𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙂𝙪𝙮 | PJM ff

𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙀𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙏𝙚𝙡𝙡

2 years later

I licked my lips while taking in everything in this big auditorium. A lot of students had arrived already, some were siting in pairs, some with a whole group of friends.

I was of course on my own. But I made a promise with myself this morning; I would not be an outcast in my university life. I had been one in my college for two senior years. It sucked being a loner. It did not bother me at first but not after a few weeks, I was still surprised and impressed that I didn't commit suicide back then, when a break-up, losing all my friends, being bullied by everyone at school happened to me all at once.

2 months after I broke up with him, I went to a therapist, I didn't tell my family about it, I didn't want to become their burden. I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. It was indeed the darkest time of my life, being lonely on a daily basis did not help at all. I started going to the therapist every week because I wanted to let things go, it's doing me no good if I kept on blaming myself and feeling guilty all day. If he's gone, he is. He wouldn't come back even if I wanted him to. Even though my mum and my brother seemed to have sensed something wrong as they noticed me regularly going out on every Saturday at 4 pm, they did not stop me.

It's likely that they knew what I am up to. With my gloomy miserable face, they're probably more than happy to know that I sought for help.

Seeing a therapist for 2 years made me feel better. I felt less weight on my shoulders. But I would still experience sudden mood swings all the time.

I cannot get over the loss.

I still miss him so much that it hurts.

Sometimes I wondered, does he feel the same pain as I do? Or perhaps, has he moved on with someone else?

Jealously burnt in my heart, but who was I to care, I should be glad that he found someone who could take care of him selflessly, a hundred times better than how I did.

I tuned back into my surroundings. I tightened the ponytail on my head and began to take out my psychology textbooks. I frowned when I came in contact with something rough and paper-like in my tote bag.

I pulled it out. A smile abruptly broke out on my face as I read the words written on the small yellow sticky note.

My brother's messy handwritings.

Fighting! I know you can be a successful therapist and help thousands of clients. Love you fucking loads. -Tae

He had been so supportive ever since ... my mental disorders happened. I guessed he understood that I needed help. I still remembered the day when I sat in the living room, formally telling my mum and my brother that I'd finally chosen my future career. They looked so excited. But I was scared, worried that I would get their disapproval when they knew I wanted to become a therapist. I would rather die than to hear words like 'you can't even take care of your mental health, how can you help others?' or 'is that a joke sista?'.

They probably wouldn't be this harsh, perhaps I was being overly dramatic again.

Instead of saying anything negative, they smiled. My mum pulled me into a hug saying she's so proud of me, and my brother did the same too, but his hug was rather violent and tight.

I wanted to help people who were living in the dark. They needed help, but they might not notice it or were too afraid to seek for help.

I carefully slipped the note into my pocket and turned to the front. I've neatly prepared everything on my desk. I took a sip of water from my blue water bottle.