The Truth About My Struggles and the Illusion of "Support"

I went to a psychiatrist in a hospital because the sleeplessness was crushing me. I am a person living with schizophrenia and autism; I needed honest, compassionate help. But the doctor did not treat me with care. I was not seen as a person in crisis; I was treated as a problem to be documented and dismissed. The report blamed missed classes and financial problems—but those weren't excuses. They were real, systemic barriers. Financial stress is a constant, tangible reality for students like me, especially those navigating disability and chronic illness.

People often romanticize my generation. They say young people have it easy because we have smartphones, the internet, and access to education. This is an illusion. They forget the truth: we are shackled by debt, impossible living costs, and immense mental pressure. Student loans aren't a leg up; they're a lifetime burden. Social media, rather than being a tool for connection, often becomes a manipulative space that forces us to compare, perform, and spend more. As a humane-tech activist, I see clearly how the marketing and the platforms themselves are engineered to exploit our vulnerabilities and push us into wanting things we don't actually need for a meaningful life.

I tried to open up and connect, sharing my pain and my story to find true solidarity. But the betrayal was quick and harsh. Some people weaponized my mental health and my neurodivergence against me, saying I was just seeking sympathy. Others used my painful journey as content to boost their own image online. That is not friendship or allyship. That is fake, cruel gatekeeping. The social landscape, especially in Malaysia, is full of people pretending to care—offering performative empathy while failing to provide any real support to people with chronic mental illness and disabilities like me.

The hypocrisy extends to the highest levels. In Malaysia, even the government engages in performative kindness. They mobilize visible aid for high-profile injustices abroad, like those facing Palestinians, and create content to showcase their compassion. But what about the poor and the disabled right here at home? My own government support was minimal—a small daily allowance—while they cited my student loan as a reason to refuse tuition help. This is not real care or equitable justice. This is a defense of the normalization of oppression.

If I speak out about this systemic failure, people immediately call me ungrateful or tell me to just move to another country. But loving your country—practicing true patriotism—is not blind faith or obedience. It means demanding that our institutions become better, more equitable, and care for all people. True solidarity means helping each other through bad times, not punishing a disabled student with crippling financial anxiety just because a single rent payment was missed.

I am tired of being silenced. I am an autistic and schizophrenic IT student and activist, and I speak because my story, and the stories of all marginalized people, matters. We need to stop pretending that surface-level fixes work and start building genuine, humane systems of care and equality.

Revived from an original blog entry draft, first published on May 4, 2025.