By Rongxiang //

Looking back, I can see that my mental health was affected by events in my life. I was brought up by maternal grandmother, and in the year 2012, when she passed on, I had a major depression spell. Her demise cracked me up deep within, and I felt that I couldn’t cope and was losing touch with the world. I was doing my Master’s degree then, so I went to the General Practitioner at the campus clinic at NUS, and was diagnosed with clinical depression, but I was not given medication, and so I went untreated.

In the six years after my grandmother died, I had difficulty settling into fixed employment and I dropped out from postgraduate studies. I was sinking into financial debt, and in the year 2018 I started having delusions, and wanted to commit suicide and end my life as soon as possible.

One night while the World Cup 2018 was happening, I thought of ending my life, and I started posting bizarre suicidal messages on Facebook. Good Samaritans online noticed my behaviour, and they called the police. Incredibly, the police figured out where I was living and officers to my residence to pick me up. They knocked at my door at 1-2am, and I opened my door to them as they told me that they were here to help.

In order to safeguard me, the officers handcuffed me and brought me to Tanglin Police Division. It was the first time I had sat in a police vehicle. When I reached the police station, they locked me up in a cell by myself. While this might sound traumatic, the officers were actually very kind to me. They didn’t bully me but instead they would pass by my cell regularly to pass me some bread or a drink so that I felt at ease.

I recall a Malay gentleman who was locked up in the cell facing mine. He gesticulated to me, wanting my attention, and when I waved back to him, he signalled at me to follow his lead and pray. He showed me how it was done, and I decided to follow him and pray for solace and comfort. It worked like magic for me and gave me comfort.

Through the small window in the cell, I saw the sun rise, and the police officer told me that they were going to bring me to see a doctor.

They led me out of the cell, and I recall vividly how I was surrounded by a dozen trainee police officers who surrounded me and encouraged me to stay resilient. I was so touched by the police officers’ actions.

The patrol car brought me to the Institute of Mental Health (IMH), where I had a urine test and was then cuffed to a wheelchair. My parents were informed about what had happened, and they came down to meet me at IMH, and they encouraged me, saying that everything was OK.  I knew that with them around I was safe. I was led to Ward 35B where I had a fresh change of clothes and was introduced to my hospital bed. I was forbidden from wearing underwear, however, to ensure that I wouldn’t attempt to suicide again.

I spent the next two weeks in the ward under observation. Every morning I would wake up, brush my teeth, comb my hair (everyone had their own assigned combs), take a shower and then adjourn to the activity room for breakfast. I opted for a vegetarian diet, and I really loved the food at IMH. It was not heavily salted and delicious. Breakfast was usually a few slices of bread with coffee, and was a good morale booster. After breakfast we’d hang around by the television watching Channel News Asia, and I would try to gain access to the Straits Times newspaper because I wanted to know the most recent World Cup scores.

When lunch came, we would queue up for food, then tuck in happily and continue to hang around in the activity room. There was little else we could do in the ward, because we were forbidden from leaving the activity area. We chit-chatted with the nurses on duty. Some of the patients needed more attention than others. There was one patient who was suffering so much he screamed vulgarities into empty space and had to be pinned down to the bed to calm him down.

Dinner eventually came, and after that we’d return to the ward and queue up for our medications. My initial diagnosis was bipolar disorder, and I was prescribed sodium valproate and olanzapine. I trusted the IMH professionals and took my prescription religiously. This pleased them, and they gave me an easy time while I was there.

As nightfall came, we had to go to bed early. We turned off Mediacorp Channel 5, which we were watching, and we went to bed. I felt calm throughout my stay at IMH. The only real difficulty I had was that the toilet cubicles were without doors and I found it embarrassing to go to the toilet and pass a motion in full view of everyone nearby, and so I usually waited till nighttime to go. There was no internet, but every night I was allowed to call home. I knew my family was doing well without me, so all I did was to call home once in a few days just to let my family know that I was doing fine.

After two weeks at IMH, the psychiatrists told me that I was good to be discharged. I was ecstatic. I filled out the paperwork, and my parents came down to collect me, and I went home happily. A year later, I received my final diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder.

After leaving IMH, I found comfort in several aspects of my life. Spirituality is a key for me: I took my Triple Gem refuge in Buddhism with Kong Meng San Phor Kark See Monastery, and I was also influenced by Zen practice. I also resumed blogging, an activity I’d done as an undergraduate, as a way of reaching out to a new community of friends. From spiritual practice, and from reading more about schizoaffective disorder, I have realised that most people struggle in life, no matter how glamorous some people’s lives might appear from the outside. I too am suffering, as many others are. When I think in such a way, my mental afflictions take less of a toll on me.

One further struggle I’ve had is not really the illness itself, but the fact that I have tried to find all kinds of full-time and part-time jobs in the past 14 years since I was first diagnosed with depression, and found that employers have repeatedly let me go the moment they suspected that I was mentally unwell.  I’ve ended up with a huge gap in my employment history because of my mental illness. So, it’s the stigma that has really hurt me because I’ve been made to feel less of a human being than other job candidates who have a nice, conventional resume.

Despite this, I have made a conscious decision to be open about my condition. I believe that if I tried to hide the truth from the world, I would have to work even harder to pretend to be somebody that I’m not. And I have been supported by my extended family all these years through weal and woe.

I am most grateful to my parents and maternal aunt for being gentle and compassionate to me when I was struggling to make a living. My aunt – a structural engineer by profession – brought me into her own business and gave me the chance to make a living as a computer aided design technician. I learned the ropes from her, figuring out how to draft construction drawings on the computer and gradually became able to earn a few dollars to sustain my own upkeep. My earnings have supported me all these years because I have not had to rely on borrowing money from others to stay afloat, but instead have used skillsets I have acquired.

My parents, too, have helped me greatly because they knew I was unwell and they did not pressurise me. They live frugally and do not put expectations on me, and I am most thankful for their understanding. Just this morning my dad sent me a photograph of his birthday celebration, with a simple bowl of boiled red eggs to commemorate his special occasion. He didn’t ask the world from me, knowing that I was already struggling to make ends meet. My elders are great people, their kindness towards me has enabled me to find strength and persist.

Rongxiang is a former National Infocomm Scholar and ex-IT professional who transitioned away from corporate world after being diagnosed with mental illnesses. He now focuses on recovery, caregiving, spiritual growth and living simply. No longer chasing the conventional idea of success, these days he walks a path of reflection, minimalism and service to those close to him.

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Photo by Joanna Kozik on Unsplash