Is My Mild Depression and Anxiety Just a Reflection of Poverty? - Psychiatry

I have mild depression and anxiety; could it just be a reaction to my poor circumstances?

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Hello, I am 23 years old, and my name is Xiaofei.
I would like to express my thoughts in a lengthy narrative.
I live in Bali, a poor rural area (whether in relative or absolute terms, Bali is undeniably impoverished, and this is not just a psychological perception but a fact).
I have begun to wonder if the root of all the frustrations, anger, sadness, and confusion I experience stems from poverty.
My father attended National Central University and earns about 90,000 NTD per month.
My mother is a school teacher with an income of around 20,000 NTD.
This is just a brief overview of our economic situation; I have a younger brother, and we generally live frugally.
Since our home is 50 ping (approximately 165 square meters), a significant portion of our income goes toward paying the mortgage.
I do not have abundant resources, such as tutoring, pocket money, or an expensive phone.
I can afford reference books or extracurricular reading, and we occasionally dine at Din Tai Fung, indicating some material comforts.
However, my father's personality may have some issues; he comes from a broken and quarrelsome family, which may have left him with some shadows.
Despite this, due to his expectations of us, I was able to study well in elementary and middle school.
Besides having a somewhat stable economic background, I believe my personality (genetics) also played a role.
However, problems arose in high school, and the hidden bombs exploded.
In middle school, I was able to integrate into my environment due to my academic performance, and I felt the goodwill of teachers and classmates even without being very proactive in social interactions.
Coupled with the encouragement and rewards from the education system, my self-definition was based on these standards.
However, entering high school was extremely competitive and brutal; without extraordinary effort, it was difficult to gain admission to top schools, so I ended up in a community high school.
This is a source of pain and frustration for many.
Despite the setbacks, the foundation built during three years of middle school was not easily destroyed—unless family pressure increased.
Due to the poor learning atmosphere in my class, I felt depressed going to school every day.
This helplessness continued for two years, and although I expressed my feelings to my family, nothing changed (my father's suggestion was to endure, which reflects his experiential approach shaped by his past).
This led to my transfer to a class with a much better learning environment in my senior year, but by then, I had already adapted poorly and felt out of place, caught in the abyss between "studying hard and playing." I couldn't concentrate on studying seriously, nor did I have the mood to indulge in fun.
Perhaps this was the initial manifestation of anxiety and depression? In any case, my father could not provide me with positive affirmation, leading to a series of arguments (details omitted).
Ironically, the person who hurt me was him; yet he was also the one telling me to be brave and step out.
This illustrates the tragedy of rigid thinking: "I have always stood firm, always looking toward the light.
Yet you block and hinder me, and still expect me to sort myself out? To not give up on myself? How can this be understood? How can I refute this?" The sentiments expressed above clearly indicate a mix of contradictions, anger, questions, and frustrations.
After all, when a parent says 1+1=5, arguing against it is meaningless (tragic, and may even lead to more destructive implications).
This reflects the horror of a double bind.
To cut to the chase, I later enrolled in Cultural University and then dropped out (the reason being I didn't attend classes; fundamentally, I hated the fact that I existed at Cultural University).
I attended a preparatory class for transfer exams, which cost about 50,000 NTD for all subjects, and a retake class costing 60,000 NTD.
My father paid for the transfer exam prep, and I half-heartedly agreed, partly because I wanted to leave.
The missing half was that I actually lacked the energy to go elsewhere.
Perhaps it was due to my high school experience of struggling to escape a noisy environment that left me traumatized, or maybe I simply felt unqualified, just as I initially did not study well for high school.
Being able to attend cram school is a small privilege for someone from Bali like me.
However, the pressure from my father maintains the sad reality of Bali's poverty.
My father was very displeased that I did not prepare well for the transfer exam, yet he also urged me to look forward and not dwell on the past's darkness.
I admit my weaknesses, but his contradictory behavior exemplifies a flawed and failed educational (motivational) approach, creating inexplicable pressure and stimuli, forcing me to confront my stagnation before I could acknowledge my weaknesses.
Writing ten thousand words might still fail to fully express my poverty and sadness.
Of course, I have areas where I feel a sense of achievement, but I won't elaborate on them because there's not much to say.
Seeing my friends from Bali attending National Taiwan University, I know this is a minority, but so what? I don't necessarily want to compare myself to them; I just can't escape the endless reproduction of sadness in my environment.
After more than six years of experience, I know some questions remain unanswered.
Unlike exam papers, where each question has a corresponding answer, often when seeking answers, I realize that the world outside of me doesn't have problems at all.
Inevitably, in contemplating such matters, I push myself toward an unfortunate perspective.
However, even if God tells me that all of this is due to poverty, what capital do I have now to escape this cyclical tragedy? National exams? Another test? When my father prevents me from preparing properly for exams, it seems that no amount of money can help.
(Is this caused by my father? Perhaps attributing it this way is irresponsible, but who can deny it? Who can truly deny it? It's sad to know, yet it is also a fact.) This is probably why I didn't receive tutoring in middle and high school, and cramming in college feels meaningless.
I have long since run out of steam.
Is my brain destroyed? Every time I recount my life, it feels like reliving it all over again; the tragedies in my memory seem to fade, yet after each retelling, the scars on my body deepen.
Is there really an answer? I see those who are more miserable than I am, perhaps like you looking at my problems.
I can provide them with answers; they might hear my words, yet they find it hard to escape.
P.S.
I have taken medication before; personally, I feel that Xanax is helpful for emotions but not for life.
My illness is life itself.

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Xiao Fei, 20~29 year old female. Ask Date: 2021/07/12