The Missing Piece
By Wan Muhamad Kamarul Izzat bin Wan Mustafa
Hit with a sudden wave of gloominess again. I feel sort of empty. Like I am missing something. Something that was once dear to me. Something that I longed for but unable to recall what it is. Like some crucial piece of a jigsaw puzzle that is missing. All the effort that I have relentlessly poured my heart and soul into solving the puzzle, interrupted by the missing piece. A piece that I could never place my finger on where it is exactly. Until it is discovered, the puzzle would forever remain incomplete. Preventing me from ever feeling content and satisfied from creating something meaningful out of scattered pieces with different shapes.
The missing piece.
It must be lonely being out there in this world isolated from its “friends” not knowing if anyone is even looking for it. All it could do is pray. So that it could eventually be found one day.
The missing piece.
It may not know, but there is a person whom is actively searching for it.
A person whose eyes glimmer with hope and curiosity.
A person whose mouth jokes and laughs a lot, but only to those close to him.
A person whose determination is to help others find meanings in their suffering.
A person whose wish is to inspire others to keep striving for their dreams like how he was inspired by people whom he crossed paths with.
In the search for the missing piece, he wandered into the forest of his own thoughts, primarily filled with nostalgic and fond memories. Deeper and deeper he ventured; he knew that it started getting nightmarish. Yet, he took the risk fearlessly and went in deeper for the sake of getting back the crucial missing piece lost somewhere far in the dark woods. Then he realized. That he had been going around in circles surrounded by unwanted and disturbing thoughts that became louder and more prominent as time flew by. He picked up his pace and ran instead. Running is what he does best, or so he thought. He fell on his knees on that barren ground, covering his ears with his hands. At that point, he knew. That he had forgotten the way in and that he could no longer see the way out either.
A person whose aim was to bring back the missing piece, turned into a missing piece himself lost in the forest of thoughts.
Maybe the missing piece of the puzzle was himself after all?
The boy, who got lost in the forest, stricken by irrational fears and unnecessary concerns that incapacitated his mind and soul from positivity and hope, managed to regain his mental strength with the kind words of those whom he had crossed paths with. Persons who could see more than what the boy could see in himself. Persons who inspired him to a great extent, that the boy could not help himself but be motivated to stand up on his two feet again to fight against all uncertainties. No more tears in the eyes but a gleam of hope. When he thought all was lost and that all was done for, a new path unravelled itself amidst the chaos. The boy ran as fast as his two feet could carry towards the light. As he reached closer towards it, the light illuminated all his scars and wounds. Frightened he was at first. But these visible scars, are proofs that he had gone through many sufferings alone in this busy world, that he survived each and all of it. The boy thought to himself:
A person whose eyes had always been filled with tears and fears, are now filled with hope and curiosity again.
A person whose mouth jokes and laughs a lot, but only to those close to him, was really himself after all.
A person whose determination was to help others find meanings in their sufferings, found meanings in his sufferings instead.
A person whose wish is to inspire others to keep striving for their dreams like how he was inspired by people whom he crossed paths with, realized that he must first strive for his ambitions before helping others achieve theirs.
With a renewed and purposeful self, he ventured back into the adventure which he thought was the end, but really, it was just the beginning. He had started in the first place back then, but he foolishly abandoned that journey because to him it was the beginning of the end. He pondered upon the quote by T.S Elliot:
“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”
“It is time to start the beginning again” the boy thought to himself. The fickle beast of depression and anxiety still lingers. Except that they’re no longer monsters. They are parts of him that he must befriend and acknowledge. To treat them with kindness and integrity. To care for them but not let any single moments of them taking hold of him. So that when they come to visit, the boy is always prepared. If his main goal in life is to become a clinical psychologist and help others, he ought to help himself towards becoming a better individual first. A clinical-psychologist-to-be with lived experience of mental illness diagnoses and not ashamed of his mental health conditions any longer. Or a better way to put it;
A wounded healer.
Thus, the story of a person with Bipolar Type 2 and Panic Anxiety diagnoses who finally found himself – the missing piece.
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