My Life Story: Depression and what goes down with it…

A few moments ago, I was crying buckets of tears. I was feeling really depressed, and hopeless, and I wanted to kill myself. Literally. I didn’t feel life was worth living anymore, and I felt desperate. Desperate to end my life. Hence, I’m writing this entry because I needed a way to calm myself down, and think my thoughts through.

I live with my mother and 27-year old brother. My dad was kicked out of the house back in 2010 when I was just 20. The reason? My mom found out he was cheating. How true is that, I’m not too sure (and I don’t really care). But honestly, back then, my living conditions were terrible. I have been living in a condominium along Upper Thomson since I was nine, together with my aunt and uncle from Germany, as their own home was still being rented out. Things were perfectly fine until I entered secondary school. My aunt and uncle shifted back to their own home. This was where the shit started, and probably the start of my keeping to myself. I must admit that I was a cheerful kid. But I was also jealous of the things my parents bought for my brother. Whatever he got, I didn’t have. Apparently, I needed to share, but my brother wouldn’t even let me go near his stuff. Physical fights were the norm. Black eyes, broken arms… You name it! I hated my parents for treating my brother better than me, and I hated my brother for not sharing. My ideal older brother image was tarnished. I thought I was lucky to have an older brother, but hell no! I wished I had an older sister instead. I began stealing from my parents to splurge on things for myself. And you guessed it right. They found out, and almost beat me to death. I was full of hatred and jealousy inside.

Things at home weren’t any better. I could feel the tension between my mom and dad. The reason behind this was because the house was getting cluttered. I didn’t know this back then, because I was probably too young to understand. I mean, how much could a teenager know? I couldn’t be bothered, to be honest. But anyway, looking back, I learnt that my dad was actually suffering from something called “Hoarders Disease”. He loves to pick up neighbours’ rubbish, and bring them home. So much so that, the house was in a complete mess. I couldn’t walk (nobody could). There was a pathetic squeezy isle for you to walk from the main entrance to the rooms. No sunlight was able to penetrate the high volume of newspapers and articles. Floor tiles cracked, and we didn’t get it fixed because my dad thought it was a waste of money. So he covered the cracked tiles with cardboard boxes. We had to wear shoes in the house. I never did housework. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t. That probably explains why I am lazy, or what not. I take the shortcut to get things done quickly. So anyway, my school uniforms were only washed once or twice a month. Can you imagine how smelly my uniform was? Especially since I was in secondary school. Sweaty teenage years. Had no choice but to wash my uniform by hand in the toilet using the bath shower foam (just to make it smell nice). I lived in a house where my dinners were always at odd hours i.e I ate my dinners at 10pm, sometimes 11pm. I never invited friends over because I was too embarrassed to let my friends see the state I was living in. I started to become anti-social, and even tried stealing from my friends. Whatever appealed to me, and I couldn’t have them. Soon, I lost friends, and became a loner. Entering poly was a change for me. At least I thought I could start afresh. I made new friends, and they didn’t know of my past. I was relieved (for a while). Then in year two, the friends I hung out with started to back away from me for no reason. I had no idea why. I would sit in between them, and they would text each other, look at me, and start laughing. I was clueless as to what I did wrong. I went back into my shell, and started to have panic attacks. I wouldn’t eat for days, and almost starved to death. I hated food, but actually loved eating. So sometimes, I would eat and throw up, eat and throw up. Then I met my other half and I felt loved, and he was there for me every step of the way. (:

Fast forward to 2010, to the incident where my mom found out about the cheating. I already graduated from poly, and found a job in the government sector. Then one night, I was awoken by my mother’s screaming. She went berserk, and I couldn’t recognise her at all. I thought that she was a mad woman. She was screaming and trying to strangle my dad. I pretty much freaked out and didn’t know what to do, so I called my boyfriend. He heard everything. The screams and all. And then he said quietly, “Call the police.” I told him, “I don’t dare! Can you please help me call them?” And so he did. The police came, and calmed things down. By then, my boyfriend was already at the house. He took me out, and I followed him back to his house and stayed there for the night. Pretty scary but I pulled through.

Okay… Shall stop here for tonight. You guys survived with me. Thanks for that! Time check: 12:58am, 27 Aug ’14. Will continue my story in the evening. Stay tuned…

P.S. So damn tired. My eyes are swollen from crying. I feel much better now though, in case you guys were wondering. (:


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