Li Lok Lam Florence
It all started when I was just 13. I began to notice that my academic grades had been falling. Then, when I was 14 years old, some serious digestive problems occurred. Finally, at age 15, I was diagnosed with “clinical depression”. In the three (3) years of my topsy-turvy life, I am glad that I am now able to tell how this story unfolded in my life.
Normally, when one studies for or faces a public exam, one experiences the feelings of stress and anxiety. However, my case, as I have come to realize it, was neither due to exams nor studies. It was mostly because of digestive problems I was having such as stomachache, loss of appetite and sometimes serious insomnia. I noticed that I frequently would stare at blank spaces and find myself in the same position for longer periods of time than usual. I also did not want to communicate with others; I felt tired all day long; and, I would cry because of petty things like my pen running out of ink. I knew then that something was wrong. My mum had me tested by a lot of doctors and experts who in turn made me try different kinds of medicine. But they were not able to find out the reason for my idiosyncratic behavior nor were the medicines effective in treating them.
One fateful night, while I was listening to the radio, they were having a section that tackled clinical depression. There was not much interest at first. I did not pay too much attention to the radio. I only tuned in for my own knowledge I guess. Suddenly, I heard the line (non-verbatim), “People who always experience no thoughts for digestive problems and insomnia could be having symptoms of depression”. I started to think about my situation. I thought to myself, “Was I having a state of depression?” I was shocked. I had never imagined me having depression per se.
When the radio program ended, I immediately went to my mother to tell her about what I found out and that maybe the cause of all my illness was depression. The following day, we sought the expertise of a clinical specialist on the matter. After a series of interviews and tests, my initial hunch turned into a medical diagnosis of clinical depression. It all felt surreal, but I quickly told myself that life must go on! I knew I had to face it one way or another. No matter how much I did not want to step out of my room, I forced myself to. No matter how hard it was to go to school with depression looming over me, I forced myself to. I thought that maybe it was still a good thing, a sort of relief for me. At least I know now what was really going on with my body and I can receive proper treatment for it.
I was not entirely sure where I got my depression. Since junior grade, my dad kept pushing me to study every night to the point that I nearly studied all day long, at school and at home, without any breaks. I did not have time to relax after a whole day of school. I realized that my dad cared about me, but still, his actions made our relationship worsen by the day. I started not to talk with him and felt that he was a monster. Despite such actions, I still tried my best to fulfill his expectations though. I thought to myself, this kind of pressure was probably one of the main causes of my depression.
Nothing much changed since my diagnosis. People would still give me lots of pressure and expectations though I was, in technicality, sick. It was not their fault, however. It was my own decision not to let anybody know, not even my best friend. I was used to being an outstanding student at school. I would have scholarships, representing the school and going on several overseas exchanges. I would stand on the stage in the morning and share my observations and experience with all the other students in school. The more everyone expected of me, the more I tried not to let anyone down and push myself harder. It was hard to admit that I could not work for the school anymore; that I could not take pressure and stand on the spotlight anymore. I was also afraid that people would think that I was a freak or I was crazy. As such, I kept all this to myself until now.
However, even if I decided not to tell anyone, there was one person that I knew needed to know about my condition before my therapy. That was my Dad. Keeping it a secret at home would be hard so one night, before dinner, I switched off the television, sat down and started to tell my dad. “Daddy,” I said, “I have met with the doctor the day before.” “What did he say,” dad said. My mum said, “The doctor thinks she has clinical depression.” My dad was shocked. I saw him look down on his glass of water thinking the same thoughts that ran through me. It was impossible and unbelievable. Then my mum continued, “What we can do now is take medication and counseling. Hope it is going to help. And we can consider letting her study abroad one year earlier.” After she said that, I looked at my dad again and saw that he was crying. That was the very first time I saw my dad cry. “Was I pushing you too harsh,” he then inquired. “No. It’s my problem,” I assured him. That night at the dinner table, the three of us cried. I felt so hopeless and helpless, but at least I knew then that we are in this as a family.
My mum was staying very positive in both my medication and counseling period. It gave me the support I needed to go through all kinds of my treatment. The doctor prescribed three different antidepressant medications to me. Unfortunately, after three months of therapy, it did not help me much. I was still feeling depressed and hopeless. Thus, the doctor recommended me to schedule a psychotherapy appointment with a psychologist, and have a “combined therapy” together with the medications I was taking. During our counseling sessions, I tried to talk as much as I can. For example, the psychologist would ask, “Where did your tension come from?” I would then reply with, “I do not know. I feel like I am carrying a heavy backpack, I am so sick of it,” I said. To be honest, I really had no idea where my tension came from. Was it from pressure? Was it due to extreme pressure? These were questions I was not able to answer up to now.
Finally, after six months of “combined therapy”, I started to feel better day by day. Despite this, my recovery was still behind schedule. The doctor thinks that even with the combined therapy, I was still receiving lots of stress and pressure at school, hence the continued depression, albeit not aggravating. Now I think of it as a part of me. I became a better person, I know how to control my emotions and handle my stress. Someone said, “When god closes a door He opens a window.” I do believe this is true.
