Hidden Agit

It's a weird night.

That's what I felt at least as I had the urge to write here. I rarely come here nowadays. I think I can no longer recognize the young child who wrote here, but afterall the child lives in me till these days. Especially on the day where everything and nothing in particular makes me sad just like tonight, the child too, cries harder and tugs repeatedly at my heartstrings as if questioning me again and again on why did I grew up to be like this.

I think children are wonderful creatures. Similar to animals, they are very curious and can be affectionate especially when their eyes sparkles with curiosity towards you. They are honest and crave love in the most sincere way ever, at least for me. Maybe I'm good with them because I resonate with them. My inner child has always tries to break through my embrace. She never grows up, she's almost always angry, and sad. Mostly scared I think. Sometimes I thought my inner child has left home forever to let me be, but on some of the most raging, depressive days engulfing me, I realized she was just taking a walk at the back of the park, stomping my heart with uncontrollable sadness everywhere and scratches my brain so hard that I can't stop hating myself with the words she throws around carelessly.

My inner child has dominated my feelings even at 28, so how can I not be afraid of children? Of hurting children intentionally or unintentionally and lets it linger in their brain, basically forever.

My inner child bleeds easily, from wounds to scars, from wounds to scab. Again and again, new wounds appear as the old wound just can't seem to recover. My inner child is demanding and clingy. She clings to every single hope she can find, swinging hard as if her life depends on it. My inner child is strong, yet so fragile and helpless.

I rarely mentioned this to people, but the biggest reason I do not want to have a child from my own uterus, is just really I'm afraid they will turn out like me. The fucked up, sad little me. Ever since I read articles on how depression can be genetically passed on to the child, I swear never ever. Haha I know some people may think I'm dramatic to decide this and I will probably change my mind once I get married, yadda yadda but I just think neurotypical people won't get this. The fear of being sick inside, the fear of being afraid of your own brain, the fear of crossing the boundaries. This is what the mind disease did to you. I know I have never taken any extreme measures (thankfully lol) and I look and "behave" normal, but it's just a battle that I don't think anyone deserve to experience.

I know what I just said sounds so bleak and cynical, but I can't help myself, this is just how the world works.

Oh ya, I know this might shock you younger Tasha, but you're actually taking your drivers license again! And I feel you're much more closer to it than before! I know it has been 10 years since then, since we enrolled in driving school after high school and immediately got traumatised while driving on the road as your car's engine shuts down suddenly while a big ass truck honking you from behind and your teacher not doing anything to help but just yell louder instead and that was the final straw for you to completely abandon the license even when you have completed all the classes and your parents paid for the fee already. We still haven't got it yet, but I will try hard to make you proud and feel accomplished okay? And we won't stop trying to be the best version of ourself by being brave and continuing to try new things, to try and try again no matter how many times, to not be afraid and intimidated of the world, to be just you without hiding.

As always, I love you and I appreciate you and I'm so proud of all your scars and struggles, and your glory and journey.

Actually this was written for my past therapy session. Guess I'm finally uploading it here lol

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To young Tasha,

Hello little one, how are you doing now? I am really curious because I cannot remember you much these days, but right now as always, you must be studying hard on your study table.

I have so much to say to you but truthfully what I want to do the most is to engulf you in a big, warm hug. I want to embrace your little self until the warmth melts away all your pain. I want to pat your back softly and rubs it in circle until you understand that there are people who are always here for you unconditionally in this universe. I want to whisper only sweet things in your little ears so you can finally forget the hurtful words you have heard that makes you so self-conscious even from that age. I want to caress every strand of your frizzy, curly hair and tells you that it’s imperfectly pretty. I want to hold your two small hands so tight and teach you to believe and reach out to your various dream’s constellations. I will sit beside you and hear all you want to rant about Harry Potter and its universe.

I want to take a mirror and push you to stand in front of it and make you see yourself for who you are until you believe how beautiful you are, how you are doing so well, how a precious human being you are, how you could do anything you put your mind to, how you are never a disappointment, how you deserve every single bit of love even without you having the highest position in class at year end, or being constantly an obedient child. And heck if God lets me, I would even open up your brain and remove that one speckle of trauma to protect your innocence at that time.

I don’t want to praise you for being strong little Tasha because no one at your age should know how to be strong. You should have been weak instead and still loved, you should have been stupid, but still loved, you should have been not enough, yet still loved. So, I hope you forgive me, forgive our parents and especially forgive the world for being so cruel to you by making you strong, Tasha.

I want to do so much for you little Tasha, and even now I’m always, always trying. I want to experience so much things that you used to dream of back then.

Will you be proud of me now if we meet? I imagine you would be because you understand me the most, and all of our journey to reach until this life point.

I want to promise you little Tasha that some days, this too shall pass and this pain will finally heal itself but I don’t have the courage yet to promise you that. I know how cruel the world can be so what can I promise you now is that I’m finally trying to take care of you, little one.

No matter how many times I need to, I want to shout this word until it reaches the skies and you – “I love you! I’m so proud of you! You are doing so well!”.

Take care, young Tasha!

Oh well, this is awkward.

It's already November now, wow. I keep wanting to write here, but I didn't allow myself until I had my first therapy. I punished myself through that avoidance, weird right? I started the first session on 9th October, whelps, think I need to mark that. The first day of receiving help!

So what had happened since then? A hell lot. My birthday passed, Henry's birthday passed too of course, and most recently, I'm back to office physically after almost 2 years. Say whaaaaat?

Did my sadness magically disappears now after starting therapy? Nah, hell no of course. I'm still in that waves of ups and downs, albeit, I'm at least swimming a bit better now, not fully drowned I guess. I have accepted it but I can feel it's still a long road to recover. Would I ever recover? I don't have the answers too.

There's a lot of thing my therapist told me, but of course some of the things she told me such as how she thinks I have undiagnosed high-functioning depression is some of the most memorable moments for me. So there's a name for what I'm going through, that's what I felt. Ah, it's not a joke anymore, I really have depression, I'm not being dramatic all this while, I really have it. Now, it makes sense. Those are the thousand things running on my mind then.

Maybe I have romanticized therapy in my head a lot previously. I thought I would feel instantly better when I start, that I would feel changes rushing in as much as how hard it takes to bring myself to attend the session. Like the therapist could give me some magic pills and makes the sadness disappear in a gulp.

I felt scared too when I talked with my therapist. The first time I went she said I should see psychiatrist to get anti-depressants for my low-level of serotonin. I was shocked, it's like I know I'm broken but not THIS broken? You get me? I never judge people who needs anti-depressant to live but why do I judge myself so hard from that one advice? I don't know either.

Living stills feels like a personal hell to me, I never know if it will ever be comfortable enough for me to adapt in.

I'm tired, I need to rest.

How do you live when all you live for is death?

Today, I received a death news that felt so near yet so far.

My paternal uncle who all my life I have grow accustomed to that whenever hearing any news about him is never a good one, who becomes the black sheep of the family that everyone seems to never talk about but also everyone keeps talking about. Often, being the receiving end of a death news is never a pleasant scenario, but I was surprised of how nonchalant I was at his.

How do you react to that? I never know how. I, who usually is very empathetic and absorbs others emotion almost sponge-like, hearing someone who has actual blood relation with me to have left this world and I somehow almost feel close to nothing. I just thought, oh death, you come again. Never late, but always a surprise.

And ironically then I thought of how hard I cried for Jonghyun's passing. For days and for weeks, I wept and mourn him in my heart although he was miles away from me. I can't even listen to his songs for a while because he felt so close to me. So, I feel so bad, that I feel this way now. But my paternal uncle wasn't there on my internship depressive episodes, Jonghyun's songs were there on the days I put his song on loop mode because I was genuinely scared of being a clueless adult in a corporate world. So, that's why, that's why I cried for him harder, I reasoned with my brain who seemed like to never think nicely of me.

I saw a clip of my grandmother weeping and I thought of how in contrast, death feels welcoming to me, except for this part. I think of how hurt people around me would feel when my time comes when I, myself got hurt because of them. Ironic, I know. Maybe it seems like I'm blaming everyone but never myself, but yeah, maybe I just want to do that. I want to point fingers to others so I can tell myself I'm hurting because of that thing I'm pointing at, not because of the rotten core of my existence.

Everyday, I try hard to progress. To hustle, to do, to be. I do all that, but why, why it doesn't feel enough? Did all the older adults went through this phase too? I want to live, but will it be worth to carry all this battle scars that never seems to heal, almost always ready to be scratched accidentally and bleed all over me again.

I might have my first therapy session ever soon. But I'm still procrastinating to click, as I always did whenever I face any inconveniences in my life. I ponder and wait as if the world will stop with me to accompany me, when all it did is just passed by me in a full sprint marathon. I hope you pray for me, to gather the courage to admit that I need help. And the hardest part, to agree to getting that help, as quoted from BoJack Horseman.

Maybe the reason I lay myself bare here is to succumb in the secrecy but also somehow secretly hoping to be found.

Ah, irony.

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