The year 2020 was almost perfect until the pandemic arrived and my depression got worse. On August 2020, I moved back to desk duties. Due to the pandemic, the desk office mostly worked from home. Working from home unleashed another demon which almost consumed me; I was home all day alone with my thoughts, my depression, sharp objects and first aid kits.
Since there were no games or sporting activities, it was hard for me to leave my apartment. I was home for almost 5 months. It was a dawn of another dooms period. I felt mentally exhausted, disconnected from everyone, talked less on phone with my family and only discussed work with colleagues.
Soon, I started watching YouTube videos on how to improve my first aid skills. I became obsessed with medical shows just to learn more on how to handle my wounds in case it gets worse. Before long, I was hoarding first aid kits. I enjoyed the pain therefore I never opted for pain killers. It goes without saying that I went back to my old ways of dealing with my depression. This time it was more frequent, sometimes twice or thrice in a week. The pain kept my mind occupied and I found it hard to sleep or eat.
November is here
On the last day of November, my CO told me that I will get a pass to visit home. “Since 2020 was hard for everyone, we can have a little time with our loved ones”, he said. I didn’t have anyone to spend the pass with except my family so it was certain I will be going home by the end of the year. Since I was going to travel, I tried to cut down on my new found drug (self-harming).
Also, I purchased long sleeve shirts to help me cover my bruises. Even though the weather was not cold, I tried not to remove them all day.
While home, I hardly left my room. Thanks to dad, I had my separate room and I always shut the door any time I was inside. My siblings would always have to knock before entering which gave me enough time to cover my body before they entered. I never left my room without being fully clothed.
On New Years’ Eve, after the family prayers, everyone was busy calling friends and other family members to wish them a happy new year. I went back inside but couldn’t go back to sleep due to the noises coming from nearby churches and some children throwing firecrackers all over the street. This time I forgot to shut the door behind me. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling but I just really wanted to feel something new.
Everyone was happy and seeing my whole family for the first time since 2017 made me happy too. However, the urge to feel pain due to my depression was greater than the happiness I was feeling at that moment. While laying on my bed thinking about the easiest means to achieve this feat, I got out of bed and reached for my wallet on the nightstand.
I always have a razor blade inside my wallet, so I took it out. Cutting my wrist wasn’t an option since I was home and my siblings might easily notice; therefore, I reached for my thigh. I was just about to cut my skin open when I felt someone grabbing my hands from behind with a rush, it was my brother.
I don’t know what or why he came in without knocking at my door. Shame, anger and confusion flushed through me. He did not say a word to me all night nor the day after nor did I say anything to him all night and day. My brother never left my side the whole day and I did not leave my room all day.
Finding help for my depression
It took 2 days before I could say a word to anyone. Everyone expressed worry but he kept telling them that I was sick. I begged him not to tell anyone though, not even his wife or our father. He promised not to tell anyone if I told him everything. Talking about my mental illness was the hardest thing I had ever done in my whole life. I felt ashamed while he examined my body, seeing how my body was turned to a drawing board for the blades. For the first time in a long time, I was able to connect with my emotions. I cried for the first time in 10 years and at same time felt something new, this time not from self-inflicted pain but by sharing my feelings with someone.
After the holiday, he got me an appointment with a psychotherapist. Though I couldn’t continue the physical sessions since I had to go back to my base, the few sessions helped a lot. I went back to my unit but kept reaching out to both my therapist and family. It has been almost 3 months without relapse. With the help and support I’ve been getting from my family, things though not yet perfectly okay, is better. I’m still working on getting more help. Due to my location, getting a therapist for physical sessions is almost impossible.
However, keeping in touch with my family, reading books, engaging in necessary social activities, avoiding hostile situations which could mess up my head such as some content I view on the internet, have helped me a lot. The journey so far has been filled with ups and downs but I am more determined to keep pushing.
-by Joy