In this chapter, I call it a light at the end of darkness so it can remind you there is always hope at the end of our darkness. At the end of this chapter, I will share three services that helped me survive and continue to help others. Like my psychiatrist and therapist told me to find a way to prevent having suicidal thoughts, I want to share my experience so you can help people stopping having suicidal thoughts. You will acknowledge how I went to depression through sadness and obsessions, how I ended up in a mental hospital with a short story of my experience there, and how I ended up being cured with help from a psychiatrist, therapist, friends, and family. Lastly, a message to the reader of how I'm doing now with my struggles and how I'm getting family and friends' support to get through it.
As you already know, I moved to Houston when I was ten years old, but you probably do not know how I felt it. Yes, I was excited to reunite with my best friends In Houston, and I did come to America with my family, but I was sad I left my school friends and my rest of the family behind, and I did not know when I will see them again. Yes, I was sad that probably I would never see them again, but I never told anyone how I truly felt my sadness and just kept it with me. When I was a little older than ten years old, my classmates were excited to see their grandparents over the weekend, and I could not see my grandparents over the weekend because it was just impossible. I could not fly from Houston to Peru for only three days and then return on Monday to school. I do understand that it is okay to feel sad sometimes. Still, the mistake I made was keeping my sadness with me and never shared with anyone and eventually lied to everyone, including myself, how I genuinely feel. I did this because I thought people would not understand me, and I also thought keeping my sadness to myself would be a good idea because it will prevent people from thinking that I cannot control my emotions nor be strong enough to face the truth. I kept doing this for a very long time.
You may think that it is normal to feel sad sometimes, but what was not okay was accumulating my sadness and not telling anyone about it, including myself. On my twelve birthday, my maternal grandpa came to celebrate my birthday in Peru, and that was a fantastic moment, and I will never forget it. A year later, my grandfather passed away surprisingly, and I was unfortunate to see my mom not having a father anymore. I was mad at how quickly he died after just seeing him physically, emotionally, and mentally well. You probably think if I have shared my sadness with anyone would help, and I agree with you, but I did not know back then. I did share it with my family a bit, but not one-hundred percent truly, and I just kept it with me for years. Throughout my teen life, I was bullied at school and on the school bus. I remember almost no one wanted to sit by me on the school bus, felt lonely, and was psychologically ill for thinking no one wanted to be with me and was also verbally abuse without telling people about it. If I told someone about those bullies, I would probably be bullied more, so I just let them verbally bully me because I knew I could not fight them. I made very few friends during my middle school and high school years, and those friends that I had my school years incredible, but when I graduated from high school, I never saw them again, which I was sad, but I was okay with it. One more time, I never told anyone about it and kept it with me. I was cyberbullied too, but in the same sense as bullying emotionally in person. The cyberbullies were out of state, not in my schools. Because they were out of state, I could quickly tell people about it, and I thankfully did. I also know cyberbullying is not easy to tell someone about it for many reasons, but it is important as bullying to mention it. Cyberbullying does affect us mentally, emotionally, like real-life bullying.
During my first few years in college, I wanted everyone around me to feel happy and smile all the time, but when someone asked me how I was feeling, I always lied about it by saying I'm fine and eventually lied to myself too. I continued doing this for a long time because I had learned from society that men should not show their genuine emotions. After all, they were supposed to be strong and not sensitive, and I believe it and did that. In spring 2017, one of my mother's sisters died from having bacteria in her brain. I was sad that my aunt died and could not see her frequently or never again and was sorry for my mom too, and once again, I have never told anyone about it and lied to everyone about how I truly felt about my aunt's death. I agree that I was in denial for not truly accepting my emotions because I followed society's rule about men with their feelings. I remember one night I woke up from a nightmare. This nightmare was not me falling from the sky, screaming that we eventually woke up from, but it was a nightmare trying to convince me to do something. This nightmare told me to get into my car, drive to the nearest freeway, park at the shoulder of the highway, get out of the car, and jump off the bridge. I never tried to commit suicide or do it ever, but this nightmare attempted to convince me to do it. I never did it because I did not want my family to be worried or sad about my death and never told anyone about it and always kept it with me. This nightmare did not just come to me once, but many times in different ways. Throughout the people I have ever talked to, besides my parents and brother, I accepted my death by convincing people that I will be fine. They should feel worried about it while expressing happiness and joy (I know expressing positive feelings while accepting death is near us it's a good thing, but suicide should never be a way to approach the end). I only did it to worry people about my death and thought I was doing a good thing.
There were times that I could not tell people how I truly feel because of my past stories, but then I found out about these rock bands that helped me to express my emotions through their songs from my teen years that I still listen to. Most of their songs were sad songs, but some were happy ones too. These bands are from Indie American Rock Music, and they are: 'The Drums,' 'Silversun Pickups,' 'Oberhofer,' 'Cloud Nothings,' 'Girls Band,' and 'Christopher Owens.' There was also a punk rock band called 'Fidlar' from the album 'Too,' and 'Hunx and His Punx' from the album 'Hairdresser Blues' and an indie rock band called 'Idiot Glee' that I listen to one album from them called 'Paddywhack' that helped me get through tough times when I was hiding my feelings from everyone. This particular song goes to everyone who wanted to help me, but I did not let them:
(Cloud Nothings: "I'm Not Part of Me")
Especially the part "I'm not telling you all I'm going through I feel fine" and "I'm not, I'm not you You're a part of me, you're a part of me." You may think that sad songs make me feel sad. It helped me feel happy and have a better day because I realized from them that I wasn't alone, and I also realize these songs have helped me be alive, and I will always continue to listen to them and support them as well. There are many reasons people listen to sad songs, and these are a few of my examples. We all know every type of music helps us feel better. Whenever we are in love, we want to find a romantic song to express our feelings to that specific person. The same goes for sad songs, but telling a particular person (it can be) helps us feel better every day. We should always know what kind of music our friends and family listen to see how they feel without asking them about their emotions. Always remember to accept their decision whenever they want to tell you or not. Thank you for all those kinds of sad songs that helped me feel better every day. I support all of them that help people who do not know how to express their feelings to anyone but still want to show it. I will always continue listening to them as enjoyment and help this kind of community that most people do not know.
However, there was another kind of rock music that I listen to. Most of my Christian friends introduced me to this kind of rock music is called Christian rock music hehe. One of the Christian bands that I used to listen to was 'Chris Tomlin,' 'TobyMac,' 'MercyMe,' 'Casting Crowns,' 'for KING & COUNTRY,' 'Hillsong United,' 'Skillet,' 'Thousand Foot Krutch,' and to name a few. I liked this kind of rock music, but I mostly listen to sad songs. One particular Christian band that I still listen to is called 'Red.' This band is a hard/metal rock that does not use the name 'God' in their songs but still talks about Him. I mentioned all of those Christian bands before using the name 'God' in their songs, but the way that the band 'Red' does is spectacular. I still listen to those bands that I mention in the previous paragraph, but the band 'Red' got me hooked on listening to them and helped me continue living. It does not matter if you are Christian or not; I highly recommend you to list to the band 'Red' if you are interested in hard/metal rock, of course. Despite not being interested in this kind of rock music, I still highly encourage myself to listen to some of them.
Here are some of my favorite songs from them: Breathe Into Me, Death Of Me, The War We Made, Lie To Me, Feed The Machine, Already Over, Perfect Life, Hold Me Now, Let Go, Darkest Part, So Far Away, Lost, and Take Me Over.
Now, I will continue with the story.
I told people that I might die from cutting myself or hanging myself with a rope over my head or jumping off a bridge or any other way in a joking way because I did not want people to be worried, nor I wanted to be concerned about my death. I did these for many years throughout my college life until November 2019. I jokingly told my boss about my death, and he was worried about it and sent me to the college health center with him, and I eventually talked to a nurse there. Then the nurse called the college police to speak to me, and when I told the college cop, he quickly called an ambulance. At first, I did not want to go with them because I was trying to convince them that I was okay, but they quickly knew that I was not. I gather my backpack where I left it at my job and started to trust this cop to the ambulance with him. I lay down on a bed in the ambulance to the nearest hospital. I did not know at that time where I was going nor how long I was going to be there. When I got there, I was wearing the hospital gown and told a nurse that I wanted to make a phone call real quick, and I did. I called my mother and told her where I was, but only told her a few things about how I got there. My father stayed overnight in a chair next to me in the hospital room until that hospital called my healthcare provider and transferred me to a mental hospital an hour away from where I live. When I got into the mental hospital, I wanted to go back to my "normal life" with my parents. Still, nurses told me that I would stay there for three to five days in which parents were worried about, but I was okay with it because I knew I was finally going to be helped in which I should have done it a long time ago. Before I got to my room with a roommate, I had to speak with a nurse privately to see what treatments I should receive. Before I talked to the nurse, my father wanted me not to be there because he was afraid of this place nor wanted me to experience it because he and I thought this was not a place for me until I had a chance to talk to a nurse privately. The nurse asked a few questions, such as if I ever tried to kill myself or planned to end my life to decide what kind of treatment I should receive. There was one question I could not answer because I did not know how to answer it. He asked me if I ever had suicidal thoughts before. I knew the answer to that question, but I did not know if I should lie or not, so I kept silent without answering. Then, he asked me again to make sure if I heard him for the first time. And again, I did not respond, and he knew that my silence was a 'yes,' and I also knew this place was for me because I needed it.
The nurses there send me to my room in which I met my roommate for the first time and told me that I needed to get out there as fast as I can so I can go back to my "normal life, but in fact, I was there for a week, from Wednesday to Wednesday. In this mental hospital, there were a lot of meetings with patients and with doctors and therapists. At first, I did not want to go to these meetings. Still, I told myself if I do not go to these meetings, I will never get out of there, so I went a few at a time but did not share with anyone about my mental stability until I told myself if I do not share nor contribute with anyone, I will never get out there either so I started sharing it a little bit at a time until I was comfortable to share it with anyone. To be honest, I made friends there. Most of them were younger than me, but I made a friend who was older than me. This old lady did not want to see me there again when I get out because, for her, I was too young to be there in the first place, and she was very depressed for not having anyone to talk to until she was comfortable talking to me. This old lady is the best older person I have ever spoken to, and I will never forget her.
There are many ways how somebody describes their experience in a mental hospital, but here is mine. I also want to say that not all mental hospitals are the same, and this particular mental hospital that I went to can be different from other mental hospitals around the country and the world. The friends that I made there we talked, played Uno and Jenga (this is where I got into Jenga and bought my own to play with family at home). I guessed we did all of those things because we were not allowed to use our phones or any electronic device while there, which helped us be human by socializing. Every day at this mental hospital, there were visiting hours in which my parents visited me every day from 6 pm to 7:30 pm when the visiting hours ended by then. On my first visit, a friend from college drove there with her boyfriend at that time to talk to me until my parents arrive, and I will never forget her kind gesture. The majority of the days, my parents visited me. There was a payphone (not the kind that we were charged with, but the kind that looked like a payphone) to call anybody for a limit of time, and someone could call that payphone to talk to the patients. There was only one pay phone for the patients. Both my parents and my brother talked over the phone whenever we had a chance on any day. In this hospital, we were allowed to wear our regular clothes without the usage of belts or any kind of thing that we could use to kill ourselves (probably the hospital did not want to go to court. I wasn't planning to kill myself there nor when I get out either). The beds were somewhat comfortable (although I prefer my bed). There were two beds in each room, so everyone had a roommate. No one was allowed to enter into someone else's bedroom but your own. Each bedroom had showers. The showers were awful, to be honest. We had to press a button that made the water come out in the shower, but it only lasted for thirty seconds. It was annoying every time we had shampoo in our hair and could not see where the button was. Sometimes the bathroom floor was flooded, and we needed to use many towels to dry it.
There wasn't a schedule when we have to wake up, but there was a schedule when we could not use the hallway. At midnight was the latest we can stay until we have to be in our rooms, but we were not forced to sleep. I usually slept around 10 pm, to be honest. There was a room which was the cafeteria/meeting room. In this room, we ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There was a menu we could pick which food we wanted to eat for each meal, but mine was unique because I was lactose intolerant (which I still am). We have to make a line to take our medicine (I used it to take my aspirin). Every day we have filled a paper that asks us how are we feeling today, which most of us fill up with good, so we do not want to upset the doctors. There was a schedule of each day and time when the meeting was happening in the hallway's wall, and we must go to those meetings at least three times a day; I went as much as I can. Some sessions were useful, and some were pointless. These meetings were group counseling, but I referred to conferences to don't sound as bad. In some sessions, we have to do some exercises, and some we have to speak up if we wanted to, but if we don't, we were never getting out of there. In the cafeteria/meeting room, there was also a TV in which we watched sports except in the morning. The morning was meant to watch the news, which I was not interested in. The payphone was not in use to receive nor call whenever there were meetings in session. There were cameras everywhere except in our rooms and bathrooms. We sometimes spoke to our doctor privately whenever the doctor wants to talk to us. There was also a patio break, which sounds like fun, but it wasn't as much as I thought it was. The patio break was meant to go outside and smell the beautiful air and talk to one another under a nurse's supervision. Everything I said was correct except the lovely smell of air because patients were allowed to smoke cigarettes. Heck, nurses were allowed to smoke too. Of course, we were not forced to smoke, but most of us chose to. I was confused because we could not use belts in the hospital, so we do not kill ourselves, but we were allowed to smoke. I know smoking is a slow process of killing ourselves, but it still is a method of dying. Each one of us changed the name of 'patio break' into 'smoking break.' If I wanted to talk to someone inside the hospital, we could, but I could not resist the smoke if I wanted to speak to smoke outside. I don't want to sound mean, but my family, friends, and I do not smoke, so we do not have experience smelling it or like it.
Every day, someone was discharged from the hospital, and we were proud of them, and we also receive new patients. Every time we got a new patient, we try to comfort those by talking to them and eventually become friends. I remember two friends turned into couples in the hospital, and two friends of mine are a couple right now that met each other in the hospital. I loved this part of the story, by the way. Every time we had visitors, we were in the visitor's area, in which chairs and sofas were there. In the visitor's location, there were cameras, and they could hear us too. My parents were allowed to bring clothes to me, but not belts, of course. Every time I wanted to use deodorant, I had to ask a nurse to open a "secret" room where each of our stuff was there and had to return in there with the nurse. There was always a nurse available every time of the day. Some nurses worked in the morning, some in the afternoon, some in the evening, and some at night. We knew which nurse we could comfortably speak with and which were rude. Each nurse just wanted to protect us but in their way. I am not mistaken; there were ten bedrooms with two patients in each bedroom, so there were about twenty patients. My last roommate was a middle-aged man. He was a friendly and excellent person to talk to, but he had to take medicine every four hours or so. Every time I wanted to sleep, I was always awake by his medicine schedule. I finally got used to it when he was discharged (bad luck to me). When it was my turn to be released from the hospital, I promised that I would never return to this mental hospital or any kind of mental hospital like others have been. I enjoyed being there because I could talk to anyone easily without convincing anyone about my death. Not every patient had a visitor, by the way, which I was blessed that I had.
I had some great and bad experiences there, but if you need to go to a mental hospital or know someone needs to, they should. It taught me well how to appreciate life, friends, and family. I highly recommend someone to use it if it is needed. I never thought there was such thing as a mental hospital. Every time I heard of a mental hospital, I thought it was for 'crazy' people. I was wrong. This hospital was one of the methods how I got cured from being depressed and having suicidal thoughts. One more thing, my electric shaver was taking away in there because they did not want me to cut myself (nor I wanted to) so when I got out my parents had to buy another one which we found the same electric shaver that I used to have. Now, I have two shaver chargers for the same electric shaver. When I finally got out over there, I was sad that I probably would never see these friends again, but when I saw my college friends again, it was amazing because they all started to wonder where I was for a week, and then I realized that friends do care about each other.
Remember when I told you that I did not want to disappear from this world because I did not wish my friends and family to worry about me nor feel sad about my disappearance? They did feel it when I was at that mental hospital and did not know how many people were worried or sad about it until they told me one by one. I was thrilled when they told me and started to enjoy whenever I'm with them and promised my family and friends that I will never make them worry again and always tell them the truth about my health. I also started to appreciate life from then. You may think after leaving the mental hospital, it was over? Nope, I was wrong too. I began to see a psychiatrist and a therapist individually and slowly talked about how my sadness turned into depression. I was diagnosed with severe major depressive disorder, meaning that it was difficult to get out of bed in the mornings. Also, there were days that it was difficult to take showers because I could not find a good reason to get out of bed or shower and just wanted to be dead, so my inside pain finally goes away. At first, I did not want to talk to the psychiatrist or the therapist, but I knew they would help me, so I slowly felt comfortable. When I spoke to my psychiatrist about it, he prescribes me three different medications before I go to sleep, so I do not have nightmares or feel depressed anymore.
At first, it helped a bit, but the more I took them, the more I can easily sleep well and the less depressed I was. Then my psychiatrist recommends me to see a therapist about it. At first, I did not want to go, but eventually, I did. When I went to see my therapist, it was difficult to share with her until she recommends that I write every day about my feelings on paper or a computer. I did for a month until I was comfortable sharing it with her with anyone else. Do I still take those medications that my psychiatrist prescribes me? No, because I do not feel depressed anymore and can quickly get out of bed and shower for many great reasons. When I told my psychiatrist that I do not feel depressed anymore, he stopped ordering me prescriptions. He said to me if I feel depressed again, I can see him, the therapist, tell my parents about it, and retake those medications if needed. Now that I think about it, I always needed to see a psychiatrist, but I probably would never go to it until I have to. I never knew when I have to until I was forced to have one. I know there are ways to see a psychiatrist, but this is the route I took to get one without knowing it was for my own sake. I also had friends from my local church who gave me phone numbers that lead to a suicidal hotline that helps people who are suicidal or have suicidal thoughts by talking to them over the phone. At first, I did not want to use it because I do not like talking on the phone, but there was a moment when I was home alone and had suicidal thoughts again, and I called the hotline and helped me to talk to myself out of it. I use the hotline more than once, but not too many times and just the modest amount I needed. I will always thank those friends for introducing the suicidal hotline if I ever needed it again, and I will help people by teaching it.
Before going to the next section, you and I have to understand how I indeed became depressed. Yes, it was an amount of sadness that I kept inside of me for a long time without sharing with anyone, but there was also another factor. During my teen years, I played video games for hours because I was trying to become a professional gamer, and I enjoyed trying, but I focused on that more than I should. I am going to give you another example of me having an obsession with math. You probably heard me say I love math, and I still do, but there was a point where I was too obsessed with it. I woke up around 7 am every day, including the weekend, to go to the bathroom and do my necessities (sorry, I have to mention it), then went to my room to sit down in my chair, pulled up to my desk, and picked a math textbook to practice problems. Then I went to eat breakfast with my family and back to my room to do more math until lunchtime. Then I went to eat lunch with my family and go back to my room to do more math until dinner. At dinner, I was with my family then went to my room to do even more math until around 11 pm to go to bed and repeat the next day. I did this for days, weeks, months, and years. At first, I did it to prepare for a test, then did it for fun, and lastly, this went as an obsession that I did not know about. I always thought without math, I would not have a life. I also said many times that I thank so much that math exists because, without it, I'm nothing. There were sometimes; I wasn't doing math on a piece of paper. There were times that I watched soccer with my parents (and I still do), there were also times I walked or drove to go places like everyone else, but I wasn't just watching soccer or walking or driving; I was calculating the math behind of everyday activities which it was amazing but did it too much. I even had times I dreamt of math as good dreams and nightmares. I did not know how obsessed I was when I was doing it, nor did not know how to stop it until (you guessed it) I hit depression and ended up in the mental hospital. I did this as a college student and in my teen years of trying to be a professional gamer.
I had an obsession with a thing or two throughout my life without knowing it until I wrote about it. Why am I sharing this? Because you probably have an obsession with anything right now without knowing it or knowing someone going through obsession(s) without them knowing it. Other habits are easy to see, such as alcoholism and drug addiction physically, but some are hard to tell until you know that person. There are many reasons people become depressed, and there are many effects with it, but I want to share my story with it. If you know someone going through depression or going through depression or know someone who might become depressed soon, please share this story with them. I always remember one of the things that my father has taught me since I was a kid. He taught me to always find equilibrium by finding the time for everyday activities. For example, if someone works, has a family, and has friends, they need to find balance by finding the time on all those things without using one excessively or poorly. I wish I have done that with my studies, hobbies, and other things. From time to time, I remember this particular wisdom, but sometimes it is difficult practicing it. I know there are different ways of people having depression, and I only want to share the way I got it so you or someone else you know can acknowledge that depression is real and we need to treat it seriously. I know having obsessions with math and video games do not sound as deadly as having habits with alcohol and drugs or any other harmful addictions such as smoking cigarettes or other smoking devices, but obsessions are obsessions. It does not matter how big or small or how deadly it is or not. Obsessions are obsessions.
I also want to share with you one more thing. You are probably asking why I did math all day, every day for a long time. Was I doing it because I enjoy it? At some point, I did enjoy it, but that is not the point. You see, I was doing it for two awful excuses. If I keep doing math all day, every day, I can be a famous mathematician like Albert Einstein, Carl Gauss, Stephen Hawking, or Nicola Tesla (not the car brand name), but I wasn't Daniel Soto (you know? me). If I can be the next famous mathematician, people would appreciate me more, and I would change the world. Another excuse was people, including my parents, told me to take breaks or stop doing it for a while, and I was getting mad that people did not understand what I was trying to do, so I kept doing it anyway. I did not realize back then that people were trying to help me, and I wasn't letting them. I went into depression by telling myself some very negative ways, such as calling myself not good enough or stupid, pathetic, useless, or other disgusting words. I was calling myself because I did not want people to call me those names, so if I tell myself that, people do not need to say to me. I thought I was doing it as a favor to myself as a good thing to do, but in fact, I was a villain to myself. At some point, I wanted to kill myself, so I can stop this madness and thought if I die, I would be doing myself a favor by stopping these disgusting thoughts, and the suicidal thoughts quickly came to me many times. These suicidal thoughts wanted to end my life as soon as possible, and I did not share that with anyone until, well, the rest of the story. I did this for way longer than I do not remember when I started doing it. I want to share this part of the story to detect the causes of depression, suicide, and many more symptoms of those and stop someone else's from doing to themselves before they end their lives by noticing them.
I know all of those things, such as suicidal thoughts, depression, and being in a mental hospital was recently, but I want to share it because I believe there is no such thing as too early or too late to tell a story that can help someone else's lives. If you had a personal experience with any kind of abuse or addiction and feel comfortable sharing it with someone, please do so you can get help from a professional like I had one. There are many ways people can be depressed for and this a story of how I went into depression. Will I be depressed again later in the future? To be honest, I do not know like I do not know when I need to have another heart surgery also. Still, I know how to detect it and prevent it by seeking help from family, friends, and professionals and retaking those medications. Now, I do not have a problem telling someone about my depression nor my obsessions. I also know that my family, friends, psychiatrist, therapist, and medications can help me fight my depression if it comes again. I now know how to seek help, and I know who I can trust to help me fighting with depression or any other mental illness. Also, because of my syndrome that I mentioned in previous chapters, depression is a part of my syndrome. It does not mean only people who have the same syndrome as me are the only ones who have depression. Depression can happen to anyone at any time and can also occur more than once in their life. As of the previous chapter, I know how to handle pressure when tutoring or teaching students many at a time. I know, handling under pressure does not cause me to feel sad nor depressed nor having a mental illness, and I also know how to stop something before it turns into obsession. I do not feel embarrassed expressing my condition publicly nor feel to keep it with me because I do want to raise awareness of it so people can get help with like how I got help with it too. I just got a thought that if I have never been to the mental hospital, I probably would never get to see a psychiatrist and a therapist. I know there are many ways to see professionals, but the mental hospital was one way that got me to see a professional help me. Some would say that I'm strong enough to tell my struggles, dark side of me, or any other name you want to name it, and I agree, but I did not receive this strength overnight. I received this strength from the Man above and from the kid I will mention in the next chapter.
Before you get there, here is a link to donate money to No Bully, STOMP Out Bullying, national suicide prevention lifeline, mental health America, and Hope for the Day if you can so the lifeline, mental health America, and the non-profit movement Hope for the Day can continue helping people who are struggling with any suicidal thoughts or mental health they have or through music as they helped me and stop all types of bullying as well if you can, and there other ways to help them by looking around at their websites:
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/donate/
https://www.mhanational.org/donate-mental-health-america
https://my.hftd.org/give/207001/#!/donation/checkout
https://securedonate.stompoutbullying.org/np/clients/stomp/donation.jsp?forwardedFromSecureDomain=1&campaign=220
https://nobully.org/donate/