I just cooked spaghetti in white sauce for brunch and did the usual cat chores. That’s it. I napped. I just wanted to be brainless.

I didn’t want to be an adult today. My brain was fried yesterday and I didn’t want to think too much or exert effort.

I still refused to be an adult so I decided to just have bibimbap at Bulgogi Garden along Kalayaan Ave. They have closed down the barbecue restaurant above the grocery store and they just serve the fast dishes within the store premises. Twin A just stayed at home because she didn’t want to change out of her house clothes.

My bibimbap is much better than this, to be honest. My gochujang-based sauce is spicier than this. 😑 If tomorrow my mood improves, I will try to make gyudon.

It was just supposed to be an uneventful day but then I saw on my IG feeds the year-ago post I did. It was about the three ginger kittens we found here in the compund and have successfully found adoptive families.

Then it struck me: It was exactly a year ago today when I received a painting from J and learned about the truth that I had been suspecting all along. It was exactly a year ago today that I almost had another breakdown because of that. It was a good thing that I was already in therapy when that happened.

Because of the excruciating pain, I was bereft of words and the only way to express it was through drawing. I couldn’t sleep. I was figuratively bleeding internally but there was no way I could make myself rest and stem the bleeding. My hands needed to do something. Then I just found myself drawing the image from my PC’s wallpaper. My drawing was perfect in the sense that it captured what I was feeling. I struggled to find the words but my hands found a way to tell my friends that I was already dying inside.

Because I hurt so much, I rediscovered that lost skill I had when I was in high school. I had to die to make my art live again.

That episode a year ago also pushed me to make my plan of building a small home a reality.

I’ve come a long way from 4 Feb 2022, when I got triggered and had anxiety attacks. When I was in my car, screaming at my friend on my phone, telling her about all the truth I had confirmed. I was having palpitations, I was blacking out with rage while I was screaming at her.

She said, screaming back at me, “You are still a whole person. You are still you. Don’t you ever, ever forget about that!”

I wrote last year that it would be the last time I would cry over that person. I still haven’t and I will forever keep that promise.

I had taken down his colored-marker drawing of Istanbul that same day. I told myself, I will make my own art that I will hang on my walls.

I’m still keeping that promise as well.