I’m not in the states anymore, I’m back in Singapore for my summer break. And during my stay here, I decided to go through some old books. I guess I wasn’t prepared to go through it all again even though I thought I was ready.
2012 was before treatment. It was before I moved, it was before I acknowledged that depression was real and not just an excuse.
The anguish in the words, the pain in the letters, the denial. It was as if I was reliving everything. Emotions that I used to feel ever so strongly crushed back and sat heavily on my heart. The ugly monster who was napping now raised its ugly head and roared into my ears.
Maybe I wasn’t ready to come home. To face everything again. I slowly feel myself regressing and it’s been so hard to stay above the water. Wilson isn’t here, my support group isn’t here. And slowly, I find myself reaching out to that blade (I haven’t done it tho). I’m afraid I might. All it takes is just one push.