Shengliver’s Note: Perusing the journal entry, I was greatly alarmed. Meanwhile I felt honoured by the trust the teen put in me. Hopefully my words may have made some difference to him. May he come out of the blues sooner.

 

It was not until the mental problem weighed upon me that I appreciated the significance of my rock-solid friends.

Weeks ago, after Covid forced us to switch to remote learning for the second time (August, 2020), I was cast under the spell of some bad feelings due to some personal issues. At the worst, I did not eat for days on end. When Dad finally took me to the surgery, the doctor there did not tell me what was wrong with me. Instead, he said that I was in a wrong place and instructed me to see a psychiatrist. Though drowning in a lot of anguish, I did not dare to visit a psychiatrist, for I was afraid that I would not be strong enough to face it all.

My best friends have their own lives to take care of. Yet when I badly need company, they timely appear by my side. They could not share my pain in a literal sense; nor could they figure out what was really happening to me. But they would be there for me when I needed them.

I still cannot get a complete grip on my own emotions, and I cry at times for no reasons at all, but I feel a great deal better than I did a month ago, during which time I could have cried all day and my suicidal tendencies became ever overwhelming. It was my friends’ company that made me feel a little normal; it was their presence that helped me reorient myself to reality; and it was their unswerving support that pulled me back from the brink of fall.

I did not understand depression very well. I used to believe it is no more than a psychological thing. When it struck me, I learned first-hand that it is more than psychological. It is 100% physical. My own body still slips out of control when the blues hit.

Yes, I am still on the way out of the darkness, although I can make out a dim light at the end of the tunnel. I have to admit it’s hard, very hard.