From the Wormhole: Triggered

I made this post a year ago on one of my deleted blogs. It was during one of my worst depressive episodes that led to a lot of challenges both at work and at home. Publishing this as a reminder to avoid going down that path again.

It was either therapy or this. The former wasn’t a viable option because it’s expensive in the country I live in and probably not covered by my healthcare plan.

Depression has been one of my frequent and constant companions. I can only remember a few years of my life that I had optimism, warmth and joy. More or less, my moods ranged from sad, miserable, annoyed or raging mad. I wish I had a redeeming quality I could think of describing myself right now, but so far I’m stumped. I wish I could say that I had empathy for others who are struggle because of my depression, but I’m not there yet. All I see right now is darkness. It’s been years, and that’s all I can see right now.

A conversation earlier today triggered something ugly in me once more. The topic was something about romantic love, that perennially irritating subject. In the past three or four years, I have resolved to shun opportunities leading to, or even  entertaining the mere idea of romance outside of movies, music and literature. After getting pregnant, giving birth, and raising my child as a single parent, I do my best to avoid the possibility of entertaining love in that blasted form. In my head, my mistakes and terrible decisions stemming from that kind of love have already cost me the suspension of my dreams and opportunities leading to it.  The persons involved and situations that happened the last time I fell in love shook me and rattled me. The whole idea of the One or true love is a lie for me so far.

The more I felt despair towards what happened, the more I lost interest in anything I used to take pride and joy in doing. It was like all the creativity, brightness and talent I had was sucked out of me. I felt that there is no way that I can take care or love any other person, for how can someone so hopeless and lifeless love anyone? I can hardly love and take care of myself and my child at present. What more if it was someone else?

Romantic love may work for other people, but not for me. It is not a reality for me. I would rather have my creative streak back, fulfill my dreams, and carve out a life for me and A than believe in a silly fairy tale. Finality and bitterness be damned.

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