Loved and lost

“Do you not feel even an ounce of remorse for what you did?”

Sat in the chair in the room with my therapist, I deliberated for a good 10 seconds before answering,

“No”. 

But 10 seconds later, tears welled up in my eyes. And then, they drenched my cheeks. Your body always betrays you. 

Of course I felt remorseful, I’m human. Dysfunctional, but not devoid of conscience. Betrayal after betrayal and I only have myself to point my finger at. 

It was when my therapist asked me “So who are you friends with now?” to which I knew no answers to, that I realised that my bouts of misdemeanour has turned me into somewhat of a lone ranger. I scoffed, half with disbelief and half with pride. 

“I’m a lone ranger now, Mr Leng. I like it. I don’t need friends to function”. 

My therapist looked at me gently and said, “Evolution took place over many years but one thing remained the same - humans NEED one another to live”. 

Right.

____________________________________

I did horrible things, of which I am not proud. So much hurt was caused by me and consequently I decided to vacate the nest that had kept me safe and warm for so long, and flew into a world full of uncertainty and loneliness. Lord it was much too bitter to handle, but just like your sense of smell, it adapts and grows accustomed to unpleasant stenches after a while and you barely notice it anymore. 

To paint a better picture for you, let me establish the fact that for 22 years, I was a baby. Coddled, constantly attended to, protected. By whom? Family, friends, boyfriend. I was never left alone for longer than necessary. Before I had a car, I hitched rides and never had to pay for petrol. I cried and had someone’s hands wipe the tears for me. I rode Grab cars and had someone on the other end of the phone call to accompany me so as to ensure that the driver never harassed me. I plucked the dry bits of my lips and it upset my former partner so much because I “bled” when in fact it was just a little.

I was a baby. 

When I left the nest, I felt as though I was forced to grow up way beyond my age. I was so lost, hence I made a few phone calls to a few trusted adults, badgering them for answers as to how the fuck I was supposed to live life without the guidance of my friends whom I depended on so much. Some of them chided me for my doings that led to such inopportune consequence, some of them were supportive and believed that I could do it because it was about time anyway. I'm 23, it's time to act like it.

On I went to learn about the art of being alone. In hindsight, it was not as difficult as I'd thought LMAO. I pride myself in my ability to be adaptable to difficult situations. But another thing I shall give credit to? My mental illness.

I have dermatillomania, which is a mental disorder that makes it absolutely irresistible for me to pick my skin til it bleeds and scars. I'm talking about hours of staying up late to do the deed. It sounds really far-fetched to those who are alien to mental disorders like this, but it's real. The first onset of it was when I was 11. It is one of the main things discussed in my weekly therapy sessions. I've been prescribed antipsychotic medications for it, like Risperidone and Aripiprazole, but they never worked. 

Dermatillomania has very much to do with dissociation. I'm no psychologist, but from what I understand it is the feeling of having an outer body experience, as if watching yourself from a third person's point of view. And really, when I'm having one of those episodes, I simply never realise that I'm harming myself.

The downside is the obvious, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing to myself. The upside is, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing to myself. Haha. I'm oblivious and ignorant. And the ignorance? It's always bliss for me, in this case.

When I lost friends, my mind protected me from arriving to a realisation that I indeed lost friends. I felt like it never even happened. I felt as if I was shielded from the harsh reality that I created myself. My dissociation created tyre barriers around my whole being that absorbed the harshest impact that came my way.

The amount of time I cried over having to leave the nest? Only once. And even then I couldn't even understand why I cried. Throughout the entire process, I blamed myself for being devoid of emotions as I am the type to usually put myself through emotional pain as much as possible so that I feel milked out by the end of the process, and never look back again. But this dissociation thing? It only prolongs the grieving process and I can't move on. Dare I say that the people who were once present in my life make their appearance in my sleep at least once a week and I would wake up feeling disoriented and sombre.

Every time that happens, though, I would dust myself off the ground and go on about my day with my head held up even higher. Is it pride? No. It's strength and independence.  

Nevertheless, I am happy with how things are panning out. I'm happy with my progress in growing up into a responsible adult. I seek my own counsel instead of complain about things that make me disheartened. In fact I never complain about anything anymore. I take things in stride and learn from my (repeated) mistakes, and I promise myself to wake up tomorrow as a better person than today. 

My therapist is right. Through evolution, through centuries, it has been proven over and over again that human beings need each other. But one has to learn to be on their own as well, for it's me against the world. Me alone.

I'm not scared to be alone anymore.