Introduction:
“I take medication every day for depression and mental illness, and I don’t feel bad about it.” (Lady Gaga).
As the title reveals, I am a suicide survivor, but like how Lady Gaga is not ashamed of being open about taking medication to treat psychiatric conditions, I am not ashamed of being open about the time when I survived a suicide attempt, and this article will explain why.
This may come as a shock to those who know me (well, believe me, I know a lot of people), but soon I’ll appear on Humans of Baruch and, if I am comfortable about my past, negative comments can hardly get to me anymore.
Keep reading to gain an insight to my life’s journey, organized by biological years.
Year 1-12: Early Years
I’m gay. I know that as a hard fact for as long as I can remember, because I need to make zero effort (since kindergarten, I think) to see all the mysterious, appealing, beautiful, and extraordinary women that I’ve never ever felt the same way about men. I mean, I appreciate the sharp faces, short hair, and shaven beards that make men so handsome and attractive, but I’ve never seen them as extraordinary.
That being said, I was born and raised in a highly conservative Southeast Asian country, namely Vietnam, where people are still judged very harshly if they do not conform to heteronormative patriarchy. I wasn't aware of that as a kid and, in all honesty, I chose to dress and act masculine, which always feel so natural to me. I was questioned and judged very harshly by people. Of course my parents, who are used to the heteronormative norm, do not like the idea of sexual liberalism, thus they used to question me as well.
Yet, it was not until I was 13 that I reached an era of limitation…
Year 13-19: Things Fell Apart
By the time I was in the second half of sixth grade, I fell madly in love with a woman, and that incident heralded a severe seven-year depression and identity crisis. I blamed myself for the most part of my life, until, through tremendous reading and observation, did I realize how the innocent minds of children are so pure that they can easily misinterpret events (that adults easily forget) in a way that is potentially devastating for their psyche. I was frowned upon and questioned even before I fully developed a personality, hence, the young and vulnerable perception and interpretation that I had of the world easily fell apart.
I started having serious insomnia and persecution from a relentless torrent of intrusive thoughts. Plus, I basically had no personality and self-esteem--but a small perception that the large world did not like me. I was very much made to hate myself, my body, my sexuality, and my entire existence.
In my country, people seldom talk about sexuality, and the topic of homosexuality is somewhat taboo, to be questioned and frowned upon, at least in my experience. Of course, my parents, accustomed to traditions, used to question me as well.
I remember reading the Economist, and there was an occasion when an article discussed the topic of sexuality in my country: the people there believe that the best way to prevent unwanted teenage pregnancy to refrain from discussing sex with teenagers.
Running deer, indeed. I was particularly stunned at how familiar and long-lasting this topic has been for generations when I watched Broadway’s “Spring Awakening” last December (WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD). At the very beginning of the play, after the obsessive and lingering song, “Mama Who Bore Me,” a girl asked her mother how babies are born, a mother frantically struggled, and finally dismissed her question with: “In order to have babies, you must…love your husband with all your heart.” It is no different than, “Light a candle, and HOPE that it glows.”
I pushed my parents to let me see a psychiatrist at age 17, but it wasn’t much help. The very first day, he told me, “Being gay is a ridiculous self-fulfilling prophecy; women must love men.”
Due to my little experience in life, I believed him and was totally convinced he was my savior.
Life dragged me on, to another turning point: coming to America at age 18 and attending Baruch.
It didn’t go well, for the most part. Me, a neurotic, bumpy, awkward, and chronically depressed teenager, by some miracle, was able to come to the United States for college, and was, for the first time, exposed to the idea of “questioning an existing idea.” I didn’t even know what to think anymore: questioning yourself and your existence sounds so great, so American, but why do my relatives in America keep reinforcing the rigid hierarchical social and familial structures I knew so well back in my country? What was I supposed to do, to believe in?
The summer when I was 19, my family got scammed on Facebook and we lost a lot of money. When I went back to America, a few of my relatives made fun of the incident, and laughed merrily as I sat there paralyzed and traumatized...how could they?
The fact that my relatives made fun of my family’s misfortune traumatized my feeble mind and haunted me until September of the same year, when I finally tried to swallow all the antidepressants I had at that time. Ironically, the pills that were supposed to cure my depression nearly killed me. I was saved, after nearly two days unconscious in the emergency room.
I did not plan to kill myself, nor was I ready to be a suicide survivor…
Year 20: The Bitch of Living
OK, I survived a suicide attempt, but with that came the aftermath for which I was in no way ready.
From debt to insurance, from medicine to therapist, everything was insane, and looking back, I was surprised at how I managed not to break (no, not again).
I was bitter to the core of my soul, and wanted revenge on those who made fun of me and my family, but all I got back was apathy and dismissal: “Easy, kid, it's just a joke, they do not mean any harm, and the only problem is with you and your hypersensitivity. Well, there you have it, the end justifies the means, where is your proof that they said it? Shouldn’t we let the past be the past? And we haven’t even talked about you being disrespectful to adults in the family.”
Well, to be fair, no one actually said those things, but to sum up what transpired during the year when I was 20 years old, such is the core.
Such is the year when I was 20: sessions after sessions, weeks after weeks, and hours after hours working with my therapist, in intense frustration about what to do with myself and my life.
Hard to believe, but I looked like a happy-go-lucky person at school, every day (I’m not joking about this one).
Year 21: In the Making
“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” -William Shakespeare
Now that I’m 21, how has the experience changed me, you ask? Well, a lot. Since the incident when I was at the lowest point in my life to the present when I feel so self-fulfilled, it’s a long way with complex dynamics.
You surprised? The previous passages are so bleak, how come now it is only two months into the year 2016, and I’m totally transformed? You shouldn’t be skeptical, because I’m telling the truth, and here’s why:
First, I acknowledged I’m not feeling OK and then I got really serious about treatment. Medication, psychiatrist, and therapist, coupled with familial support (I will elaborate in a bit) and self-realization...I was able to steer my thoughts towards the adaptive pattern, from emotional to rational. I don’t feel proud, but I don’t feel bad about what happened either. Facts are always neutral; that I’m not feeling OK, and solution, I have to put serious efforts to make my life the one that I’m comfortable living.
Speaking of familial support, I haven’t mentioned the one person who is a witness to all I’ve been through in my life: my mother. The people in the cover photo are myself, as a kid, and my beautiful mother. She loved me unconditionally, from the moment she bore me, and I know she will continue to do so until the day she dies. After all, my parents love me so much, that with their meager income, they still managed to send me to Baruch for education, and I can see how totally heartbreaking it is to bear a child and nurture her for 19 years, and see her mutilating her life, then helplessly receive the news of her attempting suicide from half the globe away. My mother wept silently as she heard my voice over the phone when I just woke up in the emergency room. Now would it be fair for my family if I gave them no other choice but to abandon everything they've been believing in for their whole lives, because I embrace a very novel idea, concerning sexual liberalism? I'm gay, yes, but I do not identify myself as a minority group in need of special treatment; I'm a totally normal girl still in the process of exploring life. Since I embrace that mentality, I just laugh it off every time I go back to my country and get judged every time I use a public bathroom.
Forcing your ideas on others is wrong, even if the ideas work. I often see sexual deviant people negotiate with their families and those around them as, “Now you either accept me, or…,” and I think they’re just trying to force their ideas about "being open” to other people, but they’re not really open after all. Can I just become the oppressive and pushy type, that I once abhorred so much, by doing the exact same thing that they do to me?
No, I can’t. The end does not justify the means, especially when dealing with men’s lives. I can’t simply force my parents and relatives to abandon their faith, and all that they've believed in their whole lives, to fulfill my needs. I may get the revenge that I want, but I realize that I, as an individual, have my own agenda, and I need not “seek justice” by becoming the very force which I am against.
Revenge, sure, can immediately bring you short-term gratification, but not happiness in the sense of contentment and peace of mind.
Speaking of “laughing things off,” I’d like to get to the second main point: medication and external support can only alleviate the problem, or as I’d like to say, “lay the first brick.” The person has to build back the castle once wrecked. That’s the second fundamental factor: self-realization. After years of struggle, I finally realize that how people treat us is actually the way we interpret their actions. I actually attempted suicide because of an insensitive remark that was meant as a joke, but I internalized the joke and my depression amplified it, and that is not a good thing. Now, looking back, even if the remark was instead meant to drag me down, I would still consider it a joke, I would just laugh it off, because, after all, the person may or may not say what they mean, and whether they actually mean something or not, it’s their thought process, which we have no way of knowing for certain, so why not interpret the neutral facts in a way that is healthy for our psyche?
“Happy is he who has overcome his ego.” -Buddha
Let me elaborate about “internalizing” the facts: Facts are facts, and they’re neutral. It is cultural relativism that makes a neutral fact good or bad, externally.
However, I see that people assume a lot about communications, which is an easy source for tragedy. Okay, let’s start by looking at how face-to-face communications work:
Stage 1: What the person actually means.
Stage 2: What the person says.
Stage 3: What the listener hears.
Stage 4: How the listener interprets what they hear.
People often say there’s only one truth. True, John Keats even puts it, “Beauty, truth. Truth, beauty.” However, truth is just another fact, which is neutral. Whether the fact is good or bad depends on personal interpretation (remember what I said about how the innocent minds of children may misinterpret the fact in a way that is traumatic and detrimental for their psyche?)
The truth, what a person thinks isn’t necessarily what they say, and what they say isn’t necessarily the whole thing the listener hears, then comes the listener’s interpretation.
Okay, then my point: If what they say isn’t necessarily what they mean, then what’s the point of taking offense? Isn’t it your own interpretation?
Sure, what if they actually mean to hurt you, then how could you know for sure? What people think is their thought process, and there’s no way to be certain about that. That’s what I’m saying: Care less about what’s going on inside others’ heads, and instead care more about what’s going on in your head.
People say sh*t all the time, but only yours and your own interpretation really matters.
So? If my relatives instead really mean to insult me and drag me down, they’ll fail if I consider it a harmless joke. The only reason why people succeed in hurting you is because you allow them to.
I've been rewiring and training my mind to think positively lately, and I’ve never felt so accomplished. In fact, looking back, I have to thank all the drama that has given me the chance to make me who I am today. Now if you ask me how I feel about being gay, or having a history of depression and suicide survivor, I’d say I have nothing to hide--they’re just facts, they’re neutral, and they've happened already whether you want them or not, and if you do not care about yourself, it’s meaningless even if others care about you.
“Vincit qui se vincit.” (He who conquers himself conquers all) -from “Beauty and the Beast”
Knowing how to think positively is a great adaptive tactic, otherwise “survival of the fittest” will automatically exclude those who cannot pass the test for survival. I believe in Social Darwinism, which says that society operates the same way as nature: the fittest will survive and the unfit will automatically get excluded.
Also, I believe as children hit puberty, it's vital for parents to have open conversations with them about sexuality, about how babies are born, and safe sex. Don't criticize them for asking questions, don't just tell them "in order to have babies, you must...love your husband." Instead of arguing on how millennials should think, in my opinion, parents should instead look at what millennials do think, and try to approach the topic of sexuality not forcibly but thoughtfully. Otherwise, mishandled sexual intercourse or misinterpreted sexuality can have lifetime effects. Believe me, I’ve seen many.
On the other hand, to those who are struggling with depression and mental illness, please, go to therapy. There is help. And if you feel like your particular therapist is not working, try another, until you find the one with whom you’re comfortable sharing your stories and seeking the optimal solution.
You wonder how I am able to reason my way out of crisis. Well, therapy, moral reasoning, familial support, and time. You’ll find the answer eventually once you’ve tried hard enough and long enough. I actually went and lived with my relatives and resolved all the drama, and came back to New York, happy and unscathed, all within the month of January!
However, above all, I just want to say: I love my family, and thank you, Mom, for bearing me. I love you beyond words.
Conclusion
I hope you treat this little reading as a passage through which you can fathom your own means of achieving happiness, and not a treatise on how to be happy. Cultural relativism is a real thing, and who understands it better than a person who has been living interchangeably between two distinct cultures? Yet experience and reflection can only do so much in terms of broadening perspectives; for me, it’s limited to the cultures of Vietnam and the US, but for you, the dynamics are so different that there is no one right way to achieve happiness. However, whatever means you adopt, make sure you examine it thoroughly, and that you find certain rational justifications for it, rather than blindly accepting conventional views or traditional authorities.
Socrates is a greater thinker in that he constantly asked questions and examined his thinking, but sadly, he was sentenced to death on charges of corrupting the young with ideas that undermined traditions. I don’t mind if people hate me, but right now it will have to take either a knife or a bullet to stop my brain from reasoning and my heart from beating. Otherwise, I’ll keep writing, whether people like it or not.
Here’s a quote from Socrates: “The life which is unexamined is not worth living.”
And if you wonder why I am not ashamed of my past, well, there’s nothing to be ashamed about, but there's everything to learn from. As George Santayana puts it: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
And if you choose to share this post, I ask that please do so only if my writing appeals to you, my reasoning convinces you, and my ideas are things you really consider worth sharing. If you would like to leave me a message, email me: tien.dang@baruchmail.cuny.edu. For those who do not wish to reveal their name, here is the link for anonymous feedback: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1lHG5T4SMTnn53jllJVcsrdkMNFHjlk73egSA0GEhWno/viewform
