Let’s try this out

The time right now is 1:06 AM EST. I am trying to write my papers, which are long overdue, but I can’t. So now seems like a great time to write something I actually want to write about.

Looking backwards, I think my depression started in my first year in college. But instead of seeking professional help and social support immediately, I chose to suppress my feelings and hide my dirty shameful secret from the world until one day in the next year, I just crumbled, finally picked up the phone and called the psychological service of my school. It did not get better. I tried therapy for a semester, thought I was doing alright, despite repetitive suicidal thoughts during the summer. Unsurprisingly, when I returned to the school, I held everything together for about three weeks, then downward everything went. I almost started substance abuse, made full plans for my suicide, and still didn’t tell anyone about anything of this. On the very last day of the semester, I gave up. I called my mom and signed the paperworks for a medical withdrawal, and boarded a flight to Oslo.

I had a good time in Europe, went from the Scandinavia to Paris. There have been times when I hid in the bathroom of a hostel and cried for an hour, but in general it was good memory. After that I went home to Shenzhen, started seeing a therapist in Hong Kong, and started taking Lexapro. Things gradually got better. Especially when I started working at a law firm in June, for the first time in forever, I felt my existence in this world had its value, that I am able to achieve something others can appreciate. With the confidence I gained from this job, again I returned to school.

Things were ok, until they were not. When again I lost interest in everything and cried for no reason all the time, I knew I was having a relapse. My psychiatrist and I decided to try out the maximum dosage of Lexapro. That didn’t work. So two weeks ago I changed to Bupropion. I’m not sure if it is working as I see no significant improvement in my mood and level of energy. I still cry a lot, and again, almost exactly like last year, avoid dealing with any of the burning issues in my life and refuse to communicate with people. I’m not sure whether last year or this year is worse, but I feel equally despair. I do not want to waste another semester worth of tuition fee. And I don’t know if things will every get better.

Ironically, while I thought I was very successful in hiding out, my roommate got a call from the police department because the dean asked them to track me down to make sure I’m ok.

I am lucky enough to have a very supportive family and a close group of friends. Also, this semester I reconnected with my first year friend James, who went through the same thing. Talking to him honestly about my situations and symptoms and discussing what helped him out that I could try were so relieving and comforting. Additionally, I randomly got into really deep conversation about depression and exchanged our dark places and suicide attempts with my friend Alex. His story helped me realized how much worse things could have been, and how there is hope somewhere down the road.

Though I see none at this moment.

What scares me is not how messed up I am right now, but how this year is almost identical as last year. Is this just a vicious circle I can not break? Will I have to deal with this for the rest of my life? I try to be positive, but again and again I get beaten down, slapped in the face by the fact I do not know what to do, with anything.

I recently read the poem “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot, which reminds me of Pete Campbell, the character from Mad Men that I can most resonate with. So many of the lines in the poem depict my feelings perfectly, which is why I decided to write a paper on it in the first place. Here is a marvelous illustration of it on Tumblr: http://julianpeterscomics.com/page-1-the-love-song-of-j-alfred-prufrock-by-t-s-eliot/

And I have known the eyes already, known them all —

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

I hope this account will help me document my mental state and be a start of my yet another attempt to get my shit together.

All I pray for right now, is tomorrow will look less hopeless than today.