Yellow there… How have you been? As I am writing this post, I am not feeling great. My mind is messy and I have no idea how to fix it neither do I know when it may come greeting me. As long as I remember I have always had messy head, one uneventful experience can lead me to another relapse. This post is written after another argument that hurt me deeply, I blame myself foe being too sensitive. It will be hard to understand depression especially for those who never dealing with it.
Did you know when Chester Bennington lost his fight, there were people who said that he didn’t get the help and supports from his family and friends. As one of Linkin Park fans, I did feel that I fail to notice how dark it was, how deep his depression was. But, it’s not always about support system because by the end of the day, it’s about how strong we are fighting our own demon.
I don’t know when was the first time I realized that I was fighting my depression. I have no idea the root of my problems. I wonder if my blurry childhood memories have to do with it. Weird? Perhaps it is. I only realized how messed up my memories had been when I listened to my best friends telling me her childhood memories. One has this vivid memory of how painful it was to face her parents’ divorce and learnt that her late father was not one to blame, unlike how her late mother dumped all the blames on to her father. Another one has these beautiful memories from her childhood where she had doting grandparents and a pair of loving parents despite her loneliness being the only child. Then what do I remember? I remember my dad taught me Chinese history, he taught me to memorise important verses from Bhagavad Gita that I still remember until now, he was a teacher (I didn’t know that) and a proud farmer – farming had always been his passion – even though he had to drop out from university, he had the knowledge and his method was always 5-10 years ahead of his time (in our community). My mother respected my dad as much as she looked down on him. Back then I couldn’t tell as I harbored a deep hatred toward my dad after he hit my head. I was never be the sharpest tool on box, he lost control and hit my head when he was teaching me Maths. I was grade 8 when that happened. I did not speak to my dad for over two years. When he passed away, I could not tell if I regretted everything but I did feel sad – I still do. Days before he passed away, my dad refused to eat. It was hard for to swallow, even he had to struggle drinking a drop of water. He refused almost everything but when I brought a piece of papaya, he tried to sit up (might be he thought if he sat up, it would ease me to feed him). He had no energy left, so my aunt helped him to rise his pillows so I could feed him. He ate and drank a few drops of water. He smiled. That was his last smile. The day he passed away I was at school, my brother in-law picked me up and drove me home. My aunt told me that he was waiting but he ran out of time. He’s gone 5 minutes before I got home. I remember that he wished to send me to Aachen or to Munich so I could get a better education. He told me he was inspired by BJ Habibie – the third president of Indonesia; therefore, either Aachen or Munich. I am fine, I did not get to study in Aachen like he wished but I set my foot in Munich in 2009; it was for a business trip – a completely different reason – but I believe he would be proud if he knew.
What about my mother? I did not have a good relationship with my mother. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love her. I admired her for her strong will and how she brought us up with a very minimum financial support from my dad, plus our family was outcasted by my dad’s family right after the passing of my grandfather. She paid for our school tuitions; she has that little book with all of our school expenses, especially our university days. But somehow, we never get along wonder why. There are times that make me feel she’s being manipulative and that she’s a control freak. She hates when we refuse to “obey and follow” her way. When I was younger, I would choose to stay away from confrontation but as I got older, it’s hard for me to avoid confrontation when I know exactly that’s wrong. I understand where’s she coming from and that she experienced hardships when she brought us. She holds grudges from the past. She refuses to let go no matter how hard we tell her that we want to close that painful chapter. Instead of letting it go, she nurses it and lets it root deep inside her. As her children, we want to end this vicious cycle; it won’t take anywhere near. She says she believes in karma but what she does, doesn’t reflect it.
Then, I have my older sister. She’s the exact copy of our mother in terms of tenacity. She is smart, the second smartest after our older brother, and we have this love – hate relationship. I deeply wounded by her words. She told me that as the youngest in our family (from our dad’s and mother’s side, I am the youngest) I have lived an easy life. She said that I didn’t need to force my way to get approval from our mother to continue my study; I didn’t need to take public transport nor did I need to walk miles away to reach school. But she didn’t know that I traded my dream for that. Our dad passed away when two months before grade 12. I talked to our mother that I wanted to pursue my dream and I wanted to get into the same university my older brother was in. When our dad was still alive, she was alright, but things changed when he passed away. My mother decided that if I wanted to continue my study, I had to stay in Bali. I was afraid of my mother’s health if I forced my way. So yes, I threw my dream away and got into university in Bali. One day, I overheard her talking to her friend that I took everything away from her just because I was born after her. Did it mean she hate me? She did and still does. But she loves me so much, too. She sacrifices a lot for me, financially supported me whenever I had to be admitted to hospital. There were times when my insurance didn’t cover everything and she or our brother would cover the cost. Autoimmune treatment isn’t cheap.
to be continued…
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