Letting Go Of Ghosts

Battle Notes – February 14, 2017


As I’m typing this, the time is 9:09pm. Less than three hours until midnight. Less than three hours until I survive another Valentine’s Day.


But first, I have to apologize for the four month absence. Life has been, well…life. So many things have happened. Can’t even list them all down at this point. Need to focus on what I need to write.




This year’s Valentine’s is rougher than last year’s, no doubt. I was losing my shit again earlier. My breathing was compromised. Chest heavy. Felt like I was trapped in a prison I created for myself. But I know it’s my brain’s doing. It’s the depression’s doing. It’s that thing inside my head that was fucking with me again.

Last year was a great Valentine’s. I finally forgave her for her suicide. I was in a good place, mentally speaking. I had wonder in my eyes, like I was seeing things, feeling things for the first time. I was high on life. I was high on the good emotions that were coming in. As the months progressed, everything became real. The honeymoon phase with my antidepressants were over.


I was feeling everything. I was sensitive to everything. I eventually learned to do the seemingly impossible of learning how to cope with the madness.


So. Back to today. It’s the first Valentine’s, my mother’s death anniversary in case you’re not a constant reader of this blog, that my emotions are normalizing. That I feel emotions correctly. So the grief, the loss, the anger and resentment, the weight of her suicide and how it almost intersected with my life, everything…I am feeling it all. I did not feel that much of all those last year, which is why I was in a forgiving mood. Not that I’m taking the forgiveness back. I’m not. She and I are square on that matter, as far as I’m concerned.


Her death anniversary this year is especially mind numbingly harsh because this is the day that I outlive her. Hell, I may have already outlived her if she had died in the afternoon or something. She was thirty two when she died. Same age as I am now. For the sake straightening things out, let’s just assume that by midnight, I will have outlived her.


That’s heavy for someone with clinical depression that may have been passed on from, surprise surprise, his mother. I never really knew her as she died when I was four. Whatever memories I have of her are based on stories and photographs that my mind filled in. Anyway, the ongoing theory is that she was bipolar. Physical evidence and personal anecdotes support the theory.


What I’m getting at is that we’re so similar in so many ways. Faulty genetics. Mental illness. Some say I’m the splitting image of her. I guess that proves I got most of my genes from her.


But no matter how similar we are, I now know to stop carrying her ghost with me. I now know that I should let her go completely. Not just during Valentine’s, but every single day. She’s gone. She’s dead. I’m alive. I’m already carrying the weight, an insanely heavy weight, of my own life. I can’t carry hers anymore. I can’t carry her life and death with me.


All year since last Valentine’s, I thought I could carry her with me. Thought she could live on through me, that as long as I’m alive, she can remain alive, too. But I can’t allow myself to do that anymore.


Last year, I forgave her. Today, I’m letting her go. Once and for all.




Might as well do some random updates on my life while I still have the caffeine in me.


I’m taking an indefinite hiatus from photography. Something happened a couple of months ago that gave me my music back. After a two year drought, I finally wrote a song. And then started writing more. Songs and all these stories suddenly came rushing out from inside of me. And these songs, these are about me. These songs are based from my experiences. I never really got to write personal songs. I tried, but I wasn’t in the right headspace yet. The depression still controlled my brain.


Now that I got so inspired to write again, I am, for the first time, writing songs from my own personal stories. Even fiddled around with something about my mother yesterday.


So I decided to focus on my music, letting Infinity Blues Photography take a backseat of sorts. I opened it up to new photographers so it still stays alive. I actually wanted to kill it already, but nah. I can’t kill what I love, what I worked hard for.


I’m going to be releasing an album this year. Recording has begun with Carlos Castano at the helm. No definite date of release yet as I don’t like constricting myself, but it will come out this year. Already recorded “Instead” and one of my new songs, “Special Place.”


“Instead” sounds fucking awesome. I thought it couldn’t get any sadder, but Carlos sat in front of a keyboards and just did the most magical thing ever. He’s known that song for years, after all. Never thought that song needed anything other than my voice and guitars, but shit.


The whole album is gonna be a collab effort with close friends of mine from the music scene and the local music photography world. A few music friends will lend their skills to the songs, while a few photographer friends will have a page each on the inlay. Pretty fucking excited.


That’s about it for now. Tired. Today’s battle was pretty intense. But fucking A, I survived it. Still got a lot to update this blog with, like another fucking anxiety attack during the second Tagaytay Art Beat. Thinking of doing a part two of that TAB1 short story I wrote two years ago.


So yeah…live on.



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