The New Moon

written on February 25, 2020

I was living my life in the night, trying to convince others – myself even – that my moon was the sun and that my darkness was light.

“How are you?”

To a girl who stubbornly refused to believe she was anything less than “fin !”, who frantically drowned past pain and settled on current bliss, this question beckoned the undeniable brokenness she desperately tried to hide from herself. She meticulously crafted a façade, which was decorated with a bubbly, childlike finish. Every truth was a cautious whisper with flaws quieted and ideal self magnified. Many build a wall to guard their hearts and she was no different—except she refused to acknowledge the blockade. She fortified her defenses while maintaining her image of being carefree and open because she was unwilling to let others know that she had hidden pains.

But no matter how deeply she tried to bury me, there was no escaping who she really was. I have always hidden away my struggles, deeming authenticity a negligible luxury only available to the emotionally healthy. As a firm believer in ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ I feigned lightheartedness through my parents’ near divorce, my brother’s anger management issues, and my own battle with PTSD, hiding these ugly parts of my life under the bed. I doubted the validity of talking through an experience to come to peace with it and could not fathom why one would willingly relive a traumatic event if they could just bury it instead. The problem wasn’t that I consciously chose not to express myself, rather I did not even allow myself the option to speak up. Emotional suppression had become second nature and I became numb.

In the beginning of 2017, I fell into my first depressive episode. Each day, each class, each hour seemed like a pointless endeavor and I resented the mornings that forced me to continue the meaningless repetition of daily rituals. I ceased reinforcing the image that I was fine, deeming it more effort than I was willing to dedicate. It was in this time of apathy I realized the power of opening up to another person and let someone into my heart. But it was a mistake. In the moment I needed him most, he disappeared and left me fragmented. I felt bifurcated as my id and superego advocated two opposite extremes. My inner child wanted to rely on others, having experienced the comfort that one’s empathy brought, but my superego had tasted the bitter reality that genuine connections are elusive and that everyone with access to my heart had the potential to fragment it even further. As a force of habit, I retreated to my previous shell: the pretense of being okay.

It wasn’t the same though, I wasn’t the same. I used to paint myself in an ornate picture, but now I could only manage to sloppily cover the canvas with a thin layer of gray paint. Instead of a wall blocking others out, only a fog deterred them—but who would seek the center of the mist? Although my intent was to block others out, I also sensed the mental unclarity falling over my own mind. I knew something was wrong, but it was obscure and I was reluctant to find out.

In the second half of 2018, I once again fell into a depressive episode. It was the same monotonous cycle I detested but I stubbornly taped my broken pieces together, unable to let someone else into my heart after what had happened. It was in this desolate time that I attended a church retreat. I was tired. I was apathetic. Life simply required too much effort. At the retreat, I broke down and gave up—not on life, but on pretending that I was okay. I finally acknowledged that I was broken, I was hurt, and that I did need help. Instead of insisting on my own ways, I surrendered my life to God.

It would be another lie to say that everything changed after that moment, because my circumstances were still the same. I was still clinically depressed and constantly plagued by PTSD symptoms. However, I was looking at it with a different lens: I was empowered by the belief that I had a loving Heavenly Father that would comfort me and heal me if I was hurt; I reached out for help with the understanding that the importance of this connection outweighed the risk of betrayal by my fellow imperfect individuals.

I had labeled the question “how are you” as the most useless pseudo-inquiry in meaningful social interaction and brushed past countless people with a similar question, but when a sister-in-Christ asked me, I paused. She genuinely wanted to know how I was doing because she cared for me. It was in this moment that I resolved to be authentic with my Christian friends to be able to grow and heal from my old wounds. It was difficult to answer at first; emotional suppression had become second nature and thinking about my emotional state was foreign to me. After drawing blank, I confessed that I only felt overwhelming numbness and apathy. As I opened up, however, I found that there was an endless list of secrets I wanted to share with her. With every little statement came an irrational surge of fear that she would be mad or disappointed, but throughout the conversation, she continued to show me love, and my anxiety subsided.

After this retreat, I began to rely on my Christian brothers and sisters who helped me talk about my true emotions and guided me in living a biblically healthy life. Even when I encountered new challenges, such as panic attacks and flashbacks, I had a community that kept me from withdrawing into my comfortable hiding place and helped me through my difficult days. They would check in with me and always listen without judgment when I needed to talk. I reciprocated the care they had shown me by asking how they were doing, physically, mentally, and spiritually, and giving them space to open up. In my journey of learning to be vulnerable, this Christian community turned the world’s most dry question into perhaps the world’s most loving question for me.

It is still difficult for me to be honest about my emotions and struggles, but I strive every day to manage them healthily. I won’t hide myself anymore. I may still have a wall up around me, but now that wall is clear. You can see what’s going on in my life and if you want in, you only need to ask and I’ll open up. It’s been a long journey to where I am now, and I have no doubt that I will keep maturing and changing. I am firmly grounded in my beliefs and community, so even when I am suffering I will not hide it because I know who has my back.

With the rise of the new moon, I was stranded in the dark. I long to live in the light of the day but my reality confines me to the night. In the absence of the false sun, I acknowledge that I’m living in the dark and that s okay. When the moon reveals itself once more, I won’t lie anymore—I will build a life of authenticity, receiving the helping hands reaching out to me, and accepting the darkness as the truth.