Darling, you’ll be okay
And she said
“If you were me, you’d do the same
‘Cause I can’t take anymore
I’ll draw the shades and close the door
Everything’s not alright and I would rather”
Hold On Till May by Pierce the Veil
It’s the second day of June, five minutes past three in the afternoon. You’d find me mindlessly typing the keys to my laptop computer at work while Hold On Till May plays on an endless loop in my headphones. Not the first time; this happened before April ended.
An image from April
I had thought about how funny it seemed that people probably mistakenly think of me as being hard-pressed, focused and hard at work. When the truth is, my brain is barely holding on to the thought that my bottom was pressed against this black swivel chair for hours. Leaving everything to my fingers’ muscle memory, I forgot when I stopped working and started typing words that didn’t make sense on Grammarly.
I had been drifting far off with thoughts running back and forth freely; how I envied my thoughts’ freedom to wander far as it could. I had been thinking about plans I had made in May and those I have had in the last few years. My thoughts traveled as far back as 2018, back when things started to transition for the worse. As my headphones sang the lyrics, “Darling, you’ll be okay,” in a soft melody accompanied by the slightly harsh instruments in its background, I thought about how much I loved the juxtaposition. An idea immediately came rushing to mind, ‘I should write about this.’
Nostalgia in June
A month after that one afternoon in late April and about 200 words of pre-lude, I’m here, ready to share a story of how I held on until May.
2018
Sure, 2020 was the year everything changed for everyone. But for me, 2018 was my downhill, so far. It was a year filled with hope and yet weighed down by uncertainty.
I just graduated and have gotten accepted for a job; I was about to start working two weeks after graduation! It was both terrifying and exciting to have had a career.
But even before that intense period of overwhelming doubt, I was already dreading the coming of my graduation. Early in our relationship, my partner and I had a pact that I’d tell my parents about us after graduation. I had been dragging my feet on that for the longest time because I was so scared of disappointing my parents. As an only child, there’s no way I could wish for a sibling to mess up half as much as I did to lessen the failure I’d become in my parents’ eyes after admitting my truth. Excuses after excuses, I always find reasons to not tell them. First, it was something about living under their roof and being still reliant on my parents. Then, there’s me reasoning out that they could easily decide and let me do things I didn’t want to.
Truth was, I was scared about how they’d react, horrified about the judgments. I didn’t mind being judged by others, but I guess I have always drawn the line for my parents. After all, it’s their constant approval that I craved. Until the reasons I kept making up to cover the fear I had been feeling led to many fights between me and my partner.
When it reached an impasse, and I had no moves left to take but to confess to my parents, I was in a relationship with someone of the same gender.
I thought that was the hardest part of opening yourself up to your parents. That same conservative parents who told you to wait until you were married before giving yourself away, and spoke to you about hell and what it does to people who’d sinned. I remember crying, my father holding back tears; my mother’s eyes welled in disappointment and disgust. To this day, those were the only images I could remember during the confession. It’s almost impossible for me to recall how that day ended for me, for us.
In my heart, I had hoped they’d understand. I mumbled many prayers for them to accept me for who I am, but if only it were easier than that. My mother and I spent weeks not talking to each other; it was agonizing. She’d text me hurtful things, like, “you look disgusting together.” Those silence and messages had cut through me deeply. I felt disowned.
I vividly remember late sleepless nights that were always filled with tears and wishing things would change. But, it didn’t.
They said, your dreams were your subconscious’ deepest desires. I suppose it is true because every night, I had always dreamt that my mom would accept me. I saw images of my family being in the same room with my partner and I, eager to bond and get to know each other. And I’ve always been the kind of person to dream rarely, but during those times, I felt like I’ve had the most nights consecutively dreaming of the things that’ll never be true. I’d wake up, discontented and disappointed that it’s yet again another frustrating present.
Honestly, I had envied people who came out of their closets and everything was instantly easy for them. But I guess, it isn’t always the same for everyone.
When my mom and I finally had spoken again with each other, we kind of mutually agreed without speaking to never bring that subject up. We interacted as if everything was normal and that I hadn’t been a huge disappointment to her. But I always felt how it was harder for her to accept who I was than anyone else. I carried that with me; the feeling of being an unredeemable failure without even hearing it straight from my family’s mouths. It was always how I felt, and I’d lie if I said it hadn’t messed up how I felt about myself.
I had become more afraid of taking risks, had been so insecure, and had been fueled by thoughts that I’d never be close to adequate to anyone that I loved. My relationship with my partner had been affected too; it had been more difficult to spend time with her without being guilt-ridden.
—
Months passed, and Mayday Parade started selling tickets for a concert they’d have in my city. My friend and I bought our tickets hours after it had been made available. Momentarily, I had forgotten what I’d been carrying inside me. The weight of disappointment I caused my parents, the guilt I felt for wanting to be happy, the pressure of starting my third job less than a year after I graduated, the fear and overwhelming feeling of things falling apart; somehow it had been lifted off my shoulders. I was happy, I think I have forgotten what that felt like.
—
But then Christmas came, my partner expressing how she’d love to spend the holidays with me, and I saying I’d love that too, but we couldn’t. My mind, like a giant projector, immediately showed an image of my parents’ devastated looks if they had known I’d be celebrating Christmas with my partner’s family. I remember my partner trying her hardest to understand the situation and telling me things would get better soon, but my mind was fixed on the fact that I had been disappointing her too. Time after time, I was reminded of how I am unable to make everyone I cared for happy that I forgot I had been truly miserable for being in between all these.
I had set myself aside for them. I guess that’s the reason why it hurt incredibly, when the realization, “I can never make them happy,” rang inside my head. Like a piece of sticky notepad pinned through the wall, that thought stuck in my head for months.
I had been apologizing more to my partner for not being there; I had apologized for not being perfect and not being nearly close to the girlfriend she deserved. I felt utterly useless.
It kept eating me alive.
2019
But no matter how strong you try to be for other people, there are days when things stop making sense. When your imaginary emotion filters betray you, it just stops working. You forget to sort through all the emotions wrapping you, that it envelopes you all at once. It had me feeling the guilt, sadness, disappointment, pressure, and stress coalescing into an overpowering and intense numbing feeling. Until now, I didn’t understand how being numb can be excruciatingly painful. The pain erupts from my chest, almost incapacitating me.
The pain took its sweet time as if it knew what it was doing; the numbing slowly ran through my limbs and body, severing the parts of my soul I never knew existed. Every breath felt like a sharp object was pushing in, out, and through my heart. I am not sure how your brain makes you physically feel the blunt weapon jabbed within your body, but to me, it was so surreal. And the fact that it couldn’t kill you to feel the stabbing, no matter how painful or many times it kept going on without mercy, made me feel worst, sick to my stomach.
In an attempt to find my way out of that suffocating air hovering over my atmosphere, I tried to write. Grabbing the closest notebook I could find and a pen with barely an ink, I buried myself.
Tears were streaming in my cheeks, making their way through the words my right hand was scrawling. I was trying to make sense; I wanted to keep my head above the waters, but the current had somehow taken me. I’m dragged farther and farther from reality that when my hand halted as if it was done telling its story, I sobbed at the realization.
I wanted to die.
To me, at that moment, there was no other way. It had become vivid to me, like looking at the answer in the bright blue sky after a downpour. It was me who was making everyone around me miserable. It was a delusion to even think that my parents would have come to be at peace with my choices and that, one day, I’d be happy with the person my heart had chosen. It felt selfish to keep hurting the people who mattered to me.
If I were gone, I wouldn’t have to choose; if I were dead, I would have done my parents and partner a favor. These thoughts kept coming and replaying in my head; the longer they did, the more they had made sense.
The buzzing and ringing continued so stubbornly; I must die.
As I began to weave the blueprint in my head of how I wanted to escape this all, I thought about wanting to have one last happy memory shared with them. If it were the last moment I’d ever get, I wanted it to matter. I hoped for it to be genuine, happy, and worth remembering.
Although, I felt like I was again being selfish for wanting to carry one last special moment with them before taking my life. But little did I know, I would have been more selfish if I went on to have left without goodbyes.
It may have taken me a long time to realize how wrong I was for thinking it wouldn’t get better or that suicide was the answer; I was thankful I paused to remember the plans I had made in May.
Until now, I kept pondering what would’ve happened if, at that moment of despair, I hadn’t thought about the Maday Parade ticket I bought. Silly as it may sound, I believe that they have literally saved me. Although I hadn’t really gotten to see them due to other circumstances. But, the fact that I wanted to have my first concert experience before I died meant they impacted my life in a way that made me think they were worth holding on to a little longer.
What would’ve happened if I hadn’t thought about the anniversary I wanted to celebrate with my partner in May. Thinking about it now, maybe she was always behind why I loved May. And even if it isn’t May, she has always somehow been one of the biggest reasons for my holding on since 2016.
And what would’ve happened if I hadn’t thought about making my mom feel special for the last time on Mother’s Day. What would’ve happened if I just gave up before everything between us got better. I couldn’t imagine a life where I hadn’t let her in in my life, where we weren’t this close. It’s surprising what time could do to make everything better. Maybe that’s all we needed to meet halfway, the time to contemplate, understand, and accept that we’re both flawed. But nonetheless, we always have each other.
No words could ever describe how glad and thankful I am to have held on till May, because things now may not be perfect, but it’s definitely better than if I were gone. I guess my point being, maybe you don’t feel as if you have many reasons to keep going right now, but you have to know; it is the little things that are always worth holding on to.
Here is an excerpt from the letter I had written from when I was trying to translate my drowning emotions. Granted that these words no longer mean anything to me now, I just wanted to share this here to symbolize hope. If I have found the way back to myself after being buried so deep, I believe you can too. You can save yourself; your life is worth holding on to. Please don’t be afraid to ask for help.
