If you really want to talk about love, you have to talk about struggle.
Because beneath the sexual parlay is(are?) the bad days, the crippling feeling of loneliness, the burden you carry on your shoulders as you walk on, breathe, inhale, exhale, and smile.
It’s when your partner lets you lean on them as you wallow in self-pity, when you are knee-deep in the cycle and getting out seems quite impossible.
It’s when your partner loves you for your ups and downs, for your erratic emotions, for your childishness.
I never thought about it but unconditional romantic love is hard to accept. For me, it is at least.
It is hard to accept because you are forced to see your self through your partner’s eyes, you are forced to examine your sense of self-worth, you are coaxed to break the cycle.
I think I have always had a public battle with depression. I just never labelled it. I think I am beyond the point of hiding it any longer, I mean, I cannot stop it.
Really though, I am not so much concerned with how obvious it had becumed. Like, it is there and it might be here to stay for a little while but that’s life, I have accepted it as something that is me.
I don’t think it’s anything more sickening than having to suffer in your little own, little public of hell and to be subtly made a little spectacle.
Maybe, this is just me overthinking the perceptions of people of me.
I had set out with wanting to understand myself but it slowly changed to understanding other people.
What makes me vehemently angry is the indifference, the ignorance, the selfishness and downright apathy that drives ambition.
If there is one thing that I have learnt about my depression and seeking out help is that you don’t know how to that sometimes even if you really wanted too.
I think I was fourteen. There was you. You were nice. Or so I thought you were.
I am thinking about you now because something you said really stuck out with me.
‘So what, you’re just waiting?’
I understand why I am in this hell hole when I think of Madison. To be able to learn the lesson is to experience it yourself.
It is to experience the resentment of all things white, it is to internalise institutionalised discrimination and it is to learn to see beyond that.
It is to experience the disconnect from your ‘own’ people, it is to understand that no matter how much you want to celebrate your Malaysian identity, you just don’t know how to express it because sameness doesn’t allow for a breath of fresh air, sameness will not take your atypical identity and embrace it, sameness will just look at you with judgmental eyes and take nothing you say seriously. And sameness, sameness will not see beyond sameness.
Like how, sometimes I am unable to see beyond my depression.
So that’s why it is important to talk about love, it’s important to talk about struggle.
That the struggle is long, it is tiring but hey, the struggle is fucking real and we’re not running away from it.
For that, I love love. I love love with you.