Trigger Warning: Adult content & Possibly “Triggering” Art/Writing
I had lived, for as long as I can remember, with what can be best described as a series of depressive and manic episodes (clinical est January 2013) – although I confess my recollection of these are at best vague, having been either emotionally detached or in an otherwise dissociated state. The most recent “major” depressive episodes “peaked”, or rather, “hit rock-bottom” around March 2013, February 2018 & November 2018. (as far as I can recall)
My memories are mostly deduced from what others tell me, journal entries, calendar logs and photographs. From about the age of perhaps 9, my memories are basically rare glimpses or flashes of seemingly unimportant moments. The most vivid being this instant where I was trying to recall my classmates after I had returned home from school, and struggled to remember names or faces apart from a boy who choked me against the wall of a storage room in the art studio, one that fainted during morning assembly, and the typical “popular mean girl”. I believe that was in Primary 2. Or maybe 4. (Supposedly around 7-9 years old). Days, months, and years blended and merged – dream and reality soon became indistinguishable. My dreams were of the dull repetitive rituals of my days. I was, at a certain point, enthusiastic and curious.
I was fascinated with how people seemed to be intimidated by, or otherwise spellbound, by some arbitrary form of mind control that was practised by those deemed to be “popular”. I didn’t understand the mechanisms underlying the social hierarchy which crafted this puzzling phenomenon of shaping one’s own interests, behaviour, goals, and desires based on that of the majority to gain approval. In my mind, one’s personality was a delicate construct founded on exploring the whims and notions that arose from one’s own mind; where individuality was a pillar of one’s sense of being; the reasoning behind this irrational volition to conform eluded me. It seemed to be the opposite of individuality (which was portrayed to be a positive trait on the likes of Disney Channel and Nickelodeon), which therefore rendered it counterproductive to the development of a “true self” – and hence a hindrance to growth.
I remember tirelessly trying to understand the fundamental dynamics, trying to map out the construct of the hierarchy and pinpoint the factors which contributed to its architecture. I would later (April 10, 2019) come to realise (guess) that this volition to pursuit normality, and otherwise be invisible in a world where everyone strived to be noticed, was some dysfunctional manifestation of the innate human need for approval.
Other experiences seem to manifest as clips or a physical virtual reality that seems almost real, or alive. – most often flashbacks and/or nightmares.
I’ve lived in Hong Kong, San Fransisco (US), Boston (US), Massachusettes (US), Rhode Island (US), Shen Zhen (China), Nan Shan (China),… (To be continued)
I write about my journey of ups and downs in the quest to establish, develop and fine-tune healthy coping mechanisms to cope with various psychiatric and physiological ailments – lingering impediments of emotional, psychological, sexual, and narcissistic abuse.
I am doing my best to confront and make peace with these conflicts. I’m doing what I can, but it seems for every step I take, I fall back two. Upon confronting my mother after I finally came to terms with her “true” nature, she proceeded to block me. Not only was I outright abandoned, I was stripped of even the right to forgive. I am doing what I can to make peace with this, I will no longer go out of my way to cushion her “paper heart”, nor will I forget the ways this woman used me as an arbitrary facade and means to delude herself, away from the issues she deluded herself into believing she had escaped – all in the name of being the self sacrificing, 偉大 (mighty) mother. As I write this, my heart pounds erratically whilst I shiver/tremble and begin to feel my limbs turn to stone and my brain shut down. This is evident in my writing, I believe. I can’t think properly or express myself to the extent I would like. I need a break, I will resume this in the future. 01:38 03/29.
Despite having not gone out for anything apart from visits to various psychiatrists, therapists, “help centres”, and the vet – living expenses have become to be another instability – supporting the notion that “mental illness is for the privileged” – that “it’s all in your head”, that “you wouldn’t have time to be depressed if you had to work to keep a roof over your head”. All hubris preventing those really in need of support from receiving it, gaslighting and belittling their suffering. Heartwrenching and disgraceful, to say the least… sorry for getting carried away – anyways, I have been learning/trying to produce mild/implied/borderline erotic style photos in hopes of subsidising my journey in the least invasive/destructive manner whilst I do what I can to gather and recalibrate myself whilst searching for “the one” (therapist/psychiatrist/whatever). I do hope to continue to do more editorial/glamour modelling once I overcome the
agoraphobia, anxiety and general dysfunction…
Update, 04/28/2019: I can, will and want to go out now! I’m still timid, but I spent a day socialising and making new friends following a visit to arch. I’m desperately hoping for this “breakthrough” to be genuine and not another false fantasy] As for function, I am still losing considerable chunks of time but the quality & quantity of memories that are returning to me are increasing by the day – and so is the pleasant nature of the content: not only is the past is beginning to resurface, it is doing in the form of pleasant memories & poignant nostalgia. It is no longer simply inexplicable episodes of irrational fear or rage, nor is it the stubborn plague of nightmares and inexplicable terrors.
I won’t/can’t carry the bubbly and sociable and friendly voice of the typical popular instagirl or similar, I have enough voices as it is. I apologise in advance for how far I can steer away from positive but to be blunt, this journal is for me. It is a means for me to record and perhaps recall my experiences before they are once again lost to me.
I am not selling you a tale of novel adventure, nor am I promising some marvellous feat of great deeds. What I offer is not some woeful tale of despair nor do I wish to paint you an image of pain so vivid it will remain scarred into your mind’s due, forever haunting.
What I am offering is for you to join me as I scramble to gather, rediscover, and reconstruct the dissociated and fragmented bits and pieces that make up the shattered puzzle that is my life as I know it.
Will you accompany me upon this treacherous endeavour?
Trigger Warning: Adult content & Possibly “Triggering” Art/Writing
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Thank you for being so supportive, patient and understanding with me whilst I figure all this out. Your support means more to me than you might think, not only are you keep meat on these bones, and giving me one less crisis, you’re also contributing to my son, Liam and giving me hope and encouraging me to believe in what good you see in me.