I had a complete breakdown yesterday. I felt like running away from everything—from family, from friends, from responsibilities—in short, from life itself.
I spoke to my flatmate about it late last night because, as I see it, he is partly the cause of what I was experiencing. I told him I wasn’t expecting a reaction but I secretly was. I was hoping that he would at least express some form of regret or even a glimmer of recognition that his actions has caused me such grief.
But all I got from him was a pursing of the lips, a hardening of the eyes, and a stony expression. I have seen this reaction before: he does it when I tell him that playing video games at 1am is unacceptable and that I need to sleep; he does it when I ask him for help cleaning the flat; and he does it when I ask if he could do me a favour and take me grocery shopping.
I suppose him leaving is a good thing, but his leaving is breaking up a lot of structures which I had so carefully put in place. It’s a bit like removing structural support from a building before it is completed. My building would be my career, I am building support to achieve that dream of landing a graduate job, but with him leaving, I will have to either move in with a stranger (which is causing me great anxiety) or move into a flat on my own (which I cannot afford). He has only left me 5 days to find someone to move in with me, and at the moment the search is not going well. I have asked if he could change his mind and extend his stay for another month to give me more time, and he’s said “no” simply because it is inconvenient for him. I should not expect anything less from him, really, because throughout our stay together in the flat, he has been nothing short of an inconsiderate and selfish little prick.
To make matters worse, I cannot get even a temporary job because I apparently “lack experience”.
So I decided to call my parents because I felt I needed to talk to someone. I did not get the support I expected—instead I was told to pack it all and return to Malaysia. I felt that that was the final nail on the coffin in which my dreams lie. I heard the pall of the bells of doom, and then something in my brain just snapped. I hung up, cried a little, bought a print cartridge from staples, and wondered around town aimlessly with red eyes. I finally made it back to my flat, but now the flat just reminds me of the flatmate and everything that is happening to me. I began sobbing, wishing it would all end, wishing that I did not have to struggle with depression and anxiety, and came to the realisation that I have no more strength—both mentally and physically—to cope with this. I cried for 2 hours.
Then I turned on the Simpsons but did not find it funny. The flatmate came back in the midst of it but there were no pleasantries exchanged (this was before we had that conversation above). I felt I couldn’t remain the flat any longer, and decided to take a long walk. That calmed me down a bit, and I saw a very good friend who talked me into not killing myself.
Yes I hate my life so much that I want to end it. This depression and anxiety is gnawing at my soul, corrupting it of innocence and removing any ounce of happiness. I don’t find happiness in Spring, in the sun, in the gentle breeze or even in the sound of children laughing. I look at children forlornly and can only gaze enviously at the life I will never have, wishing I was a child again and was able to choose a different path in life, one which will not eventually lead to self-loathing and self-destruction.
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