15.12. Listening to Stray Kids’s Easy.
These are words I often use: sometimes, maybe, I think. They show how I perceive the world. Through a cautious glasses, never sure of anything, keep worrying whether a pattern in life is repeating or not. These are words that hit me today: “Before successful therapy, it’s the same damn thing over and over. After successful therapy, it’s one damn thing after another.” It’s a quote from the book I’m currently loving so much, Maybe You Should Talk to Someone. The book is truly wonderful and amazingly well-written.
The first time I caused my parents to worry enough to send me to school counsellor, it was middle school. I held my tears and gritted my teeth, suddenly disliking the teacher because I thought he was only faking sympathy and actually didn’t care about me at all as long as I remained a good student.
The first time I met a psychologist, it was high school. And while I realized later that I didn’t connect truly well with her, our meeting had been a turning point in my life. She said to me, “You seem lonely.”–which I had strongly denied. I liked my solitude and were never one to seek other people’s companion to fill the boredom. She also said to me that I was strong and it seemed that I would survive no matter what situation I was in. That gave me a lot of confidence and emerged from her counselling room with a lighter mood. Didn’t I know that her words sounded empty to me. It made me temporarily happy, thinking that I had everything under control and there’s nothing to worry about.
The second time I met a psychologist, it was the end of my first semester in college. I hadn’t been eating for days. I hadn’t taken shower for days. I hadn’t even drank or left my bed for days. I refused to talk to anyone. My housemates whispered to each other, worried and afraid. “Is she sick?” one would ask. “Has she got possessed by devil?”
In my mind, I’d laughed. But then tears also came, because I knew I’d prefer to be possessed by devil anytime. At least that way, I would have something to blame–even if it’s my own lack of faith to God.
One of my housemates was a psychology student. She offered to accompany me to meet the college counsellor or a therapist, if I wanted. At first, I rejected it. I would remember my meeting the therapist in my high school and knew that I wouldn’t want to meet another people with empty words. The day after though, I accepted her offer. A week later, I met with my current therapist.
The journey from there was not smooth-sailing. I’d come once a month for almost half an year, then disappeared for months, thinking I was getting better. Suddenly I would come crushing down again and reach out to her, trying to find a quick solution. But with therapy, it’s never a quick solution. It’s a hard work, a long and very challenging journey–one that I sometimes gets frustrated about. She would guide me to open up to myself and see what’s the real problem in me, but then I’d back down and run away. I’d find my way to her again, with the numbness and the heavy feelings. I’d send her emails, crying my heart out in my writing but cold as stone when I sat in front of her. It’s not easy being vulnerable. It’s not easy asking yourself to change something that’s previously invisible in your life.
Back to the quote I’ve mentioned in my first paragraph of today’s entry. Right now, I still feel that I face the same old damn thing over and over again. Now though, I can put name on its presence and face it as courageously as I manage. Years from now, maybe its presence wouldn’t exactly disappear for my life, but I’d be able to talk to it casually as a long time friend instead of a looming, terrifying demon. It’s been almost three years and I am still fighting it. And maybe the point is not to defeat it once for all, but for me to keep getting back up even after it knocks me off my feet. I wouldn’t know. The future is uncertain. Life is uncertainty. Sometimes, maybe, I think. I think that maybe life is sometimes happy, sometimes sad. Sometimes angry, sometimes grief. Sometimes joy, sometimes anguish. I think that maybe it’s all true or not true at all. Maybe it’s in the between. I think.