Kurt

Posted on May 22, 2019 by 20dangh

It has been 545 days since I confessed to someone about this for the first time; it was also the time I decided to never tell anyone about it again. However, 338 days later, I could not handle holding it in and knew that I needed to tell someone. Here is a story about my sin: “Kurt”. Many would refuse to say that having Kurt is a sin, he is not a choice. I agree, it was not my choice to be like this, yet somehow I still feel responsible for not being able to carry out a well maintained life with Kurt around. I have kept my mouth shut for so long, it feels odd to open up and talk to you or to myself about Kurt.

Image result for kurt vonnegut

The first time Kurt and I met was in my bedroom, under the covers. I was bawling my eyes out, my teeth biting the end of the blanket, hands clenching around the pillow. Kurt was there in the corner, watching me. I felt desperate, alone, and terrified at the sight of him, at the sight of myself. My head seemed like someone just smacked a brick into it and ripped every single strand of hair from my scalp. Every cells in my body wanted to go in different directions, pulling me apart. Before I even realized, I had been spending months going to school and socializing with people only to come back into my locked room then crawl under the sheets to cry. Kurt? I know I said he fazed me, but Kurt was there for me, when no one else did, or at least when no one else knew what I was going through.

The worst part is not having saggy eyebags after an extensive night with Kurt, or when he comes up to me at school and punches me in the stomach, but the fact that I do not know why Kurt was in my life. It was utterly frustrating to cry repeatedly everyday and not knowing the cause. I wanted reasons, explanations, and hopefully, solutions. As a result, I went on an obsessive research on my symptoms with the help of internet , and funnily enough, I matched up perfectly with Kurt. I could not wrap my head around how I could end up with someone like him. He was so manipulative, so aggressive and yet, I accepted him the way he is. Kurt, however, wanted me to become like him, to become everything I never wanted to be. As much as I hated it, I gave in. Only because the way he held me at night as my tears stain his shirt when two rooms away, my parents are sound asleep in their tiring dreams. How he would nibble in my ears tenderly: “I’m here for you, always. I’ll never leave your side” reassured me. I would fall asleep to his hand gripping my neck and seizing every ounce of air in my body. Everyday, every night, for months, the last thing I see before my eyes closed was Kurt.

Our relationship remained hidden as I refused to have friends or family know about him; no one knew about Kurt, no one would like him, we are too polar to be together. Every part of me wanted to leave Kurt. Sometimes, I dream of running away from him, to a faraway place where I am at peace, but when I turn over, he is there. Vivid and haunting, the presence of him never fails to amaze me. As time passed, our feelings grew stronger, but conversely. The more he loves me, the more I loathe him. Until when I decided to runaway, hoping to escape from him with anything America has to offer. We lost in touch for a few months and I was on the route to find myself again, and ironically enough, he came to see me right when I had just settled in.

At this point, I knew I needed help. Unlike Vietnamese, Americans were familiar with Kurt. Apparently they have all met Kurt at some point in their life, he messed them up like he did with me, but the people called for support and protection whereas I did not. Hence, with the help of friends and experts, I was determined to called him out. I confronted him with all the pain he had made me go through and the fact I realized this was an abusive relationship that does not work for me. As the words came out of my mouth, I could feel exhales of relief accompanying them, setting my body afloat. He listened closely to every syllable I made, staring deep down into my pupils as if he could see right through me. His eyebrows arching as if to ask me whether I truly believed in what I was saying or not. When I finally finished, a silent followed as we both consider what to say or do. I tried to hide my trembling hands by twisting them together, thinking if I had overreacted. I snapped and told myself this was the right thing to do, that I was doing this for myself since Kurt had screwed me up in every way possible. “Tsk-tsk, I’ll miss you. I’ll visit sometimes”, he said and just like that, I have detached myself from him.

The moment clicked on me like struggling with a math problem and realize the solution is there all along, or when running around searching for my glasses when in fact, they are on my head. Naturally, I could not forget about him in an instant. For some split second, I would be reminded how it felt to be in his arms as he sunk the knife deep into my spine, but I learned. I have learned to be stronger, to not let what he has done get into my way of living my life. Without the support of such unbelievable friends in my life, I would not be here right now, writing this. Sure, Kurt visits every once in a while, but people in my life sees him immediately and keeps him away from me. They take away the pain, and I cannot be more grateful. Now, I have everything I need to protect myself and to start treating myself better. So here’s to you, Kurt, my depression, bring it on.

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85 Responses to Kurt

  1. 20dangh says:
    May 22, 2019 at 8:17 pm

    I was very hesitant in writing this piece, partly because I never put it down on paper and never told anyone who weren’t close about Kurt. I still think of Kurt sometimes, not like romantically, but like why did I name him K u r t??? I don’t know man. I was deep. Regardless, I’m glad that I wrote this piece anyway. Because I needed to, sooner or later.

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