The first time I experienced depression was when I was twelve years old. It wasn’t my own. It was my father’s depression.
In our city, he was a math teacher at the best high school. One of the brightest math teachers in the city. However, due to politics and bureaucracy, this high school was sold to a businesswoman, and my father didn’t retain his job. Instead, he got transferred to an ordinary school.
I remember that sunny day when he came back; I was doing homework in our living room. He told me about this transference, tried to act happy in front of me, but I could tell from his expression that he was sad. My father always wanted to win. There was always a competitive nature about him. Until that day.
A few months after he lost his job, he started having difficulty falling asleep. Other issues came along, and my mother was by his side. She is a nurse, and I suppose it was her duty to care for him and that is what she did. No complaints. No doubt. No hesitations. That was the first time I’ve looked up to my mother (Until this moment, she never really expressed her love for me, and we weren’t very close.) During this transition period for my father, she made us feel very secure.
I’ve never told anyone that my father’s depression still influences me today. My grandfather’s younger brother had mental diseases. He was on medication for decades until he passed away. I’m aware that I probably have the same genes. It’s possible that I get depressed like that. I’ve never seen anyone in such deep pain as my father when he was depressed. His heart was dying inside. No one could really help him. He wanted to cry, but he could not. People always talk about sunshine, candy, flowers and the joy of life, but few are willing to face the truth, that there’s a dark and empty side to being alive. Life is great, but life is also a black void.
As I look back, I’ve seen that I’ve had many trials in my life. Some I passed. Some I failed. There surely are a lot more awaiting me. Among them, the biggest challenge was when I just graduated and started working as a teacher. I didn’t know how to do my job. I had no friends. I lived in a loft by myself. That was back in 2013 and 2014. I didn’t know where my life was going. Every night before sleep I told myself it was better to not care about anything and stay calm rather than to break down by stress and failures of day-to-day classroom experiences. I would tell myself, “As long as I’m not depressed, someday I’ll come up with a way to solve my problems. Or, someday God will show me a way.”
As far as I know, children in China are told to chase after money, fame or power and make their ancestors or their parents proud at a very young age. For me, because of my experience, the biggest trial in life is not to reach other people’s expectations of me, but to deal with failures and pessimistic thoughts in the right way. Pride is a dangerous thing. It makes me want to win, but also makes me vulnerable when I fail. Years later, when I gained more experience in teaching, I realize it’s not abilities that make us strong because abilities can be built up. Experience can be accumulated. It’s belief, courage, and love that help us get through most difficult times. Failures and mistakes are the same thing—great experiences we can learn from, wonderful lessons that cultivate us into better people than we already are. That is what I want to people to take away. In most difficult times, one should always keep in mind that the world is light and dark. It’s our choice of the things that matter in between.
A quote that goes nicely with this thought is the timeless question from Romeo and Juliet: To Be Or Not to Be? Our identity is who we are, and we can choose to be a victim or we can choose to be a survivor. I choose to be the latter.
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