Ep. 7 - Set yourself on fire and try to stay still

Hi everyone, 

How are you? I hope you are doing well. 

I wanted to say I’d been meaning to write, but that would be a lie. Actually, I was even thinking of shutting down Weekly, Maybe altogether, because 1) it’s becoming impossible to come up with the time and mindspace to Write, and 2) I had a humbling realization that I was a mediocre writer at best, and I didn’t want to shove yet another mediocre content down your throat. Takut nyampah, LOL.   

But when writing this edition I had certain people in mind: old friends I haven’t seen in a while, internet besties who have probably once or twice wondered how I was doing, as well as cousins and acquaintances I don’t mind being perceived by. I write to you not as much for the content but more with the intention of keeping you updated with what’s going on in my life and hopefully rekindle our connection. 

In late 2020 (jeez, that felt like ages ago), I moved from my tiny kost in Karet Kuningan to a former AirBnB-turned-studio kontrakan on a quiet hill in Dago Atas, Bandung. I realized soon enough that being disconnected from everything Jakarta had to offer (the malls!) meant that what was left was… hot air. Twice the rent was going to be a challenge but it was probably the price to pay for the cooler weather, so here I am, 1.5 years later, in this nice little studio I call home. 

In her book How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy, Jenny Odell wrote about people like Epicurus who renounced city life to start a commune. These were people who had been Fed Up, and who for all intents and purposes, were unsubscribing from Society as we knew it. 

Well, I don’t wanna start a commune. First of all, Bandung is, pretty much, a big city (I can make it to Uniqlo in PVJ within 40 minutes 🙄). Second of all, I can’t grow for shit. My neighbor gave me a cactus in a pot as a welcome present and it died (how does a cactus DIE). And don’t even get me started on cooking. But mostly, unlike Epicurus and his entourage, I do still “participate”. I make my living from clients based in Jakarta: some days I am fortunate enough to be able to do it from home, but there are days where my physical presence is required. 

And yet, it is these regular trips that make this new home feel so removed. During the shuttle ride to Jakarta I would have three hours to gradually switch from home-mode to work-mode, go through all 25 songs on my Discover Weekly, and, ponder about Life in general. On the way back I get to unwind, listen to an episode of Something is Wrong or Crime Junkie, and look forward to cuddling with my cats. 

If work is something one performs, it is this slow and mindful transition that gives me the chance to put on the act but also take it off once I’m done. I’m still the same person, but in a different Outfit. In the words of Jenny Odell: 

As much as I might want to live in the woods where my phone doesn’t work, or shun newspapers with Michael Weiss at his cabin in the Catskills, or devote my life to contemplating potatoes in Epicurus’s garden, total renunciation would be a mistake. The story of the communes teaches me that there is no escaping the political fabric of the world (unless you’re Peter Thiel, in which case there’s always outer space). The world needs my participation more than ever. Again, it is not a question of whether, but how. 

Some hybrid reaction is needed. We have to be able to do both: to contemplate and participate, to leave and always come back, where we are needed.  

Now, if you’re still here and I haven’t bored you to death, let’s get to the main story I wanted to tell.

CW // depression 

***

Earlier this year, something started happening to me. 

I would be doing some mindless chore like washing the dishes or taking out the trash when suddenly, a voice would pop up in my head. I would recognize it as my own inner voice, but meaner: Mean Inner Wawa, if you may. Your mother doesn’t love you. I thought, okay… and? I was estranged from my mother, and all of my attempts at rekindling my relationship with her had failed, so while I should move on and the thought shouldn’t bother me, it kinda did. 

I decided to listen to this voice a little more closely. 

Name one instance… in which she actually shows you she loves you. At this point, I would be scanning my memories, going all the way back into childhood. Found anything yet? No, no wait one second. My teenage years… I’m sure there’s something- See? You can’t find proof that she loves you. That’s because she doesn’t. She doesn’t love me and I am unloveable and that’s why she doesn’t want anything to do with me and if my own mother wants nothing to do with me then that means nobody will ever want anything to do with me. 

Before I knew it, it was six in the morning and I was on my living room floor, inconsolable, nearly passing out. There was a time when this would happen every single night, without fail, for two consecutive weeks. There were days when I thought it was gone, only to come back full force the next day. Trips, hangouts, coffee dates canceled. Just enough time to wash my face and show up to my Zoom meeting. Be a Functioning Member of Society and crack jokes with my friends, then come home broken (still amazed how good I was at masking tbh). It was only when I was so tired, so seriously contemplating ending my life, that I finally decided to see a therapist. 

According to the therapist I was severely depressed (well, duh) and I was screened for all kinds of mental disorders because she was convinced that the depression was merely a symptom of something else. The screening for diagnosis took months. Finally, the results came back. 

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is a lot more than having the urge to clean or do things a certain way a certain amount of times. By definition, an obsession is an intrusive thought that persists—which can range from fear of being contaminated by germs to, apparently, you are unworthy of love. Meanwhile, a compulsion is something you do to try to stop or address said thought. Compulsions can be physical, like excessive cleaning, but can also be mental, like replaying scenes in your head or arguing with yourself (I have both yay). Over time, this becomes a vicious cycle for people with OCD: their irrational or harmful obsessions are being sustained by even more irrational, harmful, ritualized compulsions.

Long story short, I got myself into therapy. 

ERP (Exposure and Response Prevention) is a brand of CBT that is supposed to be the gold standard for treating OCD. Here’s how it works: you gradually Expose yourself to your fears and trigger your obsessions in a controlled setting, and once that happens, you Resist from performing the compulsions. In other words, set yourself on fire and try to stay still. The trick, though, is this: there is no fire. The fire isn’t real, just you watch. 

The good news is that after going at it for a while now, I’ve been feeling a lot better. Mean Inner Wawa is still there, but I am beginning to get desensitized from what she has to say. I am learning how to Deal with her. Sometimes she would get too compelling and I couldn’t ignore her, so I would step outside, light a cigarette, and tell her, “Bitch, you have five minutes.” I also have less urge to OrGaNiZe Ev3RyThiNg Pr0p3rLy these days. But I still have a long way to go, and a long list of symptoms to tackle. 

I wanted to write about how doing therapy requires me to unpack my ideas of family, friendship, love, and work, but let me stop here for now so we can end on a hopeful note. If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. I know it’s a lot LOL SORRY. Please wish me luck, and keep me in your thoughts and prayers and your DMs. In the meantime, take care of yourself, take all your vitamins, drink water, eat some good food, and get some good sleep. I will be writing from time to time to share with you how it’s going fighting fires (imaginary or otherwise). Til then, see you when I see you!

All yours, always rooting for you, always in your corner,

(Real) Wawa