in between

“Tell him. All your problems. Tell him how you’re sick,” my mother urged. 

I take in a deep breath. Slowly, I say, “I went to see a psychiatrist. I have anxiety, depression, and borderline personality disorder…”

He cuts me off. 

“It’s not that serious. I can fix you. Give me four treatments.”

I am stunned. My mother breathes a sigh of relief. I am fixable. But I don’t feel fixable. I feel tired and invalidated. I feel like an appliance that needs some tinkering with to get going again. I don’t feel entirely human. 

Ever since I was eleven, I’ve been seeing an acupuncturist regularly. He’s treated my anemia, insomnia and eating disorder. This is why my mother thinks he can cure my mental illnesses. I didn’t grow up seeing a family care physician when I had a cold. I took herbal supplements instead. When my fever skyrocketed, I drank herbal teas instead. 

My acne wasn’t a result of my hormones but rather because of the “fire energy” in my body. Some foods I couldn’t eat because they were too “cold” for my body to process. Certain soups I always had to drink because they would replenish my organs. Such was the medical philosophy upon which I was raised. I obeyed unquestioningly. 

I didn’t learn what ibuprofen was until I was in college. I didn’t take an Advil for my cramps until I was in college. The world of western medicine wasn’t completely open to me until I was in college. 

With this new knowledge in hand, I began to realize that my mind wasn’t as healthy as my body was. I’d lie in bed for hours on end without the energy to get up and start the day. I couldn’t keep down three meals. I lost interest in going to class and there were moments I couldn’t breathe or see what was in front of me. 

I knew I needed help, and I turned to western medicine for solace. 

Since I began seeing a psychiatrist, I’ve tried over ten different kinds of medication. I’ve been on SSRIs, antipsychotics, sleep medication, and SNRIs. I didn’t want to give up because I knew that the right combination would come with time. With mental health, I knew I had to be patient with myself. Even so, I was frustrated and hopeless most of the time. I just wanted something to work and it didn’t feel like anything would. 

But despite the helplessness, the sleepless nights, the heightened anxiety at times, I also knew that this was the first time in my life that I was taking ownership of my body and my mind. For the first time ever, I had a say in my own health and well-being. The autonomy was exhilarating. 

Growing up in an Asian-American household, I realized early on that healthy discourse was almost always stunted. It is impossible to communicate through the constant guilt trips, emotional insecurity and deadly expectations. I grew up believing that these people would always hold power over my head. Their control was stifling, suffocating and whenever I looked at myself in the mirror at home, I saw a shell instead of a whole person. 

I’ve been to therapy enough times to know that being bitter is not conducive to healing. I’ve been to therapy enough times to know that I am the product of my environment. I’ve been to therapy enough times to know that recovery will never happen if I continue to make excuses for the way I was raised. 

I used to think there was nothing wrong with having to kneel outside the house as punishment. I used to think that it was okay for them to throw things at me or berate me for making a simple mistake. I used to think that I would and should be their emotional punching bag whenever they had a rough day. I used to think that it was my fault, and that if I could just be a little more perfect, things would get better. 

People tell me that I should just leave. I should just cut them off. Be independent. Be myself. Self. That is a western value that directly contradicts my upbringing. It’s impossible to leave when bloodlines are tied together. I was raised on the notion that my family was my lifeline. I’d do anything for them unconditionally without asking for anything in return. My family is the reason I’m here today and they provided me with everything. I am forever indebted to them and as the dutiful daughter, I will do my best to never bring shame upon my household. 

For the longest time, I accepted these values without question. That’s just the way it was–I was born half-Taiwanese and half-Cantonese. These are the values I would always uphold. 

But time and again, these values are challenged because the cycle never ends. I would be treated marginally better but each time, I would be reminded why I wanted so badly to leave. They never fail to remind me that I’m selfish, undeserving and entitled. I had anxiety because I wasn’t listening to them tell me what was good for me. I was depressed because I lived in my own world and failed to realize the hardships other people were going through around me. I couldn’t sleep at night because I wasn’t taking care of myself. They would dredge up my past, making me relive painful memories and toxic flashbacks. And they alternate, one after another. Again and again until I finally realize that nothing’s going to change. 

So I’ve learned that it’s not that I can’t let go. They can’t. 

No matter how many pills I take, no matter how many herbal teas I drink, regardless of the origin of the medicine, nothing will ever fix the relationship that was broken a long time ago. I can go to acupuncture every single day, I can see my psychiatrist daily, but no amount of physical medicine will ever change the fact that I’m still hurting. 

They can believe whatever they want to believe. If it makes them feel better, reduces their guilt, feeds into their fantasies, so be it. But I know mental illness doesn’t just go away. It can’t be fixed with just acupuncture or pills. 

I am more than just a broken appliance. I have my own thoughts and I will no longer apologize for my feelings. I have anxiety because I’ve lived in constant fear of the people that should love me most. I am depressed because there are days when I don’t think I should exist because that’s how they made me feel. I have borderline personality disorder because I have experienced trauma and my relationships with people will forever be tainted by the broken relationships of my past. 

I will forever be caught between two worlds. The world of my family and the world of my freedom. I recognize the benefits and faults of each. The line is thin and sometimes, I feel like I will fall. But I am learning to walk on this tightrope and navigate the waters. 

All by myself this time.