Mental Garden

Chapter Seven : Watering Can

Part One:

After the bittersweet farewell of high school, I found myself standing at a crossroads, watching as my closest friends embarked on new journeys to college or university with clear visions of their future. They seemed to have it all figured out—knowing exactly what they wanted to study and where they wanted to go. Meanwhile, I was left feeling adrift and uncertain, with no concrete plan or direction in mind.

As the months passed, the pressure to have my life mapped out intensified, both from external expectations and my own internal doubts. The anxiety that had been a constant companion throughout high school now loomed larger, whispering taunts of inadequacy and self-doubt. It seemed as though I was falling behind, watching others stride confidently into their futures while I struggled to find my footing.

In the quiet moments of introspection, I questioned my worth and wondered if I would ever find my purpose. The weight of comparison pressed heavily upon me, and I couldn't help but feel like I was somehow failing by not having it all figured out.

My anxiety magnified each decision I had to make, turning even the smallest choices into monumental challenges. The fear of making the wrong choice paralyzed me, leaving me immobilized by indecision. The thought of disappointing others or myself was a crushing weight upon my shoulders.

During this tumultuous period, I felt isolated and alone. My friend group had dispersed, and I no longer had the comfort of their familiar presence. It was as if I had been left behind in the wake of their aspirations, and the uncertainty of my own future only heightened my sense of alienation.

In the midst of this internal turmoil, I had to confront the harsh reality that life didn't always unfold in a linear, predictable fashion. It was okay not to have all the answers right away—to wander through the wilderness of uncertainty, searching for the path that resonated with my true self.

In this chapter of my life, I learned the importance of self-compassion and patience. It was a time of exploration and discovery, a period to delve into my interests, passions, and values. Instead of viewing it as a weakness, I began to see this phase as an opportunity—a chance to mold my future on my terms, unbound by the expectations of others.

In this season of uncertainty, I discovered the power of resilience—the ability to stand tall in the face of adversity, to embrace vulnerability, and to find strength in the journey itself. Gradually, my anxiety began to lose its suffocating grip, and I learned to trust myself and the process of life.
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Amid the depths of my depression following graduation, I found myself experiencing a surreal phenomenon—a detachment from my own reality, as if I was an observer rather than a participant in my own life. Out of body experiences became a peculiar coping mechanism, allowing me to step outside of myself and witness the pain and struggles I was going through from a distance.

I would watch myself in the grips of depression, feeling as if I was watching a movie unfold, detached from the emotions and physical sensations that were consuming me. It was as if I had become a mere spectator to the darkness that enveloped my being.

During these moments of dissociation, I became acutely aware of the toll my depression was taking on my physical health and self-care. I found myself neglecting the most basic needs—foregoing meals, staying cocooned in bed for days on end, and foregoing the simple act of taking care of myself. Showering became an overwhelming task, and the mere thought of getting out of bed felt like an insurmountable challenge.

As the days blurred together in a haze of numbness, I felt as though I was slipping further away from reality. It was only in these out of body experiences that I truly grasped the gravity of what I was subjecting myself to—self-destructive patterns that I had unconsciously fallen into as a result of my depression.

It took a long time for me to recognize the magnitude of what was happening—to awaken from the fog of my despair and take an active role in my own healing. The journey to self-awareness was a slow and arduous one, requiring immense courage and self-compassion.

Part Two:

In the midst of my dissociative out of body experiences, it became increasingly evident to me that my parents were aware, to some extent, of the struggles I was facing because it was extremely obvious and hard to ignore. Yet, it felt as though they were choosing to turn a blind eye, attempting to sweep my pain under the rug, and pretending like everything was normal.  As I grappled with my own demons, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of loneliness, even within the confines of my own home.

There were moments when I longed for a safe haven, a space where I could confide in my parents, share my vulnerability, and seek solace in their embrace. Instead, I found myself cocooned in a suffocating silence, my pain left unspoken, festering beneath the surface.

It was as if I was living in parallel universes—existing in the same physical space as my parents, yet feeling emotionally disconnected from them. The gulf between us seemed insurmountable, and I yearned for them to acknowledge my pain, to extend a hand of understanding, and to offer the support I so desperately needed.

In my moments of despair, I questioned why my parents chose to ignore the signs of my struggles. Was it out of fear, ignorance, or perhaps their own discomfort in facing the reality of my pain? The answers eluded me, leaving me feeling unseen and unheard, even in the presence of those who were supposed to love and protect me.

As I retreated further into myself, the walls of isolation seemed to grow thicker. The sense of loneliness became a constant companion, and I found myself navigating my darkest moments alone, feeling like an island adrift in a sea of silence. In the solitude of my room, I yearned for the courage to reach out, to break down the barriers that separated me from my parents. But the fear of rejection and dismissal held me back, and I retreated into my shell, choosing to bear the burden alone.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I realized that waiting for my parents to address my struggles was an exercise in futility. It was up to me to find my own voice, to speak my truth, and to advocate for the support I needed.

As I tried to reach out for a helping hand, hoping to bridge the divide between my parents and myself, the chasm seemed to deepen even further. It was as if my attempts to communicate and seek support were met with an impenetrable wall of silence and denial. The weight of my out of body experiences became increasingly burdensome, often leaving me feeling trapped in a perpetual state of disconnection from reality.

There were days when my out of body experiences became so consuming that it was difficult to emerge from them. It felt like I had detached from the world around me, leaving my physical body behind in a bed of despair. As I roamed through the realms of dissociation, I longed for an anchor to ground me back to reality.

The lack of understanding and support from my parents exacerbated the isolation I felt. I yearned for them to reach out, to hold my hand through the darkness, and to validate the struggles I was experiencing. Instead, I found myself grappling with a sense of abandonment, as if my pleas for help were lost in an echo chamber of silence.

In the midst of these out of body experiences, I grappled with the duality of my emotions. On one hand, I wanted to escape the pain and the weight of my depression and anxiety. Yet, on the other hand, I longed for connection—to be seen, heard, and held by those who were supposed to be my pillars of support.

The deeper I retreated into my dissociation, the harder it became to find my way back to reality. It was as if I had lost my sense of self amidst the haze of my mental struggles, and the prospect of returning to the world around me felt overwhelming.

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