On Depression..

I DEFINITELY need help.

Unfortunately I live in a society where mental illness is frowned upon. Clap clap clap, society. You really know how to tip someone who already has one foot off the ledge over. Well done indeed.

I sit here right now, after tatooing Im am crazy in my arm, contemplating my next step.

I DON’T KNOW why I am angry/depressed/insane.

This episode just happened. One Wednesday morning I woke up and I have no desire to talk to anyone. Including my husband. I have no desire to eat. My sleeping pattern is a  mess. Today is Saturday.

And today I burst. I did become angry at him because he yelled at me infront of his brothers and sisters. Last night he could have killed us with the truck already halfway in our lane but, nope, as always when it comes to driving he is ALWAYS right. He yelled at me because I didn’t want to go out. I felt embarrased.

You see I live in a small room in the in-laws place. I have no privacy. People come in and out to play video games etc. I have no privacy. Now I have no autonomy. I eat when they eat. I eat what they eat. I go where they go. I have no autonomy. I have no right to feel sad. I have to pretend to be happy all the time.  Even the maid refuses to clean this room or do wash my clothes or fold my clothes. And to think I am the ONLY one that treats her nicely and doesn’t treat her like a servant.

He is now mad at me because I have been giving him the silent treatment since then. He told me that I have insulted him so much in the past but he never said anything. He actually said today that if I am so unhappy I should leave.This is after 7 years together. Even the only person who can stand me is actually giving up. He called me a horrible mean person. He called me childish.

So here I sit.

Feeling worse than I have ever felt before in my entire life. Contemplating my next move. My slightest action will change EVERYONE’s perception on me. Noone but him knows I’m crazy.

Death IS the only way out.

Even then I would be called a coward. For not having what it takes to make it through life. But then I would be dead so who cares what people say?

Not that I have not thought about it nor acted on it.

I have been depressed since I was a child. I remember being five and beaten up by my dad for bringing up that I wanted to die. Again, hooray to great parenting. At 11 years I used to write my name with a knife on my arm.  When I was in university I swallowed a bottle of vioxx. A few weeks back I drank bottle of hot massaging oil.

Here I sit typing a way with a knife next to me contemplating my next step.

I drew a line with the knife across my radial artery repeatedly but again only to leave a mark, because my mind is contemplating the next step.

What is the next step?

I am weighing the pros and cons. At the moment Death is winning. But I know that if this is not my time then no matter what I do life would still be in me. And that will cause more problems. And people will know that I’m crazy. Cons. But if I do die then I will free my husband from the horrible wife he has and he can got on with what is more important. His life. I am a horrible person. His father died 6 months ago. Life has significantly changed since then hence why we are here under his mother’s roof. Oh that’s the other pro. His mother will have him all to herself. Thats a pro.

Am I a horrible person?

When the father died I bought his flight ticket to go home. Initially when he went missing he wasn’t going to go home but I said that’s crazy and that he should. So I bought the ticket. When we did find out he did die my mother was on her way to visit us so I left my mother to her own accord to be with him. I was his secretary. I made a list of all the things he needed to do. I supported him as best as I could. Whenever he cried I was his shoulder to cry on. I told him that his father lives in him and his siblings and that is how things should move on. Using my money he learned to call home every weekend. He never used to. I nagged him to call/sms whenever it was his parents/siblings birthday.

Even after the mother openly said I am not good enough  for him. Even after she specifically told him to disrespect my mother. Even after they abandoned as at a random train station to make our own way while they continued in their own comfort in the big car. Even after he let some random tiny women climb on top of him and give him a hell of a massage in front of me.

He said that he is sorry and what more can he do. That’s the thing with men. An apology is supposed to make everything okay. But it’s not okay.

But then again I did call his mom a bitch.

But let me justify that.

On our honeymoon the massage thing happened. I was super upset. This is a guy who I have promised my life to and he let this happen. The man I trusted. Fair enought we went to the spa together. But I didn’t expect this very petite women to climb on top of him, and rub oil all over his body while seductively asking is the pressure enough for you, Tuan?

So I asked for a divorce. He called his mom and told them that I asked for a divorce. They wanted to speak to me. I didn’t want to. They called me rude for not wanting to speak to them. We reconciled and I agreed to stay. I didn’t want the parents to say anything to me. But because of that they spoke behind my back. And that drove me crazy. I would sit in the very same room while he was away for what felt like an eternity talking about me.

To him my depression is just a mind game for me to control him. All the silent treatment. The attempts to leave. The attempts to die. Yes, MY depression is ALL about how to GET back at him.

I think the problem is because I haven’t forgiven him for the past. Three years on and I still rap about the same story. I just feel its unfair that I should just forgive and forget.

Don’t get me wrong he is a wonderful person. And I think mothers are right. And she finally got her wish. For him to hate me. For us to live under her roof so she can OVERSEE his happiness. For him to be rude to my family. Whenever we go to my mom’s place he just sits there.

I’ve gone too far this time. Too far to return. All the above was not the reason I was sad in the first place. This was ONLY brought up because he said I am a horrible person.

I draw another line on my wrist.

Still no courage to cut through.

JUST DO IT ALREADY!

Keeping a deaf ear.

People always say:

Happiness comes from with in. The only way to be truely happy is to love one’s self.

Now. The person who wrote this MUST be from a politically correct country. There is just no other explanation. Because – if you come from MY part of the world, no matter how hard you TRY to aclimatise to your lumps and bumps, learn to accept and even like your good features ( in your own eyes that is), there is always SOMEONE who plans to shatter your self esteem with statements like:

• Whoooaaa, look at the spots on your face. What happened? Have you been munching too much oily food? You know it’s bad for you
• OMG you’re soooo fat! ( this is the most common method of greeting in motherland. I feel like answering back, yes, it’s very nice to see you again too.
• You know you shouldn’t really wear that kind of clothes. They make you look pregnant… etc.
• do you want to take Jaja’s old clothes? She has lost sooo much weight and you might fit in her clothes.

The list just goes on.

Before I left La La land, I had mentally prepared myself for the worst, the kind of pain that used to leave me locked in a room for days – the psychological abuse. You see, in the past whenever I used to go home, I would be greeted by my dad with the above hurtful remarks at the airport. Immediately all the elated, feel good, happy to be home and see my family feelings dampen, as though someone  put a very sharp pin right in to my heart, and burst the happy bubble. Lately, I think mainly because of warnings from my step mother to mind his mouth, or maybe the fact that he’s getting older and things like this don’t matter just as much, he is not listed in my common fellow insulters. However much to my dismay, can’t say I was really surprised by it, there are STILL plenty of poisonous fish in the sea, and thus the abuse just keeps on coming.

It’s only been a week today.

Things have not been looking up all that much, but still I am in my readjustment mode so, come what may I was handling it. To date I have had 7 insults, which I face with a huge smile and some smirky return comments. World record, I thought to to my self. Only 7?

There I was not feeling too bad with myself.

This morning however, as we made our way to the car for some fine dining ( yeah, right), I overheard the maid ask my mother in law, ‘is she expecting?’, whilst gesturing on her tummy and pointing at me. Tears just started rolling off my face, but I quickly got in the car, and said, nope, just pure old fat.

I don’t what came over me. Because from that moment, I just couldn’t stop crying. I cried through the meal, with my MIL trying to make awkward conversation, my SIL just looking at their plates, and me maintaining no eye contact with anyone but chatting away in lightning speed. I hated myself for letting it get to me.

But SERIOUSLY.

How does one learn to love themselves when its clear that people are offended by one’s own presence?????

The thing is, I can’t be THAT ugly or THAT fat.

With my usual emotional ramblings on my old blog, one of my friend actually wrote to me that she had always thought that I was the prettiest girl in school and that I must learn to not let my appearance get in the way of my happiness. I have had my share  of admires (one guy became gay after I dumped him ‘but what the hey). I am married for goodness sake. I had a few men turn their heads for me (I know, how shallow of me to measure myself based on this but again, what the hey), and will always remember being asked out by this very very HOT guy.

Fair enough, I AM fat. But not the I can’t fit through a door kind of fat. Or the bed bound fat. I am the kind of fat person who:

• Can beat her super skinny and active friends at racket sports. I DO run after the ball
• may NOT be the fastest runner in the world, but CAN still outrun some people in a long distance run
• a relatively strong swimmer
• eats relatively healthily whenever she can

I was 78 kg which was overweight for my 5 ft 6′ height. 3 years down the line, I gained 15 kg mainly because:

• inability to eat proper meal due to my nature of the job. If and when I do get to eat, all I want is CARB.
• The hubs is a masterchef wannabe. EVERY meal has to be  a good hearty meal. NONE of this beans on toast / instant soup with a sandwich kind of crap pre marital bliss.
• I also have been eating MALE size meals, which I shouldn’t be
• After my run, I injured my other knee and now with bilateral knee pain and left hip pain at 27, physical activity is limited
• I binge eat when I am depressed. And with the things in my life right now plus all the worries in the world, this means constant munching

My BMI is now 33. I have ACTUALLY tipped into obesity. Which I suppose is fair enough reason for people to bring up the weight issue, sensitive as it may be. Despite all this however,  with this heavy load of lard that I carry, I still beat my husband (relatively fit, he cycled 22 km daily to work ) at tennis, and my SIL at badminton.

So there.

I suppose I must learn a coy way to either re-insult them or make them feel guilty for insulting me. Or just learn to keep a deaf ear.
I probably should thank these people, as eventhough they crush myself esteem, make me want to kill myself, forbid myself from everlooking at the mirror, have this emmense fear of trying on new clothes – they are making me join in the craze going round in my IL’s family, which is what looks like only a spoonful of rice per meal, or even better, let’s skip it all together. After this morning’s fiasco, today I have only eaten chicken and vegetable for brunch, and some noodles for dinner. THAT IS ALL.

As if life isn’t miserable enough at the moment.

Of changes and sacrifices

This past month has been really busy getting prepared for the big move. We ordered 17 large boxes from the shipping company and ended up only using 13, with the additional 4 huge bicycle boxes and one for the flat screen TV. The house was in a total chaos then, and with a tight deadline we really had to plod along. The removers came on a Sunday morning all bright eyed and bushy tailed, and despite being vertically challenged, the two scrawny men managed to empty our flat within minutes.It felt really wierd bidding farewell to our belongings, knowing that despite departing 2 weeks before us, we will still arrive sooner and will be waiting anxiously for their safe arrival for the next 8 weeks.

We had ample time to sell all the things that were not worth the extra cost to bring them back but being complacent, on the last day we had to leave behind for the new tenant’s benefit two bookcases, an old television, a phone stand and a shoerack. The rest of the little things that we wanted to donate to charity, was sent promptly the day before departure and to our dismay, the ‘shop’ that we went to only accepted clothes, but offered to throw away all the other things that we had to offer. This included a couple of handbags that were in excellent condition, a lamp shade, a standing oscillating fan, etc. I was so annoyed but with no other choice and the time constraint, we just had to abandon the items there.

Wasteful.

* * *

It was all mixed emotions on the last day in the country. We were still yet to sell the car, but a friend had kindly offered to baby sit it until there were any interests. It was a lovely and sunny day, which made parting from  La La Land even more difficult. I sent personal text messages to all the people that I know and were close to, knowing that with time, we would probably grow apart and that probably we will never see each other again.

I was also bidding farewell to my lifestyle, my freedom and my total independence. Having left home since I was 13 and lived abroad for many many years, I had gotten used to living life on the edge. Not that I do anything particularly interesting. But the ability to dictate whether I want to eat or not, what I want to eat, when I want to sleep/ part from slumberland, who I want to meet/do I want to meet anyone today, leaving/coming home at anytime that I please, loud inpromptu love making in the living room and of course, walking around bra-less/naked in the house – are all small luxuries that one would only learn to appreciate when the decision power and PRIVACY are no longer at hand.

You see, a few years ago I got married and had built a life in the foreign land that feels more like home now. Therefore returning to motherland with nothing more than our suitcases (and the 18 boxes that will follow suit) filled mostly with gifts for our large families respectively, we of course did not have our ‘own home’ to go to and therefore have to go back to living under parent’s roof. For my case, it was my in-laws.

Having only spent maximum 3 days with them after the first few days of marriage, I did not get the chance to get to know them all that well, and so even after years of marital somewhat bliss, being around my in laws still feels very awkward. It doesn’t help that a few incidents had occured:

(mainly because of me being emotional and feeling sufficated and wanting to break free, and this side of my hubby which I never knew – the one that discusses these things with his MOTHER, which led her to saying out loud that I’m probably not good enough for her golden child whom for the 5 years  that I knew him always felt abandoned and unloved by his family, and she made the mistake saying that infront of my OWN mother, who is a divorcee and therefore does not take CRAP from people or let them speak such way about her children, which then led to this big confrontation, of my mum threatening to assault his mom)…

and me naturally a closed person, it would probably take months for me to feel comfortable around them and act my ‘normal’ self.. Although I have a feeling if I do act my usual tantrum filled bipolar self I would eventually BE deemed not good enough and therefore kicked out of the house.

Anyway with good intentions and generosity which I am very much grateful for, they had made the guest room bigger and more spacious, so that we CAN retain some privacy should we wish to do as we please.

***

The biggest change so far has been our eating habits. The husband and I are big eaters and we both love to cook. Hence why we sway slightly on the ‘heavier than we should be’ size.  Our families members on the other hand, are all petite and are very conscious of their daily intake. Wanting to ‘fit in’, we succumb to their eating portion and are left with rumbling stomachs for the rest of the day. This probably I don’t mind all that much because I do feel larger than life at the moment, but again there are times, especially right now when I am all emotional and PMSing, I would like the option to raid through the cupboard for a piece of comfort food.

The other big thing is me losing my total independence. It’s only been 5 days but still I feel like slitting my throat at times. I don’t have a car of my own. The hubster has a lovely car, inherited from his late father (may he rest in peace, he was indeed a really good and extrodinary man) which he has been driving around since our arrival. He tells me that I can drive the car, or any of the cars at home for that matter should I wish too, but me still feeling awkward and not yet at that level in the family relationship to just grab and demand usage of a car over his siblings, chose not to. Which means I now rely heavily on my husband (which I really hate, I have always prided myself as a strong woman and have my own set of friends) and feels trapped and sufficated. Gone is my freedom.

My husband does not understand this and always gets angry whenever I say I feel like leaving this marriage because I feel restricted. Fair enough I shouldn’t say these things out loud ( so far I have threatened to leave countable with only with one hand, which is more than the number of years we have been married! ), but whenever I announced this I was either PMSing really bad or had slipped back into depression. True he has never restricted whatever I wish to do, but.as a married woman, I have my obligations.

For instance. The H moved across the country to be with me just so that I would feel comfortable working with people I know. I therefore had more social commitments than he does, and at times I can’t drag him to all the events as some of them are just girly dates. He would then just be sitting at home, doing his own thing (which is videogames) and I would feel bad that I’m enjoying myself and therefore would either a. decline the rendez-vous b. return early. He never says that I should NOT go, but having known him many years before we were married, I pick up hints.

The other thing is, in my culture, the guy’s family will always trump the girl’s. Say for instance, if we were to be at my mom’s for a family dinner and ended up staying over because it was late, should his mom call us to come home for breakfast, we would then have to bid adieu early in the morning and off we go.
Readjustment.
That is all there is to it.

As long as I have a private place to let out my frustrations I think I will survive. MUST never cry. Bottling up IS the in thing.

But then I do have a journal.

Hello.

Its feels weird being back.

I have shunned myself from sharing my inner thoughts for many months now. Although my head is buzzing and bursting with things to write, I find it very difficult to organise my thinking. Even typing feels somewhat funny.My fingers feel stiff and unskilled.

I thought long and hard about whether I wanted to start blogging again.

These past few months have been an emotional roller coaster ride and I can feel myself withdrawing to that little girl I was many, many years ago. Back then every little feeling, even the slightest niggle of emotion was kept well bottled up, in the huge compartment in my heart.I dragged it everywhere I went, me and my heavy weight excess baggage.

I do not want to be her again.

The old chapter in the virtual world was a homey space, and my last two attempts of trying to recreate it had unfortunately failed. I guess the failure was due to reason WHY I deleted it in the first place. People. Things started to get too personal. There are sides of me that I didn’t want people to know about, but yet  I felt the need to pour it out somewhere to maintain my sanity.

So this time things will be different.

I will at my very best maintain my anonymity. I suppose with more postings snippets of my life would be unravelled. Until then, I’ll enjoy being invisible.

Have a good weekend.