I thought. Trying weed and other drugs only made me more depressed especially after the 'high' wore off. So I turned to alcohol. It was the only legal substance that made me feel better. I battle with depression every single day and on certain days, I'd turn to alcohol. I know it's not the cure, but it has helped me deal with my thoughts.” – S

6. Constant Self-Reminders

Image Credit: E
“I would create my own wallpapers with different motivational sentences every 2 weeks. It was to remind myself of the kind of thoughts I should have. It helped me through all my bad days and has saved me from full-blown panic attacks. On good days, reminding myself what to think of before bad days come, helps a lot.” – E

7. Counseling

Image Credit: Allan Lee
“These receipts of my counselling sessions were a significant part of me for awhile. The many sessions of counselling helped me get a hold of myself. It introduced new perspectives to me and changed my mindset. Coupled with medication, the many consultations with my psychiatrist helped me recover when the depressive part of bipolar disorder kicked in. Importantly, the moral support from friends and family made my recovery a much smoother one.” – Allan

8. Trapped 

Image Credit: F
“I tried to kill myself and was stopped. I was on the ledge on of an unoccupied block of flats when Hafiz, my boyfriend, found me. When I saw the desperation in his eyes, I just couldn’t do it. I was then admitted to the psych ward for treatment. If only people knew the horrors of the psych ward: the 5-point restraint, the thought of being in a mental institute, the many guards to your ward, and the injections just to calm you down. Seeing other patients go through that made me angry despite recoiling in horror, and there was nothing I could do. Because who would believe mental patients like us when we're seen as crazy? Who would listen?" – F

Don’t Undermine The Seriousness Of Depression

From a friend who had depression, “depressed people almost never look depressed, they may even look the happiest to cover it up.” Sufferers often keep their thoughts and feelings to themselves because they don’t want to be a liability. And with everything bottled up, it’s easy to slide into darkness. Let us pay a little more attention to our loved ones. Be aware and listen more. Don’t let the impalpable and unnoticeable beast, Depression, win. Also read, “I Kept Hearing Voices Of People Criticising Me, And I Could No Longer Tell What Was Real”.
It all started when I was at a university camp in year 2. I could hear voices in my head—voices that didn’t exist. Voices of family and friends criticising me behind my back even though I didn’t physically see or hear them. Then, paranoia would set in. At some points, I could even hear the lecturer speaking to me directly even though he was talking to the whole student body.

I Couldn’t Even Trust Myself Anymore

I had all these thoughts about my friends and family shaming me and being out to get me. But the logical side of me knew that they wouldn’t because we were very close. It’s as if there was a war going on in my head. Negative thoughts kept creeping in while I kept fighting to make sense of reality. It was distressing and I started to feel abnormal. It frightened me so much that I couldn’t even trust myself to differentiate between what’s real and what's not anymore.
I could hear two voices when there was only one person talking to me.
Despite all these, I continued with school and extra-curricular activities thinking it would eventually go away with enough rest, but that did not happen. Things got worse and at one point, I would even be hearing two voices when there was only one person talking to me. I eventually told my parents about it and we went to the nearest polyclinic for treatment.

Learning That I Was ‘Sick’

I was referred to the Institute of Mental Health (IMH), where I was assessed and eventually diagnosed with Psychosis, a mental illness where a person experiences hallucinations, paranoia, and delusions. Most people would associate IMH with ‘crazy people’ and shun the institution like it’s a disease. But I was relieved to be there and to find out that what I had been going through was real, that there was an explanation for it and I could get proper treatments for it.

Hitting Breaking Point

However, initial feelings of relief turned into fear. The fear of what people around me would think when they find out that I have a mental illness. The fear of going for treatments because if someone I know saw me, I wouldn’t know what to say. Most importantly, I feared that I wasn’t going to be able to recover. I could not even feel safe at home. I’d have nightmares and wake up with panic attacks. I was constantly on high alert, was very stressed and anxious all the time, and everything I did was a challenge. Even daily functions like bathing, brushing my teeth, and getting out of the house for lunch were a struggle. The breaking point came when I realised that I could not even trust myself about what I have heard and had to rely on others to verify the facts. It was so humiliating having to depend on others for something so basic. I started to binge-eat and suffered from insomnia. There were also periods where I felt completely numb and disassociated from everyone and everything. I felt like life was worthless and I became suicidal.
How was I supposed to keep up with everything when I was struggling so hard to even be alive?
Soon after, the doctor diagnosed me with depression. The fight against depression was long and difficult. It was especially tough when I had to go back to school. I hadn’t attended class for more than a month, my attendance was slipping, and I was often faulted for not contributing to group projects because I couldn’t turn up. How was I to keep up when I was struggling so hard to even be alive?

The Road To Recovery

My turning point came when my sister brought me to church. It was there that I found a community who loved and cared for me for who I am and not what I have. I was trained, taught, and given opportunities to rise up and do things I'd never thought I’d been able to do. These pushed me to progress in my recovery.
They were the reasons I held on a little longer each week.
My spirituality and relationship with God were what kept me going. I stopped feeling suicidal after having my own revelation that regardless of how tough life is, I’ll always cherish this life I have. My family played an important role as well, for supporting me in every decision I made and ensuring that I was taking the steps I needed to get me through every day. I was also in this mental health community called the Early Psychosis Intervention Programme (EPIP), where a caseworker will check on me frequently to ensure that I was doing fine. Being in Club EPIP allowed me to hone and strengthen my cognitive abilities which had deteriorated over time. It opened my eyes to the fact that I was not alone in battling my inner demons. The Peer Support Specialists there inspired me to believe that recovery is possible.

Getting A New Lease Of Life

It’s been 4 years since I was first diagnosed and I’m very grateful that today, I can say that I’ve recovered and no longer depend on any medications. Today, I have a purpose in life. I’m thankful and grateful for all the guidance I received from church and EPIP, and now that I’ve completed my degree and also graduated from the Peer Support Specialist course offered by the National Council of Social Service, I want to work in the mental health sector. Additionally, I’ve continued to serve in two ministries in my church (since my school days), and am volunteering at mental health organisations like Silver Ribbon and Institute of Mental Health.

Recovery Is A Journey, Not A Destination

This experience has changed my family and my mindset of mental illnesses. And it was through the trials that we grew closer as a family. My journey to recovery also taught us the importance of communication and ensuring that everyone in the family was doing okay in their lives. This journey has also taught me to love myself more, to take care of myself first before I can help others. It has taught me patience and trust especially in times of unknown and of distress. More than ever, I value health as an important part of my life today, and I take concerted steps to sustain my recovery. Recovery is a journey and not a destination. The process of recovery is far more valuable than the destination.

Spread Awareness Of Mental Health

Never judge a book by its cover. People suffering from mental illness don’t look any different from someone who does not. Do your part to spread love and kindness to everyone because a suicidal person could be smiling on the outside, but is actually waiting for someone to stop them from dying.
Don't think that you aren't able to help someone suffering from a mental illness.
Don’t compare mental illnesses because every symptom experienced by someone with a mental illness is very real. And if you think that you are not able to help someone with psychosis, depression, or any mental illness, know that this isn’t true. Your very presence in times of difficulty and distress means a lot to the person. A genuine “how are you feeling?” and listening to them sharing their deepest thoughts is perhaps all they need. Why should we treat mental illness as a taboo when mental illness is as important as our physical health? With World Mental Health Day round the corner, join us at the Voice Out concert at Singapore Botanic Gardens on Saturday, 7 October, to learn about mental illness and spread love. Also read, My Sexuality, My Right: “A Stranger Wanted Me To Apologise For My ‘Lesbian Appearance'”.
“Mankind does not strive for happiness; only the Englishman does that.” - Friedrich Nietzsche Someone recently asked me, “What do you really want from your life?” I said, “To be happy.” But even as the words came out of my mouth, I felt like I was copping out. What kind of a bullshit non-answer is that? Of course, everyone wants to be happy, but do we know how? Or why? No matter which angle you look at it from, modern 21st Century society seems possessed by an underlying obsession with happiness. We see it in every facet of our lives, from work, to healthcare, to literature, to art. An array of doctors, psychiatrists, HR managers, and self-help “gurus” constantly stand at the ready to ensure our continued happiness, and prescribe all manner of drugs, counselling, vacations, and motivational texts to correct any deviation from the set path of bliss. The happiness mandate permeates our culture in ways we simply cannot escape. But, why? Why are we so obsessed with being happy, and could our obsession actually be harmful?

NEITHER NEW NOR LIBERAL

The root of compulsory happiness lies in a socioeconomic ideology known as neoliberalism. Put simply, neoliberalism is the idea that the economy should be free from government restrictions, and that people should have the individual freedom to purchase or sell whatever they desire on the free market by way of demand and supply. Put very simply – imagine the younger, rebellious cousin of capitalism, who hates rules and just wants to be free. In a neoliberal economy, anything can be monetized. Regardless of whether consumers are paying for booze, clothes, food, or even sex (which is legal in Singapore), the neoliberal economy runs on one common commodity: happiness, or, each individual’s personal idea of happiness. “If it makes you happy, you can buy it,” says the neoliberal. Don’t know what makes you happy? Don’t worry, let advertising tell you. Of course, there isn’t any country in the world whose government subscribes fully to the neoliberal model, but its principles of individual freedom and free market consumerism apply to every capitalistic economy in the world, including those that pretend to still be communist *cough* China *cough*. As neoliberalism peddles happiness to the people that consist the economy, it also relies on happiness to survive. It is a known fact in economics that happy people spend more money. They go to restaurants, clubs, theme parks, and shopping malls more often, and spend proportionately more. The “work hard, play hard” adage is the mantra of the neoliberal economy, which espouses making more money and spending more money to feed into the wheel of peddled happiness that drives our society. Is this all wrong? I don’t know. Maybe this is how society is supposed to work. Or maybe we’re all just overconsuming on an endless happiness treadmill until we get numb from our blessings and constantly stay unsatisfied until we fall off. I can tell you how it is, but I can’t tell you how it should be.

EQUALITY OF EMOTIONS

If human emotions were J.K. Rowling characters, happiness would be Harry Potter. Everything revolves around that kid; it’s annoying. We constantly glorify happiness, while vilifying the other emotions of the spectrum, classifying them as “disorders” that need to be dealt with. Jimmy’s always sad? He suffers from depression. Jane gets angry at the slightest thing? She has anger management issues. Johnny’s deathly afraid of that one thing? He’s got a phobia. How about Phoebe, who’s constantly smiling and cheerful all the time? Oh, she just has a really fun, bubbly personality. Isn’t she lovable? There is a popular misconception that emotions somehow conflict with logical reasoning; the battle between the heart and mind, as some would conceptualize it. This could not be further from the truth. Modern scientists believe that emotions are tools that our brains use to organize and expedite rational thinking. Every emotion has a crucial function, not just happiness. If they didn’t, our brains wouldn’t have evolved them in the first place! Happiness acts as a sort of positive feedback mechanism, as in, “This is good for you, keep doing that.” Anger allows us to perceive injustice and wrongdoing more acutely, and respond in kind, as in, “That guy just tried to steal my goat and burn down my farm. I probably shouldn’t let him get away scot-free.” Sadness, as an inverse of happiness, acts as a negative feedback mechanism, saying, “This is bad, don’t let it happen again.” Fear helps to keep us alive, as in, “Don’t poke that venomous snake with your fat sausage fingers, you dumb buffoon.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m not glorifying or trivializing conditions like depression and anxiety. These are problems that must be addressed, but demonizing and rejecting their underlying emotions while exalting happiness above all is equally dangerous. What advice do we normally give to people who are depressed or angry? We say, “cheer up, buddy”, “take it easy”, “stay positive”. Simply telling someone to ignore their other emotions and just “be happy” is terrible advice. It promotes the notion that happiness is only in someone’s head, that it’s a personal responsibility that others can wash their hands off. Our collective obsession with personal inner happiness can cause us to ignore valid grievances, enable exploitation, and tolerate external injustice that shouldn’t be tolerated at all.

EVERY EMOTION HAS ITS DAY

While all-pervasive in our neoliberal-capitalist society, our compulsive desire for happiness might paradoxically be pushing us away from really being happy. We pursue economically-serving surrogates for happiness like overpriced bags and cars that let us pretend we’re happy, while setting us on a downward spiral towards depression as we chase mandatory happiness in the face of ignored hardship, and repeatedly find ourselves falling short. We ask ourselves, “Why am I not good enough to get that raise?” or, “How can Suzanne afford that Louis Vuitton bag when I cannot?” Perhaps, a healthy mental state requires embracing all our emotions to build a more robust sense of harmony and inner peace, where we can be truly happy with who we are, because the pursuit of happiness can only be healthy when balanced and grounded with its accompanying emotions. Or maybe, the neoliberals had it right all along, and running endlessly on the happiness treadmill is truly the meaning of life. What do you think?