At the height ( or is it the bottom?) of self-loathing and suicidal ideation, I was aware of a nagging sense of “This isn’t right, I shouldn’t be this miserable.”While I hadn’t yet achieved everything I felt I should have &nbsp;I wasn’t so ungrateful, entitled or competitive that I was unaware of all I had still been able to achieve, when compared to others too.I could recognise bitterness from having important promises made by my corporate leaders being unfulfilled.Promises which, if these corporate leaders had kept, would have given me more meaningful career exposure earlier on and hastened my trajectory to positions of higher prestige and income. Positions I had earned alongside the others who got the same promises as me and got to expatriate and work abroad while I was never given those promised opportunities.Yet co-habiting with the bitterness and disappointment in my mind, was an acknowledgement that things weren’t bad at all for me.That I would always be able to take care of myself and others that mattered to me, that I had enough, even a little overflow. &nbsp;That I have the resources, intellect and capacity to keep on living adequately.My needs have always been few, my self-esteem tied to achievements at work and perceived impact on community, not in the accumulation of items or displays of wealth. So my spending habits were reasonably focused on utility over appearance, quality of experiences rather than the price tags on itemsI don’t spend on things that drained my bank balance and on my health.My parents were in acceptable stages of health, they had been careful to build houses they could retire into and live off. While not wealthy, they were not impoverished either.&nbsp; Thankfully they had looked after their physical health, ate proper nutrition and had timely medical checks so they don’t have any sudden health issues creeping up on us.They keep a reasonable lifestyle and rarely make any requests of us. Whatever they do ask for, my siblings and I , collectively pitch in to support with it.I am respected enough in the places I have spent time, I had some confidence in my abilities and that they would keep me fed and leading an acceptable quality of life, so long as there were no mishaps.I had healthy eating and body care habits too, following the right dietary rules of lots of veggies, not overeating, drinking mainly water, proper meals not processed foods, I wasn’t abusing drugs or alcohol either.While I am not in a romantic relationship nor married, I rarely feel lonely or deprived. I am well past the age society considers I should have been married by, I was very relieved and at peace, that I didn’t have to do any of the mental and emotional gymnastics from being trapped in a union with an emotionally stunted person who will take far much more than they give back.The poor health that plagued my childhood and teen years had stabilized in my twenties and thirties, so I am rarely ill anymore and don’t spend a lot of time or money on hospital on myself either.All of the above mean the difference between my income and expenses was large enough for material cushion in savings and investments and the freedom said cushion brings.Nothing I had discovered or was shown by popular culture could explain the reasons for the deterioration in my mental health and the heightened anxiety, the panic attacks, endless rumination and negative thoughts that swallowed my mind.While the toxic work environments and unfulfilled career ambitions could have been triggers for the mental breakdown I was experiencing, why did I lack the resilience to pivot or change course? Why, instead, did I turn inward towards dismantling myself? Why was my internal state so harsh and punishing?It seemed as if my mind and emotions had been trying to get my attention for a long time, so I could focus on some fundamental yet unclear aspects of my existence, but I had been ignoring them for too long, so they started screaming instead.It was as if I had maxed out my limits to swallow, tolerate, rise above bullshit being treated badly and I was now filled to the brim, ready for the corrosive contents to spill over.On the surface, the usual things that worked to help cope were now like band aids, useful for small cuts, but inconsequential from mortal wounds. Wounds, that I wasn’t even aware had been inflicted.But I hurt so much in my heart and mind that I felt like I would die. It even felt as if dying would bring some relief from the noise in head and the heaviness in my chest.I badly needed to stop moving and just lie down, so I could be allowed to do nothing except just exist while the world rushed past.Terror at my mental state racked me.Terror that if I finally gave in to the urge to stop and lie down, I would never get up and live fully again.Terror that if I allowed myself to stop, I would give in to my desire to make myself stop being alive.Terror that if I acknowledged the misery enough to inspect it, I will find things that destroyed me completely and make me hate myself even more than I currently did if that was ever possible.Terror that the misery would never leave, and it would become a steady companion for the rest of my life.The world hates miserable lazy losers, the achievements and people rewarded by society look and behave in the exact opposite of what I desperately wanted to do. What if the world and my mates left me behind? What if I never overcame it and all my savings and investments disappeared as I kept spending without earning in a futile attempt to heal my mind?What if even after quitting my job and stopping to rest, I remain this desperate, depressed person now broke, dependent on others and useless. The world is cruel to people who can’t look after themselves. My pride and sense of independence couldn’t take being regarded as useless.I also felt guilty because I had no right to be this miserable, an unmarried person earning enough to care for a family of four, someone with good physical health, had a life they fully controlled, hadn’t suffered any major traumas in the past and with career prospects that allowed me options.So why wasn’t that all enough for me anymore? Why was I so ungrateful for my life and the opportunities I had?Why wasn’t I happy despite all the indicators that showed I should be?I had no right to feel this misery and existential dread.Yet, I did.Deep down I also knew my mind needed my urgent attention.That I could no longer swallow down what was happening or mollify it by watching motivational speeches.I knew that it had become loud and desperate because its past pleas to stop and be heard had been left unheeded.My mind had broken down and ground to a halt, forcing me to listen to it, to do something more permanent to heal it.Somehow through the fog I sensed the only way to achieve that healing was to turn and go through the terror, through the guilt, to face the shame and misery and hope that I overcome.Somehow through the pain, terror and guilt, I knew that though I shouldn’t feel this way, If I wanted a chance at living, I had to treat it with the care it deserved and seek the support I needed.

First world problems are also valid
Mental pain and depression is no respecter of positions or money

I shouldn’t feel this miserable, yet I do 

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I shouldn’t feel this miserable, yet I do

I shouldn’t feel this miserable, yet I do

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