Anxiety, Depression, and Imperfection

I've hit another rut these past days. Actually, the "rut" has been lasting for many years, most of my life. I don't even know when it began. It's like I fell off that precipice in the Lion King, into the thorns, thistle, and cracking desert ground, and never found the oasis, never found my way back to Pride Rock. Just walking in the desert and having the occasional hallucination to make it seem like I've found happiness when I haven't.

Anyway, writing is therapeutic for me. I wouldn't say I'm a good writer for a long shot, but I do enjoy getting my ideas out there instead of having them roll around my head. Perhaps I should have started writing first. I already went through a five-day thought process to arrive at some conclusions, so writing those conclusions now would sound sudden. 

The conclusion I've arrived on (and am still working on) is that I'm imperfect. I know that makes me sound full of myself -- to realize that I'm imperfect? Isn't everyone? Why does she only realize that now? There is a difference between knowing and understanding. I don't know who said that but it's one of the phrases I consider pure truth. I know that no one is perfect. And that I am imperfect. But when you compare obscure phrases and practice, you'll see how I did not get that in my head till now. 

I was playing this game called Alter Ego and one of the phrases in that game was "If I'm not perfect, I'm not me." I scoffed, thinking how ridiculous. How full is this person in this game to think that they must be perfect to be themselves? But as always, that doubt creeps in, my innate desire to question what I think are truths. 

I applied it to myself and realized how true that statement was. Whenever I mess up, I think, "But that's not really representative of who I am. That's not all I can do!" When looking at it in another sense, I'm essentially saying: "What's representative of who I am is when I do not mess up." It's like saying, "Who I really am is the perfect version of myself." And I also realized I've held myself to that standard since a very young age. 

My parents had high expectations for my brother and me. In seeking their approval, I've adopted that ideology, making it the very core of my psyche, so much so that I didn't even realize that I think like that until now. My parents, bless their hearts, believed that I could do and be everything. In a sense, is that not perfection? They believed I can get straight As and join and start as many clubs as I want, start a business, become President, write a book that will turn the world upside down. Their positivity and faith in me sound good at first, but can turn into poison quite easily. When I don't reach their expectations, they think I'm lazy. They think I don't care. They think I'm disrespecting them by not following their advice. So, me being me, I adapted their way of thinking with a twist. When I don't get the 100% or if I'm not praised by my peers, I think I'm being lazy. I could be better but there's something wrong with me. Then, over the years, that thought process became: It's not that I'm lazy, but compared to my peers, I really am incapable. This downwards slope is the result of seeing that image crack. In my youth, I was fearless and did everything I set my sights on because I truly believed what my parents thought of me. The second I saw that image crack, I was disillusioned and I did not know how to handle failure. 

The first time that happened, where for the first time I saw failure as a reflection of my being, was in sixth grade. I entered a speech tournament, wrote a speech myself, memorized and performed it myself, was praised by my teacher and parents, received disdainful, envied looks from my peers, and made it to the final round. All was going as planned. Now at this point, I've lost speech competitions before. But I always thought, "If I improved just a little more, I can beat them, no sweat." This time, after I performed my speech, the next girl got up and did hers. And my God, it was eloquent. She was around my age but the way she had written and performed her speech was eons above me. Before, I could always observe what they did right and emulate that the next time I did the same task, but I could not even begin to say what it was that made her better. And then, the image cracked. That huge gap in performance between me and her, and more importantly, my inability to understand how to overcome that gap tore me up inside. 

Ever since then, my eyes turned away from myself and turned to others. To see how smart, how talented, how hardworking, and how overall amazing they were. I tried to cope. In reading, I saw how authors shat on the "popular" kids, and so I did the same. I thought to myself, "So what? Maybe they are all that, but they don't have any friends. They're hollow and plastic." But the more I observed them, the more I saw that wasn't true. They did have close friends and they did have deep thought processes and they were humble. And happy. Oh, I hated how they were happy when I wasn't. I thought that in life there was always a give and take. But for them, I only saw the take. I only saw how their images didn't crack. When they did, the crack was beautiful and humbling, making their image all the more beautiful while I sat on the shards of my confidence. So, that was high school.

Entering college, I very much had that mindset I was talking about before. This was a fresh, clean slate, a chance to show the world how amazing, how perfect, I was. Because I believed that the perfect Frina was the real Frina, not the broken mess I really was. So I succeeded in perhaps the first two weeks acting the way I wish I could be. But the more great friends I got, the less I could hold up the facade. I was vulnerable with them (even though I still held a large part of myself back), and they were incredibly vulnerable to me, holding nothing back. I had a friend who was anxious and depressed in high school, but I didn't really understand it. I thought it was just her, and part of me secretly believed that she was faking it. But she told me once, and it still sticks with me now, "You attract people who are like you." I've always attracted friends in high school who were sad, so much so that we called the place we hung out in the Depression Zone. And in college, I saw how I always befriended outcasts, those who were anxious and depressed. In many ways, I believed that their anxiety and depression were honest. I couldn't imagine anyone who was completely happy, who didn't feel the least bit lost in their lives. I didn't like hanging out with people who were happy, who I couldn't figure out, because it felt like they were lying to me. Or that, being their happy selves, they could never understand me who was insecure and sad. Or worse, that they'd pity me. With my college friends, I felt I was ripping apart the world's mask, uncovering a pure truth about people and life. I was introduced to depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses. 

I think it was in junior year that one of my closest friends told me, "Hunny, you have depression." This was after I told her about my habits: sleeping in until midday, being unable to sleep at night, snacking too much, venting about myself and life, and just not being happy. I felt as though a light clicked in my head. Maybe I was depressed? I sought the campus counseling center for help. I formed a sort of ultimatum in my head: If I was clinically depressed, I would take what drugs I needed, get help. If I was not depressed and just lazy, I would recognize my laziness and work to overcome it. I thought something was seriously wrong with me, whether it was depression or laziness, and I needed to be told what it was so I could become the real Frina: again, a perfect Frina. 

So I went to the counseling center, felt both out of and at place. These people sitting next to me likely had terrible things they were dealing with. Meanwhile, I had supportive parents and friends, a caring and cool brother, faith in God, some talents in writing or whatnot, a future in law school, and still, here I was complaining and feeling sad and considering I was depressed. I felt like a fraud. I went into the first meeting with that mindset, desperately wanting the counselor to prove me wrong, to say, "No, you do belong here. You are depressed not because of circumstances but because of something chemically fucked up in your brain." Instead, I got "We don't give labels here. I won't tell you if you're depressed or not." Man, did that mess me up. I often wandered around campus at night, just thinking and thinking about my situation. Was I depressed? Was I not? Some friends I haven't talked to in a while found me. I told them about my predicament. One of the people they were hanging out with and who I knew little about said, "People have different definitions of depression." I hated that more. It had the same ring as what the counselor said, but now it was more fluid instead of a close-door to the answer. I hated the fluidity of it. I just wanted clear answers so that I could repair the broken glass and be perfect Frina again. 

In first semester senior year, I went to Singapore for a study abroad program. I was excited to be away in a safe and beautiful country. But really, I thought being in a new setting with entirely new people would offer me yet another opportunity to return to perfect Frina. Perhaps it was people's expectations of me that affected how I was? And being in a place where people did not have any expectations of me would free me and allow me to be myself. I met a boy there and fell in love for the first time. I loved who he was. He was everything I wanted to be. It bothered me that he seemed so perfect, that I couldn't find a crack, but I think I liked that he seemed like me in that he was also interested in writing and the Bible and other things I was interested in, except he was more successful and consistent. I think I began looking for ways to be like him. How was he the way he was? My conclusion was that he was closer to God and, because of that proximity, God granted him talent and grit. I wanted that so bad. And I wanted to be with the guy I liked so badly. So, I sought to grow closer to God. My motivation was twisted, but I think it did help in that part of me did discover an amazing God. It's just that at the time, my brain was hardwired to fix myself, for me and for the boy I liked. 

I wasn't doing well in classes in Singapore. I hated that he saw that part of me because we had two classes together. I told him in the midst of my frustration, "This isn't me! I'm not normally like this." I don't remember his reaction exactly but mine was instant embarrassment. I sounded so full of myself. And I know what I said wasn't true. Back in my Holland, Michigan college, I did not study well. At first, I did fine in freshman year, but since the second semester, my grades faltered and Bs and Cs were my new normal. I was no longer that A student. I didn't tell him that I liked him for many reasons, one of which was I didn't feel enough to date someone like him who was so perfect. We had gone to his friend's event. His friend was who I wanted to be because she seemed perfect and successful. I denied myself him because I thought, "He should be with someone like her, not me." And I left Singapore, keeping my feelings and thoughts to myself, still wanting him and still hating me. 

I think my life went on pause once I left Singapore, or at least my mind was. Singapore was a place of new things and dreams and love and America brought me back to reality. I don't believe that necessarily but it's certainly how it felt. I was coming up on graduation and entering law school. I didn't feel happy about graduating. I used to think that at graduation, I would come to self-realization and eye-opening epiphanies, and at last be happy as the perfect Frina. But just because graduation came did not mean I automatically would change. I said goodbye to my friends. And in California, I was who I always was since I started college. Again, I thought law school would be my chance to change. 

Now, I'm in law school. I just finished my first year, so one of three years done. In law school, it started off fine but my anxieties still haunted me. I was actually inspired by the hope preached in the law school orientation. But eventually, I would spend after class dreading who I was and my inability to understand what was happening in class or when I studied and dreading my peers who were again hardworking, bright, friendly, and successful. I made one friend, but I didn't get along with many of my classmates. To do so, I had to be a different person, adapt to their humor and general vibe. But I've never been able to do that and I still don't want to change who I am to get their approval or to be their friend. I think I weird them out because of how quiet I am. But I'm still looking for myself and for some solid ground for confidence. I want to learn how to deal with being an outcast without constantly craving to be in the in-group. I thought at least I could gain their respect if not their friendship, and I would be fine with that. I couldn't even do that, because I fell behind in classes. First quarter, I got a handful of Cs and one B. I had a breakdown before the end of second quarter, but I watched some Youtube videos, two of which were from Youtubers I admired. I came to the conclusion that I should act as the person I wanted to be instead of focusing my attention on others. That mindset lasted me a while and got me through second quarter. Second quarter, I got both Cs and Bs. But for the first time in my life, I was able to withstand a lecture from my father without crying. In the past, I would always end up in tears because his lectures consist of exposing my deepest hurts and insecurities and then guilting me by saying how much he sacrificed for me. For once, I was able to maintain my composure. That was a solid success for me, one I haven't had in a while. And third quarter, I felt I could redeem myself but again I started to falter. When the corona virus hit and we stayed at home, that's when I absolutely fell apart. I managed to finish my classes, but I wonder what my grades will turn out to be. If I can still maintain my scholarship or if I'll be doomed with an extra $15k per quarter of debt. 

I still don't have a summer internship or job and I had never had one. Another failure eats at me. I took a week off to rest from the stress of wanting to be successful in law school, but I ended up spiraling again. I obsessed over some animes and dramas and called to catch up with friends. I intended to only do this for one week, but I continued to "rest" until Wednesday of next week. I'm still living with my parents, so they see me "resting." I've been denying spending time with them, staying in my room for most of the time. Papa had enough of this and called me to the dining table. He and Mommy yelled at me in frustration, laying all of my insecurities bare. I was lazy. I had bad grades. I didn't do anything during the summer. The amount of money they spent on me. The fact that maybe I shouldn't be a lawyer because my clients put their lives on the line by relying on me, but I would just fail them. They left me with that, and then told me I shouldn't act "taray," which was Tagalog for ignoring and snapping back after an argument. I felt depressed and angry at myself and yet, my parents would not even stand me acting how I felt. I had to nod and fake smiles for them for their sake. 

When they finally let me go, I went to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and sobbed. I squatted on the tub and leaned against the cold marble wall, just crying, and I couldn't make it stop. I cried and cried until I felt nothing. Well, I didn't feel nothing, but I concluded that I was indeed a burden, a failure, and useless. This was the real Frina. Perfect Frina was a fantasy and she never existed. I've felt this way before, but I always rebounded somehow. There was always some spark of hope. This time, I just felt empty and accepted that no matter how many times I rebounded, I would return to this cold, naked, sobbing state of depression. I felt suicidal again. The first time I felt suicidal was in sophomore year of college. I felt suicidal a few times since but this was the first time I really wanted to try to do it. But it was because of hate for myself. I didn't want to hurt my parents in the process by making it messy like slitting my wrists and having them open the door to a tub of blood and my pale body. I also feared pain. I couldn't think of a way to die that wasn't painful and that didn't look too gruesome. I also thought that if I did die, I don't know what God would do with me. Whether I'm dead or alive, I thought I was doomed to be sad and lost. This reality, this black hole with absolutely no escape, not even death, was what tore me apart. Even after I left the shower and was walking around the house, I couldn't stop the tears from flowing. 

I had scheduled some calls with some college friends prior, so I drafted a text and sent it to all the friends I still kept in touch with that I would not be contacting them for a while. I didn't know how long but I didn't want to explain it. I'm just happy that my friends understood and didn't try to pry. I just thought that they couldn't understand what I'm going through. I couldn't even put into words what I'm going through. Even as I'm writing this now, I don't think I've accurately captured the totality of my situation. Or if I told them, I could predict their replies and those replies wouldn't help me but send me deeper down. They'd try to lift me up, saying I was smart or whatever, which I wouldn't believe. Or they'd tell me I had to leave the house, leave my parents, and become independent, or leave law school, but they wouldn't understand why I'd want to stay with my parents or finish law school. Or... I don't know. They'd try to solve the problem. I think I did want a solution, but I didn't think they'd have one.

I was also worried that, being in the suicidal state I was in, I might influence my suicidal friends. They too have moments where they fall deeper than usual into the dark place and they reach out to me and other friends to escape. I was scared that they'd fall in here while I was in here, and instead of helping them escape, we would feed off of each other and engage in some groupicide. So I cut off contact for a while. 

I prayed for release. For some saving grace. Deep down, I knew that God wasn't going to intercede here. I believe he wants this for me. To figure this out for myself. This wasn't something that could be solved by my friends. I had to work this out myself. I don't think he's leaving me completely alone, but he's giving me space because space is what I needed. So I spent more days hating myself, yes, but also thinking. About who I am and who I was. And finally, I concluded that who Frina is is imperfect. 

I know the general trend these days is to say, "You're imperfect and that's okay!" But I sincerely do not believe it is okay to be imperfect. Perhaps we have different definitions of imperfect and that's why we disagree, but imperfection, to me, hurts. It hurts my sense of self. It hurts others when they depend on me and I fail. Imperfection is sin because sin is brokenness and imperfection is brokenness. I don't think it was bad for me to strive to be better, to be perfect. I think, in a world without sin, I would have been some semblance of perfect. But for now, that's really not who I am. And all those people I thought were perfect before probably do have some hidden hurts that define their imperfection. 

Another trend is to say, "You are perfect just the way you are!" Here, I really cannot understand how they define perfection. If perfection includes imperfection, doesn't that defeat the purpose of perfection? If not, I can't pin down this paradox, not in a way that helps me or that I can understand. No, I am not perfect. Yes, I have imperfections. And those imperfections are not positive and do not make this okay. They do not make me perfect. 

So now that I've arrived at this conclusion that the real me is imperfect and that being imperfect is not okay, I'm still trying to figure out the next step. Do I continue striving for perfection, knowing that I probably won't achieve it? I think this is what I'm deciding to do for now. It's better than living under the dark cloud. I don't think I can escape that cloud, but at least I can interrupt that darkness from time to time with rays of light, even if those rays don't last. 

I want to accept and face my imperfections without the burden of emotion. I think that too much emotional attachment to my successes and failures is what sends me to spiral. Like if I'm not who I want to be, I conclude that I'm nothing, but that's not true. It's just that I'm not who I want to be, but I'm not nothing. So if I can face my imperfections without hating myself for them, I think there can be something there.

I guess the only solution would be God. I want God to fill the gaps left by my imperfections, but still my motivation, like in Singapore, is twisted. I wanted him to fill those gaps for my own benefit. I think he knows this too, that my particular temptation and thorn is pride. So if he did what I wanted and filled those gaps and if I'm still how I am now, I would be consumed by my own pride. I think the only time he would do that is when I'm ready to serve him selflessly, when I don't let my successes fill my head and wholly define me. I still don't know how to be selfless and how to give up myself and live my life for God. But at one point, I didn't understand how to love God, not just believe he exists. And not only love God but love him above anyone and everyone. I've learned and have come to truly love him, but perhaps I've still not yet learned how to love God above myself, like I thought I did. So I think there is hope for me to learn to be selfless. I know you reading this might be gagging because you don't believe in God and you think it's weird and wrong to want to give yourself up for some diety. But perhaps, I hope you'll give God, my God, a chance. If not, at least hear my story and keep religious opinions on pause. 

I'm still trying to figure this out. I mean, I just came to this conclusion about imperfection earlier this afternoon. I had less than a day to consider it, and I might look back at this and change my mind again. My mind is really fickle. To the point that I often can't trust myself or what I say because I change my mind within the second. I'm not sure if I'm ready to reach out to my friends again or to face strangers without crumbling inside, but I do think I'm getting closer to some world truth about living. 

Also, how blessed I am that this is what bothers me throughout my life. I'm so blessed to have what I have and I forget that a lot of the time since I'm so consumed with myself. What bothers me is valid, I really believe that, but in ruminating about my depression and imperfection, I spend less time watching movies with my family and laughing with my friends. Rise, my depressed friends. Let us continue being depressed and finding truth, but in that journey, let's not forget to enjoy our blessings.