A Bone to Pick

Steelfaith

This chapter isn't about me, but for my oldest brother. 

What happened to him played a huge role in what would later on shape my thought processes and considerations in the midst of my eating disorder (ED). This is not to shame or blame him, but to honour him as a role model to me, and to show his strength and fortitude. 

To start off, my family's genetic luck in the aesthetics pool was really quite low - all 2 of my brothers and I suffered the blessing of acne with scarring during our teenage years, no matter how diligently we washed our faces and kept our hands away. We all required medication (Roaccutane) to temper it, and even then, we still had scars. It was awful, but we couldn't do anything about it.

Of the 3 of us, my eldest brother had it worst. His first flare-ups occurred during the first few years of secondary school, so around 14-15 years old. As we all know, the early teenage years are our vulnerable ones - we are emerging from the innocence of childhood and familial shielding to begin exploring more of our world. Greater independence, greater individuality. We were highly susceptible to the judgement and perceptions of others, often shaping our character and personalities to suit the world we live in or defy it, trying to carve our niche and fit in. Especially in school, we needed to find our people, needed to find a safe space to be in that's outside of home. A group of friends who we knew would back us up through thick and thin. 

My brother went through the usual growth spurt - he suddenly thinned out into a bean pole, his voice deepened, but his grin and happy personality never faded. Well, it didn't fade yet. He played tennis for the school, and he was doing relatively well academically so we never worried. When the acne flare-ups started up, he didn't mention anything at all so my parents never noticed anything amiss. It was only when it started getting more serious - red, inflamed, scarring - did my brother ask my mom if he could go for laser to treat the scarring. My mom thought it wasn't necessary - the scars would fade overtime, won't they? Plus, laser for acne was expensive and once again, unnecessary. He didn't mention it again.

What no one knew was that my brother was actually really bothered by his acne scars. He never voiced it out, because he didn't want to worry and burden our parents. The only hint he gave at his self-consciousness regarding his looks was the mention of the laser surgery for his scars. But after that idea was dismissed, he had no other choice but to just live with it.  I really feel for him, because I know what it's like to feel so judged by others - especially the ones with flawless skin - and wishing you were them. I won't assume to know what he felt or thought then, but I can only imagine that he felt so embarrassed by his acne, especially when they didn't fade as the years progressed towards graduation. 

Here's where it gets a little blurry for me. I don't really know the full details of what happened, but I'll just say what I do know to be true.

Somewhere along the way, my brother fell into the wrong crowd. He began going out partying more, often joining his friends for those rave parties like ZOUK and dancing the night away. Despite the yearly nagging, he smoked with his friends (thankfully he didn't continue after that one time). His clothing became more flamboyant - purchasing winged Adidas shoes, buying those rubber horse heads and more - to wear to the rave parties, or any of his friends. Being young and stupid, I just thought he was going through his teenage phase, you know? And so did my parents. They left him to his own devices, and I respect that, because they treated us like the adults we would eventually become. They gave us the necessary space to grow and learn, and I appreciate their efforts. And then there was this girl. I have no idea who she is, but if I do find her I would love to give her a piece of my mind. Apparently, my brother had a crush on her that was not reciprocated, and of course he was sad. To add salt to injury, he was also under a crap load of stress taking HL subjects for the IB examinations which were looming ahead of him. So you can imagine all that shit just piling up on you, one negativity after another, weighing you down. And who could he tell? 

My brother wanted to enter medicine, and I tell you he would've been one hell of a doctor. His nature is so kind and comforting, you feel at peace just being with him. But his IB results weren't good enough for the universities he applied for, and he just got rejected or offered alternative courses instead. He couldn't pursue the dream he wanted. 

Furthermore, he had to contend with 2 compulsory years of National Service, and he hated that with a vengeance (according to my parents). He was always so stressed whenever he had to return to camp, and that probably was another factor which led him towards a downward spiral of negativity and despair. 

He began cutting himself. Self-mutilation, if you want it blatantly. 

I don't even know how he managed to sneak a knife into his room or get away with it for so long, but he did. He made neat little slits along his right wrist and long moon arcs along his upper arm (biceps area). When my father noticed some of the wrist lines, he attributed it to keyboard imprints while gaming. We didn't see it.

He stopped swimming, claiming he didn't like it anymore. We didn't see it.

He shut down and closed up, retreating further into himself and slowly fading into the background during family meals. We didn't see it.

He closed his room doors more often, went out more often, stopped talking to me or my second brother as much. We didn't see it. 

He was losing himself, sinking deeper into his problems and struggling to stay afloat. 

We didn't see it. 

And this continued until one day during dinner when he just reached his breaking point and told my parents he thought he was going crazy. He couldn't explain it in words, but he did write them a lengthy message explaining what he felt. And it broke them. 

Whenever I think back on those few years, I feel so ashamed of myself. How could I have been so blind? Why didn't I talk to him more? Why didn't I ask about how he felt? Why was I such a shitty sister? What could I have done more? I seriously thought he was going through his teenage moody phase, so that's why he stopped talking to me as much. I feel like such an idiot.

But let's not dwell on the past now, and come to the present.

He's single-handedly raised himself above and beyond, deciding to move forward and do business in the US for university. And guess what - he's acing it. And he's learnt to come to terms with who he is and what he can achieve, and now he's working at a well-known accounting firm in the US. He has a girlfriend (hoho) and I'm so happy and proud of him. He's come so far - taking the effort to really understand himself and his mental state of mind and taking the necessary steps to heal himself. He stopped self-harming after the revelation to my parents, and has faced his fears head on and defeated his demons. 

Why did I title this chapter "Steelfaith"?  That was the username of his gaming account, and I think he deserves it. He had the courage and faith in himself to admit to having mental problems and dealing with it. He didn't shy away from his demons but decided to take action and list down all his problems and solve them gradually. As he told me, he learnt to be "comfortable being uncomfortable", and that we will only grow stronger through these experiences. He certainly has. And all I can say is, I am just so proud of him. 

He, my brother, Steelfaith.