On Relationship

For the last three years, I was just dating around without having any intention to be serious with a guy. But last month, I decided that I’m ready to be in relationship again and say yes to a guy I met in Kit Kat two months ago. 

Our young relationship filled with up and downs already. Most of the time, the ups come from him and the downs come from me who is still struggling with traumas and depression. He’s been super kitschy and been making me feel like I am the coolest girl on earth. Shortly: he’s been great. 

But the last two-three weeks my depression has been acting up again. The voices come and talk to me again and giving me dangerous ideas to how I could just end my life and scare me so that I feel afraid to go to office, to do my uni projects, or to simplify: to interact with other. 

Last one week, I cry almost everyday. In the office, home, train, bus, you mention. Feeling down and scared are just my two moods. My boyfriend tried to make me smile again, but at the end of the day, I just feel numb or down. I feel sorry for him for having such a depressed girlfriend. But I hope he won’t run away. 

I tried to write my thoughts and analyse why these depression and bad mood come when I supposed to be really happy (because of honeymoon phase with new bf). I end up with nothing. But one thing I know for sure is: It’s been hard to let someone knows me better and letting them close to me. It’s hard to let myself be fragile around him.

On Home

Home is where ever wifi connected automatically.

After living in Bandung for almost 10 years, I finally moved out and decided to really restart my life in Berlin. The reason why I have been absent from my blog-writing was because so many things had to be prepared before my departure. It was frustrating, yet so exciting. No complaints at all, my first few weeks here was amazing.

But Berlin is not Berlin, if one's not struggling to find a place to stay.

Finding a place is a challenging thing, but finding a roommate is another whole new level.

After collecting many wifi passwords and be able to connect automatically, I still haven't find a place called home. A place where I always feel not only comfortable, but also safe. I'm currently living in an overpriced small room in an area called Wedding. With some touch of secondhand IKEA furnitures, this tiny space has become my lair for the last few months. Knowing how hard it is to find a flat in Berlin, I thought, it'd be better if I stay here a bit longer while I slowly trying to find my own place.

But as usual, the universe has it's own plan.

First bad sign which I didn't notice when I did room-viewing before I moved here is a big mural of Marx, Stalin, Lenin, Mao and few other people who I don't know on my kitchen. Yes, I didn't notice, and it was stupid. Second: he has baseball bat with hammer and sickle logo on it. And third: his anger management.

I found out that my flatmate has anger management issue, after he abused his (now ex-)girl friend while I was home. With my limited skill of German, I tried to listen what was actually happening next door. But what happened just brought back my trauma towards my ex. It was crazy, how what had happened almost 3-5years ago, just coming back to me instantly. And in result, I'm terrified with my flatmate and his aggressive attitude. There was one time, I even have no courage to go back to my own room, just because I don't wanna meet him. Crying all day, outside in the park or somewhere while trying to gather my courage to come back home and acting like there was nothing happened.

--I wrote those few paragraphs for quite a while. And as time goes by while I wrote my short story, I finally got a new place. A place with 50 y.o. guy and 40 y. o. lady and 27 y.o. me. We sat together as if there's no age gap between all of us. It was great.

I hope this could me my home soon enough.

On Acceptance

Does time really heal? Or we just get used to it? 

Last year, on my 26th birthday, I decided to took off my headscarf. A piece of cloth that has been covering my hair for more than 10 years. A piece of cloth which was supposed to be a statement of my faith to Islam.

My depression brought me down so deep, I got sick many times before I finally decided to be open about my decision. 

It was emotional and far from easy. 

The after was even worse. 

Some of my family members preferred not to meet me than seeing me without my headscarf. They were even willing to just cancel the family plan if I ever showed up without my headscarf. Hoping they would be more welcoming, I tried to follow their game. But their rejection towards my choice alienated me and didn’t help both sides. It just made my depression even worse. 

I decided to make space as far as I could from them.

I heard many times that we can not rely ourselves to other. But for me, my family’s acceptance becomes a glimpse of my hope to continue to live. I had countless suicidal thoughts because I believed that my family will never accept me as who I am. 

Maybe it sounds stupid, but knowing that they were stop taking pictures with me (without my headscarf) became one of my stress stimulant. It leads to my evil thoughts of disapproval, and estrange. Evil thoughts that they are ashamed of not successfully raising a religious daughter. Evil thoughts that my family are ashamed of having me as their member. 

But after a year, thanks to my big sister’s encouragement to be open to my family. My family’s effort to be on my shoes leads to improvement on fundamental things I need. 

Their acceptance. 

It started with small steps. The first one was having my lil sister asked me to join her for a selfie. And then I went for my mom birthday, and having my in-laws still talked to me. Next was my in-laws wanted to take family picture together. Then having my picture posted online. All without headscarf. 

I don’t know if they are really accept me or they just get used to it. But at least, for now I could be less worried about this. 

On Being Not Good Enough

“Yes, sex is cool. But have you ever sat in darkness, wondering why you’re not good enough?”

With great trepidation is how I live my days. I feel anxious pretty much about everything. And having self-doubt attached makes it even worse. 

Just yesterday, my scholarship application got rejected. Again. To be honest, this is actually my scenario. I wait the committee’s E-mail with the worst-case scenario running in my mind. I was doubting myself for getting accepted from the very first time. But even tho I was prepared with their answer on my application, I still can not hold myself back to cry for hours. 

One thing leads to another. The rejection causes domino effect. 

After being told by the ex-boss in the past that depressed people are not able to work, this rejection is not only effecting my visa planning, but somehow also affirming my self-doubt on being capable to work on something. I really can not trust myself if I could support myself. More than that, it’s even harder to imagine myself continuing my education, and worst now I doubt myself if I could put on a good show or even the show itself for my solo exhibition next month. 

If I really wanted to go to school again, I need to prepare hard cash for my visa which the amount is not small at all. It’s not that I didn’t save up as back up plan if I got rejected. But my back up plans used to help my parents back then. And I can not forcing them to magically come to me next week with the exact sum of money. I run some scenarios in my mind at this moment. But it just gets on my nerve and makes me more freak out. All that’s left now is just my head thinking that I can not make all of this thing happen cause I am not good enough at the first place. 

On Economic Cost.

After almost ten years living on my own, I’m back to my parent’s house. It’s been almost 6 months after I got resign-fired and decided to leave Bandung and it’s toxicity. 

Having someone constantly worrying about me is frustrating. And admitting the condition that I become a jobless stay at home daughter has been torturing me as well. Being dependent to my family kills me slowly but surely. It kills the last drops of my confidence. And the remaining faith on myself unwittingly fades too quick.

At this intersection of my life, I’ve got not many choices left.

I did all of my medication without insurance just like many of other Indonesians. This is why, I am so aware that mental health can be, or (actually) it really is, that expensive. And this is what I really don’t want to admit at this moment. The economic cost of having mental health issue. 

The cost which I can not afford by living like this. 

Every time I ran out of my meds, I panic myself cause that means I have to scrape out my savings or the worst… ask my parents to buy it for me. I know that money isn’t everything, but imagining myself without those meds freaks me out worse. Cause even without all those voices, I spent many of my nights thinking whether to just kill myself so that I won’t be a burden to my family anymore. 

Well, no one will tell that I am a burden. But I just can’t get it out of my head either. 

On Discipline

There is no i in discipline. There are 3 of em. 

At least that’s what I read on a communist Facebook meme page. 

After I decided to open up to my family about my condition, sooner than I imagined, they become the other two of my i-s.

They will remind me every single day to take my meds, day and night. They limit our night outs cause they know I should sleep early so that I don’t get cranky and sensitive in the morning.

As far as I notice, they really make effort to be on my shoe. Sometimes, they make fun of it, which is actually cool for most of the time. Cause it makes me feel normal. They really treated it as if it’s an allergy just like how I wrote before. They probably also take notes on my stimulants. During my ups and downs, they will ask me what happened or what am I thinking. Even though most of the time I’m not willing to share the details, they will ask me one simple question, ‘Is someone trying to whisper you bad things?’ 

They really are helping me to become more discipline during medication process. 

My closest surroundings still treated me just like it used to. Apart from my suicidal thoughts which come up too often when I train-commuting, they still allow me to go here and there on my own. But bring my ID anywhere I go become a thing for my family at this moment. Which I found ironically funny cause that means they are pretty aware anything could happen to me, not only accident but also self-harm. 

Despite the fact that my family still trying to connect my illness to some spiritual thingy (read back the very first post), I really can’t complain on how they deal with my illness on daily basis. I start become dependent on them. 

Ps. Knowing that are not that many friends and family support their closest one’s condition, I am fully aware that this post could bring many downs to anyone who have the same problem. We know that it won’t be easy to fight on our own. And I’m so sorry about that. But if you need help, or need friend to talk, please feel free to reach me. Drop your e-mail address on the comment, and I will reach you back. 

On Tracking the Ups.

Nope, not that UPS delivery service company eventhough you can track them as well. 

Again, mood stabiliser doesn’t work like cocaine. It helps you with the brain, but still yourself is the one who gives the consent to feel. Remembering the downs is definitely easier then remembering the ups. Bad memories stay longer. But usually what brings you down, lift you up. 

Mine is working or anything related to work. Yes. I’m not just a lazy-ass procrastinator, I’m also a workaholic. I dunno if its true, but my best friend said, she could see this sparks in my eyes whenever I get new interesting job. I kinda believe in her cause I once noticed this thing really happened and I really felt how my mood change. 

It was Saturday evening. A night out. We (me and my friend just called her Monti) went out for drinks and karaoke at local cafe. Suddenly. Depression kicked in. Crippling anxiety joined. Tears went down together with early 2000s Emo playlist. Fk. Bad mood. Still the same night. escaping the cafe crowd. BOOM! Red Grape mixed with wheat. Back to the cafe for toilet. Someone called me and heeeey! Dear, you! Where are you all this time? Stop your job as cultural whore already? Well, we got some news for you! We hope you could join us as spokesperson. 

TA TA TAAA! 

Still the same night. Mood became too good. Manic. Club Hopping. Dance like a moron. Good night. 

Until now, they never contact me, and neither do I. But let’s just remember this to show that, at least there’s something that could make me feel happier.