The darkest hour....

I thought I'd start by describing my darkest hour and the events leading up to it...

I was from a "normal" family with the usual problems. As children of immigrant parents, my brother and I, we were always encouraged to do well in school. My father was an engineer who loved his job and he wanted us to be like him. School, exams, getting into good universities and being successful in what ever career we chose (more like the career they chose for us) was of the utmost importance. What we really wanted to do or what made us happy was not really relevant.

So having grown up in this kind of high pressure environment, it was no surprise that I developed stress headaches and anxiety attacks at a very young age. By the time I was in my late teens I knew there was something wrong with me. I felt an inexplicable sadness and emptiness which kept getting worse with every single day. I didn't know back then about depression and that that was what was wrong with me. My parents didn't really listen to any of my claims that I felt like something was wrong with me. They just thought I was being lazy and told me to just suck it up and work hard towards my goals. They were only focused on seeing me achieve what they dreamed for me. So I was pushed into achieving one goal after the other. I thought they were my goals but I later realised that they were actually my parents goals and that I was systematically brained washed throughout the years to believe that they were mine. 

Even while struggling with depression, I was able to do extremely well in school, pass highly competitive exams and get into the top university that my parents wanted me to get into. However, after starting uni, my situation started getting worse. My depression had gotten to a point where the slightest challenge made me suicidal. Trivial thing like exams or even assignment deadlines, would derail me. I'd have panic attacks and nervous breakdowns over these kind of minor hurdles. I was not able to function. It was not just my studies but my personal like, my relationship were suffering as well. I found it difficult to talk with people and my relationship with my boyfriend was severely strained because of my condition.

However, it was only after uni that the life that I worked so hard to keep together came crashing down. I went through what some people are calling a quarter life crisis. I realised I was in the wrong career path and my engagement to the guy I had been dating for the past 6 years was called off. I quit my job and I moved to another country to pursue higher studies. I actually wanted to grieve and stay back home but it was my parents who encouraged me to go overseas. I was heart broken, depressed, suicidal and in general a total mess when I arrived in Sydney, Australia. I had left behind all my friends and my support system. There was nobody that I knew there except for my brother who decided to completely ignore my existence because I was such a mess. Then I fell in with the wrong crowd, a bunch of party girls who were also my flatmates. Recently made single and in the ultimate low point in my life, I fit in well with these insecure, messed up girls who had so many issues just like me. This is when I got to partying and self medicating with alcohol.

The lowest point in my life, the "darkest hour" came a few months after I came to Sydney. I couldn't handle the stress of the course that I had enrolled into and so I dropped out. This just made my situation get so much worse. I felt tired of life and I wanted to end it. I set out to take my life. But before that I started drinking to gather up the courage or the stupidity to go through with my plans. I chugged down almost half a bottle of vodka and set out to do what I had planned. I don't know if you'd call it fate or divine intervention, but somehow I never managed to get too far. A neighbour had found me sitting on the pavement near my apartment building, delirious and talking myself and was kind enough to bring me home to my flatmates who had gotten me into bed. I woke up the next morning with no recollection of the events that happened the previous night. My flatmates, bless their very tattered souls, decided to have an intervention for me. As I sat their listening to them trying to give me advice, when they so clearly were just as lost as me, I got to thinking. How messed up do I need to be for these girls to have an intervention for me? It was a real eye opener for me. This was when I realised I had to do something about my situation.

The year that followed was terrible. I stubbled with depression and suicidal thoughts while trying to find some kind of solution. It was like this weight that kept holding me back. I get one step forward but a bout of depression would pull be two steps back. I tried medication, counselling and went for therapy sessions to a very expensive, highly recommended psychiatrist. Nothing seemed to work and I kept getting worse. It was bar able during the day but towards nightfall the dreaded darkness would descend and it would consume me. I was scared to come back to my apartment, to be alone with this demon who seemed to possess me and suffocate me. I would resort to suicidal ideation for some form of relief. I would try to imagine my life ending and not having to feel all this pain and misery. I would occasionally plan attempts. 

Amidst all this darkness, I came across this one self-help website. The title of the webpage was "Coping with Suicidal Thoughts"(http://www.getselfhelp.co.uk/suicidal.htm). This is what changed my life. It set me off on this journey of self-recovery