Not yet ;

Not yet ;

“I don’t really want to die. I just wanted it all to stop.” That’s what I once wrote here when I mentioned my suicide attempts. That’s what I answer people when asked “why did you do it?”

What I did three weeks ago is no exception. The only difference from previous attempts is that it got that far. Closest I’ve come to to actual suicide. Had I not…had I not fought til the end, I wouldn’t be here right now. You wouldn’t be reading this.

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How Far We’ve Come Pts I & II

Part I

 

On a previous post, I mused about something my doctor told me. That I have had this thing inside me that has kept me alive all these years. I initially theorized that it was “control.” Another theory is a “survival instinct.” I have another theory: a “will to live.”

All of the above, perhaps. And other still unknown variables that has kept me alive. I am still, after all, in the process of knowing and understanding myself – everything about myself related to all aspects imaginable and unimaginable – so there’s still a lot to learn.

 

Which leads us to recent events that has undeniable implications on my mental well-being – the romantic relationship that I was in ended. Both sides made mistakes that contributed to the demise of the relationship, both parties learned lessons in the aftermath.

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Shallow Water Blackout

Among the things I’ve learned in recovery, one of the most important things, is to acknowledge that I’m not okay. I have to do that now. I have to acknowledge that, despite the smiles and laughter and the love I’ve been feeling recently, there’s that voice in the back of my head that’s yelling “stop ignoring me! I’m here! Something’s wrong!”

I’ll admit, I may have gotten lost in the happiness recently. Gotten too absorbed by it. And because of that, I have overlooked one of the key tenets I’ve taught myself: self-awareness. Mindfulness. I’ve been unaware, or perhaps even replacing what it is I’m supposed to feel with positivity, of the negative thoughts in my mind that I have to face head on.

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Bloodstream Pts I & II

Part I

 

“What would happen if I went off my meds? Even just for a day.”

 

I’ve often wondered about that. I wanted to experiment. Wanted to see what would happen. I’ve been on Escitalopram every single day since November. That’s over half a year. It’s been a huge part of my life. It’s an integral part of my life. That tiny little white pill has helped me create magic, create a life that I never thought I’d be able to have. One of success. One of fulfillment. One of productivity. One that I can honestly say that I now can’t walk away from.

But what would happen if I stop taking that little white pill? Would all I’ve learned, the survival skills and strategies I’ve amassed, in the six months since I started treatment for clinical depression would be enough? Would everything I learned help me survive without it?

Even just for a day. Just one day without the pill.

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A Face to Face

A lot has happened since the last time I checked in here. Man, that last post was weird. It was random, just had to post it cos I felt like I had to. Anyway…

I decided to get off the Risperidone. It had undesirable effects on my thought processes and thinking. “Undesirable” being an understatement. I felt like I was really losing my sanity. Like whatever grip I had to it was mere inches. It got bad. Really bad. Had to have a friend sleep over in case I do something stupid or lose my shit completely.

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Six Months On…

We had a massive junk clearing in our house a couple of years back. We were segregating old things we might still have use for or old stuff that’s still of importance and stuff that’s to be thrown away or donated to charity. I found an old folder containing documents that once belonged to my mom. Nothing important – old bank checks and medical documents from when she was rushed to Makati Med for God knows what reason – but I kept it anyway for reasons that weren’t clear to me back then.

This was a couple of years ago when I was still trapped in my own little world. I barely read the contents. Did an obligatory glance, then kept them hidden behind my safe (it didn’t fit inside my safe.) And then it was forgotten. I only remembered the existence of documents a couple of months ago when I started to work on my oh so obvious mommy issues. Heh, but I don’t see it as that. I see it as me wanting to know where I came from. It’s me getting to know the benefactor of my mental illness. It’s me getting to know my mother on a personal level. I still have a lot of questions that may be left unanswered, but I gotta work with what I have.

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The Bravest Thing That You Can Do

“I’ll be honest and say that at first I was shocked and confused as to how you could post things that are supposedly just for you like things about anxiety and depression.”
That was among the contents of a message I received the day after my last breakdown. It was the first sentence, actually. I dialed in on that sentence for a while. I had to understand it. I had to digest it. Analyze it. The sentence that came after stated that the sender did realize how I could do such a thing, how I can be so open about my anxiety and depression to others.
I read the whole message and went back to that first sentence. I kept rereading it like it was a mathematical equation that I was trying to decipher.
“…supposedly just for you…”

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