Obviously too obvious

I'm disappointed. Disappointed in people. It seems that people have forgotten where I come from, what I've been through. They seem to have forgotten that roughly two years ago, I was still admitted at one of the most severe closed psychiatric wards of the country. They seem to have forgotten that at that ward I had to fight to get the respect of the nurses and co-workers, and even of my fellow patients. It's just as if it's normal that at the moment, I'm actually teaching almost seven hours a week. I've even recently started my own Spanish class. Doesn't matter that I only have two students in my group, it actually is a GROUP! But people on the outside don't seem to care. They don't care that I'm pretty exhausted after teaching my six-and-a-half hours a week. It's obviously too obvious. 

Within two weeks time, I'll have been enjoying my free life for two years. Two years ago I traded the psychiatric ward with a place of my own. During those years, I have not been admitted, not even a single day. Instead, I've build a place of my own. I've been living in my own apartment for over a year now. Yes, I'm proud of my achievements. It hasn't been easy, not a single moment. I was so dependent on my therapists that I thought I couldn't live without them. That was a false assumption - I know now! When I left the CIB (Centre for Intensive Treatment) in October 2015, I was still in therapy with four people and I received weekly two nurses at my place. At this moment, however, I only have one psychologist and one nurse visiting me once a week. I talk to my psychologist once every two weeks.  So you could say I've become quite independent of therapists in general - and I feel blessed for that! 

So things have changed quite a lot, and for the good. I was 17 when I was admitted for the first time. Now I'm 34. Since my 17th birthday I was frequently admitted, without any luck of lasting recovery. I kept on getting back to the closed ward. Until they sent me to the CIB in The Hague. Everything changed there, the medication the most important thing. And since October 2015 I've been successful in my most important objective: no more admissions at psychiatric wards! 

A couple of months ago, I knew I wanted to do something with my life. I was tired of having so little things to do. I was already teaching private Spanish lessons for two hours a week. I knew I enjoyed it and that my future lay in teaching. That's when I decided I wanted more students. So that's when I put some flyers in a couple of places. With some luck, I got two new students. And they are even motivated! Lucky me! But still, I was hungry for more. And that's when I got to know that at the woman and child centre here in Leiden they were looking for a Spanish teacher. I didn't think twice. Two weeks ago, the classes started and this is what I really want to do with my life: being in front of a class, teaching vocabulary, explaining difficult grammar topics, using some jokes to make it all a little less complicated. 

There's just one thing... it requires so much energy, maybe too much energy, energy I don't have at the moment. And that's when you hope people compliment you, people support you, somehow make you feel it's worth it. And then it doesn't come. People think it's obvious that you work and have a regular job after having been admitted for nearly half your life. People who work and don't have any disabilities don't know what it is like if you want to work to have your own salary but you just can't, for whatever reason. They probably think you're lazy and you don't want to work. They want to tell you to get your lazy ass off the couch and start to work. They just don't understand! I feel such a loser that I almost get knock-out after working not even 7 hours a week. But people don't know how much I'm longing for a real job, as a real teacher, at a real school. It's so hard, and nobody seems to understand. They are belittling my achievements. Luckily there is my social worker. Today I was in tears, telling her how disappointed I was. Then she told me how proud she was. And with her, also all my other therapists. And that healed my wounds a little bit. At least someone who makes me feel I'm worth it, how small and meaningless those six-and-a-half hours in a week might be. But obviously, for most of the people around me, it's too obvious. (And no, I'm not expecting any pats on my back...)

Letter to Saskia

I want to write you a letter, dear Saskia, but words are hard to find. How can I express how hard I miss you now you're gone? So suddenly, without any warning? Should we have seen it? Should we have noticed how dark it was inside your head? Was there really nothing left? 

Oh sweetheart, I want to cherish those moments we shared together, I really want to, but it's so painful to realise that with those moments, your faith was sealed. Who could have known that the last time that we saw each other, last April, would be the last time ever? I would give a lot of money for just one more moment with you, just one more chat, one more hug, one more laugh.

It hurts so much, Sas. I had no clue. I thought you were more or less okay. We all have our struggles, and so had you. But apparently your battle was fiercer than any one of us could imagine.

I was reading our Whatsapp conversations from a while ago. In there you wrote on a given moment that from then on, you would go for it for a 100%. What went wrong? What made you change your mind? Why couldn't you feel the love we felt for you? I'm so sorry that we couldn't give you more love, Sas, I'm really sorry. You must have felt so lonely, so desperate, so mad maybe that life didn't work out the way you would have wanted. 

You know, I've been there a couple of times. I've also been desperate and I've also wanted to make the pain stop forever. Somehow though, I guess I've never been where you were last Sunday. It's just, Sas, you were always talkative when it came to your problems. You talked about your depression, you shared things about the other problems that tormented you. It's just... I really had the imagination that things were finally working out for you. When your mom called me to tell the dreadful news, we talked about it for a while. She told me you kept your darker side to yourself. You didn't really share it, nor wanted to share it. 

Now the time has come to say goodbye. This is gonna hurt. You were one of the people of the CIB I had a lot of admiration for. You had this mental struggle, but you fought, till the bitter end. However, we as outsiders didn't see that part of you that was hurting so much. I'm sorry Sas, that's all I can say. I hope you're in a better place now, where there is no pain, no hurt, no problems. I'll look at the sky every evening, thinking and hoping that there's another angel up in heaven now. Here on Earth you'll be missed. When I look at your pictures, I still can't believe it. But it's true. You're gone... 

RIP, multi-talented Max...

Dear Max, yesterday evening, bad news reached me via Facebook. I still can't believe it. Why, Max, why did you decide that it has been enough? Enough fighting against the voices in your head. Enough struggling with your everlasting moodswings. Enough coping with your eating disorder... I do try to understand it, but Max, you're such an incredibly intelligent, multi-talented person. You are able to make people smile and to surprise each and everyone time and time again with your guitar play and you're wonderful, warm voice when you sing.  

I do try to cope with your final decision. The dark times before X-mas often seem to be a reason for the deepest feelings of depression and loneliness to flourish for many people. Last year was no exception:  three of our mutual friends committed suicide during this dark period. It was a tough time, I think you still remember. Still, it hurt like hell. And look now, one year later, you took the same step. You took your one-way ticket to heaven. And you chose the short way. You probably couldn't deal with it anymore. I know you suffered. I know you struggled. But I always hoped that you wouldn't give up like Marie-Claire, Daphne and Jan did. One year later, I can still imagine how they looked like when they smiled, when they were up to no good, whey they were behaving against the rules at the clinic  Those were probably the most beautiful moments, by the way ;) And now, I'll have to add other moments to those, YOUR moments, OUR moments... 

Max, I do hope you find the route to happiness. You've fought so hard, and I won't say that you lost this battle... I don't know if this is about winning or losing. Did you give up? I wouldn't say that either. It's hard to put words in a sentence that would honour you. I can only tell you that I'm extremely sad. Your loss leaves a big gap in the lives of your fellow CIB-buddies, including me. Remember you wrote such beautiful and kind words on the placemat for my goodbye gift? I will cherish that placemat above all the other things you provided me with that day. For one thing is sure: two people who wrote a message on that placemat are no longer among us... I know we've lived in a very fragile group with people who have complicated illnesses, and maybe I shouldn't be that surprised that some of the people of that group choose to die. Still, I'll never get used to it, never. 

Dear Max, sweetheart, find peace. Be happy. Look down on us and be our guardian angel. You are and you will be missed severely. You have no idea of the grief I'm experiencing right now. You'll be in my heart...