That’s my first writing in English. I will never write anything like that in Vietnamese, so I choose English.
“Whoever touched my body then stop and ask me about what happened with them?”
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I saw many men and slept with few of them, but no one ever asked me those questions.
I mean, that’s not what they want to know.
They just want to be acquainted with my imagination, the good-looking person they saw on social media, the hard-working at work, and the funny I showed them. But that’s not all about me.
My ex, I cannot say that he is the best one, but he borrows my laptop for once and he explores all the things in my driver, then he learned about my past mentality. I mean, that is what can be “appealing” for him at first, but not enough for him to stay loyal to me through 3 years relationship.
But I mean, what can I expect?
I know that from the first time I ever did the self-harm, there would be no prince, there is no “better future” and there won't be someone come to me, touch my skin and tell me “It will be alright.”
In this society, everyone wants to see the best version of people. If someone shows their weakness, they may be seen as “crazy”.
I remembered the first time I went to Mai Huong Hospital, also known as “Daytime Mentality Hospital”, or “Crazy Hospital”. I couldn’t tell anyone about my mental status. I lied to my friends, my boyfriend this time that I have my “business”, then came here on my electric bicycle. That’s when I reached 18.
Of course, they didn’t let me in. But when they saw the wounds on my skin, all over my body, the assistant use her credit to let me in, even when I refused to call my family or supervisor.
At that time, I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression disorder and being forcefully to use medicines.
I vomited, diarrhea every time I felt totally panicked. I always hide in the closet. In this small dark environment, I feel safe.
But the mental treatment in Vietnam wasn't worked well as I expected, I took that medicines, and I experienced comatose. I fainted during class time. My friend at that time looked up in my bag, found my cigarette, and told everyone that was caused by my addiction. No one wanted to listen to me.
But, when I crawled on the floor, all disappointed, all the convulsions, vomiting, and diarrhea, I have to choose one of them “Being alive or giving up, means death for good.”
I flashed back to all my short years, I owed my family, or my father at least, his sacrifices for me. I reminded myself of a childhood memory of one night I have a nightmare, when I saw that I was dead, I woke up and told him, then he said: “If you die, I’m better die.” Then I decided whenever I haven’t given him back what I receive, I have no right to choose death for myself.
I promised that’s the last time I would do that self-harm. You know, the bad habit will not disappear all of sudden, there is some time after that when I follow my old habit, but I survived.
Everyone looks at what they want to see, a successful woman, a hilarious one, but they haven't known about the one I hid. They have enough in their mind. “Who will care about other pain when they have foot pain?”
I’m sick of whoever tells me that they like me, but all they like is the illusion of me.
I survived, I passed this hard time, but sometimes it still came to me, just with another image, made me wonder about myself, hate myself, and wanted to run away from loved ones around.
That’s not that simple.
I guess everyone has an expectation of me, they judged me for what I showed them, but no one asked me about my needs.
So I choose to be a “happier one”, who “knows what she wants”, and “generous & successful after university”.
But is it okay if I want to drop all my responsibility, my job, and connections to stay in bed, just sometimes, I wonder, who will love me no matter what?