Reaching Students for Christ he akonga ki nga akonga hei ara whakawhiti mo te Karaiti

Saving Face, Saving Grace

What do you say when someone asks you ‘How’s it going?’ Lately, people around me know that I have been unwell – so when they ask me how I am, I tell them that I have chronic sinusitis. I have no qualms posting about my sinus woes on Facebook, and my friends have no qualms asking me about it. We have even started joking that I may need a ‘nose job’ to clear my sinuses.

Besides sinusitis, I have another health condition that I do not talk about; though it is an ongoing condition that I have to manage each and every day through medication, 3-monthly visits to the doctor, being very self aware and some other skills I have learnt through therapy. I have depression.

In Oct 2003 I had what the doctor diagnosed as ‘sudden onset anxiety and depression’. It was so sudden that it took me and everyone around me by surprise. One day I was fine; the next my flatmate found me curled up in bed unmotivated and unwilling to leave the house. She made some calls and I was bundled off to the doctor who started me on anti-depressants, sleeping pills and anti-anxiety medication. I was then sent to see a psychologist to prevent my depression from spiralling further and to prevent agoraphobia (agoraphobia is the fear of wide open spaces, crowds, or uncontrolled social conditions; a form of panic disorder). Leaving the house (or even the thought of it) would trigger panic attacks.

I was screening all calls and visitors and would only speak to or see a very small, select group of people. This was completely uncharacteristic of me. To illustrate the contrast: a year earlier I was travelling solo around Europe with one of those semi-independent tour groups. I am extroverted, adventurous and independent. Prior to my diagnosis, I don’t recall ever being afraid to leave the house. About two weeks after my initial diagnosis, I knew I had to tell my parents what was happening. I had no idea how to tell them something like this. I had no idea how they would react to or understand what was happening. Despite all this, I knew they needed to know what was going on for me.

Mental health is something that I had hardly heard talked about when growing up in Malaysia. As far as I could recall, the only time I heard any discussion or conversation related to it, the person was said to have ‘gone crazy’.

My parents took it well. My flatmate and I related how I had been for the last two or so weeks. They immediately made plans to visit me in Wellington (they live in Auckland). During their visit, they came with me to a session with the clinical psychologist and to the GP so they could understand what was happening and the kind of help I was getting.

While they were supportive during that time, I could tell they were struggling with the news. Almost eight years has passed since my first diagnosis. My depression is now well managed with medication and cognitive therapy skills, yet it is still a subject I do not discuss with my parents. I know they have accepted it but are uncomfortable that it is an ongoing issue.

Two years ago when I was made redundant and subsequently unemployed for four months, my parents reminded me to take care of myself so I wouldn’t get too ‘stressed out’. I took that as an acknowledgement of my ongoing battle with depression. I don’t blame my parents for their attitude: there is a very strong stigma about mental health issues and disorders in Asian society, and I know their reaction is due to that stigma. Consequently, my parents and brother are the only people in my family who know about it. It is not ideal, but it is their way of protecting me from possible family gossip.

But I am glad that I told them. I am glad I was truthful about how severe it got. While it is my friends who provide the needed ongoing support, I know my parents are quietly supportive. And for that, I am grateful.