Beautiful Struggles | Untold Stories Part 3

I remember one time during one of my physical therapy sessions at the Good Samaritan hospital where I broke down in tears while desperately trying to walk as much as I can with a rifton walker. This was the first time I cried in front of my mother along with my physical therapist, fully realizing that this recovery may take more than just a year. I was overwhelmed with mixed emotions of sadness, frustration, and anger.

To begin with, I hated myself so much for getting in that person's car, I hated myself for causing my mother so much pain and stress but mostly, I hated that person so much for being the reason why I became disabled. However, the more I hated that person, the more I began to hate myself. I spent many months even till now thinking about how it is my fault that I became disabled and if only I hadn't stepped into that person's car, I wouldn't be spending months of recovering from traumatic injuries and how my mother wouldn’t be so stressed out with my new medical life. And if you're wondering, my father has never been in the family picture.

After countless days of nonstop crying and screaming, I became numb. I gave up on myself, had nothing to look forward to because just when I thought life would get better, it didn't at that time. I know very well that some people in this world may have it worse than me but either way, we all feel the same pain as we continue to live with different struggles. I lost myself throughout this journey to the point where I thought to myself, "What's the point of living if there's nothing to look forward to?" so then I secretly continued to live each day with suicidal thoughts.

Even when I wasn't alone, I felt lonely but to be honest, it got worse when I began to have less visitors. My mind became much more unhealthy than ever but I couldn't bring myself to simply end my life because I knew deep down that there was something that was worth living for, at least that was what I continue to hope for. After every therapy sessions in the Good Samaritan hospital, I kept thinking to myself, "Have I really gone insane? Are people afraid to see me now? Have I really become bipolar?" and that's when I fully realized that not only was my body severely damaged, I became mentally ill.

I remember clearly that I'd cry myself to sleep and wake up feeling empty. And whenever I was sad, I sang and smiled and that was how I started to live till this day.

Thank You,

- phurbudiaries