A Reminder

A year ago, I wanted to die.

An autumn day in Jardin de Luxembourg, because I'm not dead and was able to live to take the photo. (This caption was mean to be dark humor).

"Thoi, I love you. I love you, I love you." My Papa's voice cracks on the other end of the phone. He calls me by my home name, and I feel tears swell into my eyes as I look down at my lame, yellow, hospital socks.

"Papa, I'm sorry. I was so scared I was going to disappoint you, and I'm sorry about the hospital bill... and I just want to make you and Mummy proud after everything you've both sacrificed for me."

"Thoi, you don't have to worry about the hospital bill or failing. We would have found another solution. We love you and will always support you no matter what you do. Money can always be earned."

The conversation continues for a bit longer before I have to let him go, and I feel a weight lift just knowing that I am loved and supported unconditionally from two people who matter so much to me. I can only imagine how much pain my Papa must have felt. Possibly feeling helpless because he was miles away from where I was at the time, and unable to come Simi (see me) as soon as he could.

My Mummy drove the 5 hours to where I was the very next morning. She came as soon as she could once I called her the night before to inform her that I was being forced to stay in the hospital for the entirety of the weekend.

Calling my brother was the hardest. I could hear the concern and sadness in his voice, and I didn't want to let my baby brother down. To admit that his older sister was weak, and that she needed help. That she couldn't be positive anymore, and that life was too much for her at the time.

The back patio of my French grandmother's house - she is someone I wouldn't have met had I not lived. (Dramatic captioning brought to you by moi).

12 hours earlier

"Ma'am you're either going to have to come with us voluntarily where we'll handcuff you at the police car, or we're going to handcuff you here and take you by force to the hospital." The campus policeman stares at me with his emotionless eyes, following the protocol of his training, and waits for my response.

My anxiety increases as I feel my heart racing. I think quickly. As a residential assistant at a freshman dorm at my university, I know the responsibility that comes with my job. I have a role to play. I am supposed to be a role model for the students. It is an image yes, but at the time, it was so important. I begrudgingly agree to be voluntarily handcuffed at the car despite feeling that I have no real choice in the situation.

Ironically, I've had residents in the past open up to me about their mental health situations. One in particular had tried to commit suicide just months prior, and I remember wanting so badly to protect them from the humiliation of the wandering eyes of other residents when the police took that resident in handcuffs to the hospital. I walked in front of my resident trying to hide the chains as I saw other residents stare at the bizarre entourage.

Now it is my turn... but I didn't attempt to kill myself. I simply thought about it, but because mental health is such a taboo topic the only way to treat it is to take it to extreme measures. By taking extreme measures, it prevents institutions from receiving blame if anything were to happen to me. It's always about saving their own ass in the end.

Unfortunately, in this scenario, the extreme was more traumatic.

I had the original photo saved on my old phone, but it got pickpocketed, so I had to screenshot this photo from one of my old Instagram stories... I might write about my pickpocket story in another post. (Not everything in Paris is all "La Vie en Rose." LOL).

"If you want to get out of here sooner. Just play the system. Play their game, hun. Do what they tell you to do. Don't stay alone for too long. Eat at the meal times. Make sure to participate in all the group activities." The psychiatric technician looks me in the eye. She is the only person that's been honest with me since my arrival in the emergency room.

And don't tell the doctor the truth about how being in the hospital makes me more depressed... The thought automatically comes into my head. This is going to be like the Hunger Games, but instead the Mental Games - will I or won't I make it out sane from this psychiatric ward?

So far, I have met the insurance collector, the doctor and his annoying scribe, and two nurses. Not once had any of them treated me like a human. The insurance collector - well she just wants money. The doctor - well, he is just doing his job. The scribe - looks at me like an experiment. The nurses - takes away whatever dignity I have left along with my blood and other body samples to make sure I am not on drugs and to charge me for "miscellaneous items" on the emergency room bill.

Before they (they being the hospital system) confiscate my cellphone, I make my last rounds of calls to my friends and my family letting them know that they won't be able to contact me for the duration of the next 72 hours. If they want to Simi, they are restricted to visiting hours at select times of the weekend.

By this point, my heart is still racing, but I know I can't keep crying over the situation. I can't stay silent or the hospital would deem me as crazy. So I became an actress. I should have won an Oscar. It took whatever strength I had left in me to carry the conversations I needed to carry. To tell the doctor what he needed to hear to get me out, to discuss with the nurses the flaws in the systems and why I'm going to study Public Health, to not tell the social workers that I'm still depressed because I'm trapped at the hospital.

I made comrades with the other patients in the ward. I met people ranging from bipolar, to those who wandered the halls in complete silence, to those with eating disorders, and those who had nowhere else to stay. Most of them had been repeat "offenders," but that just tells me that the system isn't helping them as it is intended.

I could probably write a short novella of each character that I met in those 72 hours. Each have their own story, and I bonded with a few of them in my own way. I don't think I'll ever forget them, and I do hope that they are all living better lives now than they were when I met them.

Delicious desserts I got to eat with my research group in school, because I'm alive and well to experience this.

When I am finally released from prison - I mean the hospital - I followed up with therapy from an excellent therapist. I graduated from university 2 weeks later, and I began my gap year to piece myself back together again and truly find myself.

Looking back on the events, it was preventable. Sure, I could have had less coffee leading up to my finals which increased my anxiety, but I can't change the past. I can only move forward. Some days are better than others, but I know the root cause of a lot of this now. In all honesty, it was my insecurities. My lack of self-efficacy, and rooting my worth in external validation. At the time, I was so angry. Angry at the system, angry at the institution of my work place, and my school, because I felt betrayed and unsupported. But feelings come and go, and time is always the best healer. My therapist helped me so much in seeing the reality of the situation.

I'm writing this as a reminder more for myself in how far I've come. I'm not saying I've done everything I'll ever do in life, but that this is such a journey. Breaking bad mental health habits is difficult. Our thoughts control so much of our feelings, and what we feel is how we remember/perceive moments of our lives. Those memories make up stories of who we are today.

Taken on my second day of school in Paris on a night time stroll with a very good friend who I met literally the day before - because I am alive.

During my gap year I:

1. Went to Therapy - learned more about myself, built more confidence, and found a mentor that I needed.

2. Traveled - I went to France for the first time and decided I would live there; went to Manipur, to try and find peace with my family's heritage (See blog post: An American Girl in Manipur).

3. Worked 3 jobs, saved money, and gained experience in various fields.

4. Started my blog :)

5. Watched lots of Netflix.

6. Read so many books.

7. Finished my Chicago vlog on YouTube (my one and only vlog haha).

8. Reconnected with old friends and made new ones too :)

9. Spent more time with my family <3

10. Cleared up my skin :')

11. Went on a date in France and managed to stay friends with the guy (see blog post: My Date in France).

12. Changed my hair (cool).

13. Watched Mama Mia 2 with my Mummy and decided I want to be like Donna (also need to visit Greece).

14. Experienced making banana pancakes for the first time (if you know this story... you know I've told you personally lol).

15. Danced with a cute boy at a club in Austin & swam with him in the lake in Chicago a month later (see blog post: An Ode to Romantics).

16. Got into grad school.

17. Saved up enough money and bought my own laptop.

18. Moved to Paris.

19. Had a one night stand in Paris (:o)

20. Went on two dates entirely in French (yikes)

21. Made it to a 2nd date! (No, I won't be seeing him again lol).

I live in Paris. The city of lights, love, and dreams. Everything isn't perfect, and I'll probably get around to writing an accurate depiction of what my every day life in Paris actually looks like - but still I know that I am a very lucky duck.

When I was in the hospital, one of the patients told me, "You are so lucky. You have so many people coming to visit you."

I still think about those words, because I do have so much social support. Not everyone gets the privilege of knowing an unconditional love from parents, and not everyone has friends who would make the time to see them in their worst state at a psychiatric ward in a hospital.

I think the director of Roma, Alfonso Cuarón, said it best, "existence is nothing but a shared experience of loneliness." We as humans are such social beings, and I don't want to experience life as just "existing," but I want to live and share my life with others. Grow together.

It's a process. Transitioning to Paris has uprooted the familiar, and forced me to have to find myself once again. My therapist told me that, we will continually have to find ourselves. Who I am at 23 is not the same as I was at 19 or will be at 25.

In some moments, I'm still simply me - laughing about some dumb joke I made and dreaming optimistically about the future. In other moments, I look at the dreary sky and realize I still compare myself to others (now it's to the well-dressed Parisian girls around me).

Lately, with the weather, I've felt melancholic. I miss the familiarity of good ol' USA, and I miss the sun (currently adding Vitamin D to my food lol). It's easy to slip into a seasonal depression, but I'm not alone. I have such wonderful people around me checking in on me and pulling me out of my shell to experience Paris together. I truly am the luckiest girl in the world in my own way.

So this is my reminder, that life is beautiful. It's difficult at times too, but I think beauty has its imperfections which makes it so lovely all together. My hope that if you made it this far in reading this, that you too would live fully and well. That you too would not forget how far you've come, and how much more there is to experience. Live presently and define those rare and wonderful connections with other souls on this planet. Reframe your perspective, and see life with rose colored glasses every now and then.

Don't give up on life or yourself. Today might be hard, but nothing is forever. Tomorrow will be better. Or next week will be even better. So much can change in a matter of a year, in a matter of a day. Give life and yourself that chance.

Thank you for reading! One last quote before I sign off:

“You only get one life. It's actually your duty to live it as fully as possible.” ― Jojo Moyes, Me Before You

Sincerely,

Simi