Tomorrow, I will see a doctor. I don’t have cancer. I am what people call mentally ill—or at least, I hope to be. That may sound a little harsh, but I’d rather that there is something wrong with me than live knowing this is just who I am. It’s funny, the latter makes the former sound more appealing. Maybe because I grew up in a household and a community where mental health isn’t given much importance. That is because they rely on faith and pretend like prayer solves everything. You see, I’ve been religious for half my life, yet here we are.
The point is, I like to think that I am mostly a tell-all person. I don’t see the point in why I need to hide my emotions. And right now, I mean to admit to you that I am a wreck. I am fucking nervous and afraid. The first time I went to see a therapist, it didn’t go well. To say the very least, it was bad to the extent that I still battle with that ill-forsaken experience. It’s like waking up with a hangover or riding a bike for the first time, only much worse. It’s the hubris after an unfortunate event.
(Please don’t get me wrong. I am the hubris.)
I feel like my ignorance also adds up to my nerves. What exactly do you tell them? I think I’m sick. No. I think I’ve been awfully mean to other people and to myself and I need an excuse to justify my actions. Well, it’s true. I made some pretty bad choices in my life. I am ashamed of most of them. I have also accumulated a wide range of trauma, especially in my childhood, which I still suffer from now. They say time heals all wounds, but it’s bullshit. Don’t fall for that. What time can only do is force us to forget, or if not, it gives us exactly that opportunity. But for some who cannot leave the past, they remember it all too well. And for me, I live the worst of both worlds.
Perhaps you’re curious that if this is the second time I’ve only ever gone to therapy, how the hell did I keep going all those years? I wonder about that all the time, too. I won’t pretend that I had the answer all along, because honestly I’ve only realized this just recently. That is: We are all human and that the fundamental truth about being human is our need to be alive and that to feel alive is to satisfy our need for others. We all crave family, friendship, love, and acceptance. I hate it so much that we were tricked into believing that we only want those things, that we should be ashamed of it, when in truth, we all need intimacy to keep going. And I refuse to think that self-love is the only thing that matters, because while it may go a long way, it is not our ultimate end.
We can never truly survive alone. This is what I hope to live through the help of therapy. So that I can forgive my younger self for looking for love at the wrong places and accepting it from the wrong people.
But for now, we can rest in knowing.