• To anyone who understands

    by  • September 24, 2015 • * Safe for Work *, Depression • 1 Comment

    Hello, my name is Lancelot. Though my name is of little importance to this world, at least you will know of my small existence in this world. Let me tell you a short story of myself. I was born on February 3, 1992 but I was due for delivery on February 14. My father wanted to see me sooner so my mother had a cesarean. It was not a very wise decision for me to be born early. The following days after my birth, I had numerous I.Vs all over me, including my head. I was also incubated for a long period, as I was born with broncho pneumonia due to having under developed lungs. I was on the verge of death, but my fragile body clung to life.

    I had an existence like everybody else, so I thought. I lived normally like everyone else too, but my mind thought of things differently at a young age. My elder sister was always prioritized but I was never jealous nor asked for anything that she was given. By High School, I was singled out as a weirdo, nerd, or retard just because I spoke English better than everyone else (Asian country). By this time, I had a younger brother who had all the attention and was spoiled with gifts like my sister, but I understood it because he was the youngest. The maid was fortunate enough to get the bottom part of the bunk bed that my sister had. I did not have a room of my own so I always slept on the sofa. When I entered college, I still didn’t have a room of my own and I never got to choose the course of study that I wanted(parents forced me but they called it “guidance”), but I had friends that had the same interests as I did. Though there was still something missing. What is this missing thing? Understanding. No one, in the course of my life, had the same wavelength of thinking as a I did except my grandfather who died when I was in elementary school. No one understood how I felt when I experienced grief, happiness, or the technicality and practicability of doing things. When I grieved, my family would just say “get over it”, when I just wanted them to listen and understand what I felt. Even my significant other preferred that I would keep quite rather than talk things over with her. When I was happy, they would criticize me when I could be doing something better.

    One does not know that, one can be insane to a degree that he or anyone cannot acknowledge. Those who know themselves to be insane at that degree may have tread through the darkest portions of their mind. To tread through the darkest corners of one’s own mind, one must pretend to be insane and linger on unnatural thoughts but cling to a small lifeline of reality and morality. When they emerge from the darkness, they either reject it and live as they were, or embrace that madness as part of themselves giving a whole new perspective of their minute existence. There were moments that I ventured into the darkest portions of my mind and see the extent of my potential for madness, just so I could calm down and tell myself that I am sane enough not to do them while I acknowledged my own degree of insanity. What that dark corners of my mind offered me was the sweet escape of death, yet my fear of it kept pulling me back into sanity.

    What makes my existence worse, is the fact that I have a father who has no appreciation for what he already has, a mother who cannot even stand up to my father’s wrongs, an older sister who was dubbed as perfect, a younger brother who is a better version of me, uncles and aunts that humiliated me in public or in private, and relatives that always doubted my innocence. It has always been like this and it will always be.

    I don’t belong in this world even when I have found people who care for me or love me, for care and understanding are two different things and one can love a person without the need of understanding them. That sweet fruit, death, is always beckoning me to take a bite from the darkest parts of my mind, but my sanity pulls me back. Maybe one day, when everything no longer matters, I’ll embrace this madness and make my death into art and paint my room with my soul. I don’t want your pity and I don’t need it. I just want you to understand.

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    One Response to To anyone who understands

    1. Peter C
      September 25, 2015 at 10:11 pm

      HI Lancelot. Thanks so much for having the courage to share your story. It is a sad one; from before birth, the needs of others mattered more than yours. Other than a caring grandfather who died when you were young, it sounds like no one placed you first. Everyone deserves to be first in the life of someone else, and everyone deserves to be first in the lives and hearts of their parents when they are small and helpless.

      I’m sorry that no one tried to understand you when you were growing up. That must have been a lonely existence, and it sounds as though it still is. Sometimes just someone listening, without judgment, can start a process of healing. It doesn’t sound as though you had much of that when you were young.

      it is very hard when you feel you don’t belong in this world. But I think you do belong! You deserve a world that sees you, recognizes you, knows you, wishes you to be happy. It’s amazing that you got this far, that you had the determination and grit to push forward despite major obstacles. Many people would have already crumbled, would not have gotten this far. You have courage and resilience in you to have continued as you did. I wonder if any of that came from someone who did love you and know you, your grandfather. Sometimes people who loved us once can still nurture us even when they are gone. I wonder if that is true for you.

      You’re right that you don’t need pity; pity means that someone places themselves at a higher level than what they pity, and you are not on a lower level from anyone else. When you say your younger brother is a better version of you, I think you mean it seems as though your parents act that way. Because you are unique – what shaped you, your thoughts, feelings – you are the only one of you on this planet. There is no better version, you are it!

      Some people expect things of life, others no longer expect. But truth is, actually life expects things of us too. Sometimes our task is to realize that however terrible and painful the path that got us here, life placed us here and still expects something of us. The trick is to figure out what it is that life still expects of you.

      Death is not a sweet fruit, though oblivion can seem like a relief to contemplate. Death is more like a stretched rubber band that is cut. The ends snap back, they dangle unfinished, there is no elegance, no completion or closure. It is just a cessation, with all your plans spilled on the floor.

      If some small part of you didn’t believe there might yet be a new path for you, you would not have spent emotion, time and effort writing your incredible note. I’m sure just writing it caused heartache, reminded you of past pain. You overcame so much as a newborn, and then again as you grew up. Perhaps that same determination is still there and if so, perhaps it can help you find your path for the rest of your life. I am rooting for you Lancelot.




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