Category Archives: mental health

This will be a long and difficult soliloquy

Posted on by
So meta, right? Photo by CallMeCreation.com

Let me start off by saying I needed a drink to write this down because this entails eviscerating myself.

I had a long chat over Messenger this afternoon with my friend (friendship dating back when we were 9-10 years old), about family (I know her entire family and their quirks and the generational issues) and how far we have come from where we were 2 years ago. It would be her supposed wedding anniversary tomorrow while it would be my 2nd year as a dumpee.

She told me about how her ex-husband just trashed all the things she has done for him, how she supported him when he had nothing, how she lifted him up because she loved him. However, he said he is happier without her. His insecurities led him to cheating and choosing women who would make him look good because he is superior over them vs my friend who is an overachiever.

I told her, unfortunately, the value you put in all of the things you gave him is not the same value for him–if he valued it at all. That’s how the world works, especially with narcissists, and with her ex-husband, he thought that what she did for him was an obligation and/or he was entitled to it, therefore, has zero value at all.

I told my friend, it’s just like when we adopted this niece (from a cousin) and she lived with us throughout her college life. We treated her like a sister, like a daughter. Then now she talks shit about us, especially on social media. We don’t know what we did to her to earn her hatred but at least she could have just shut up, in deference to how we treated her, right? My older sister said, apparently the value we gave to how we offered her a home and how we made an effort to make her an immediate family to us was zero for her. There are just people who are like that. I’m still hurting over that but what can I do, right?

Just the same with her ex-husband and just the same with my ex.

I remember right after J threw me off the balcony exactly two years ago from tomorrow, I had an interview with a company owner in Thailand he introduced to me. I think we set the interview in early January. That said, my interviewee enjoyed our conversation so much that we had two interview sessions. I took the opportunity to promote J as a good advisor that he should hire. He got so much boost from me—me being stupid, thinking that it was my last act of love towards somebody who I eventually discovered was screwing me over for a very long time, even from the beginning.

What a fool I was.

I thought I had forgiven him. Apparently no.

Because I dreamed about him this morning, but this time, in my dream I was in a quandary about how to kick him out of my house. We just got off the car and he was going ahead of me in some conference we were both supposed to attend. I whispered to a friend that I “still couldn’t do it, you know kicking him out,” but I know I had too because he was already treating me badly and was sucking out my light. The dream ended there.

So my dream was like an allegory of my anger that I still harbor and couldn’t still let go of. I haven’t forgiven him. I don’t want to label this as hate because I don’t want him to have that kind of power over me…because the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. Oh I wish to God that I’m already indifferent but I recognize that it is a long process and it’s not easy.

If I were a horrible, vindictive human being, I could have destroyed him because we move in a world where a good reputation is the most important thing, especially if you’re after contracts and high quality networks. This is very much true if you don’t have much of a track record compared to others in the same space. But I just said to myself, I won’t stoop to that level and just let the universe do its thing. Karma comes back biting your ass, I believe.

Besides, he has already destroyed himself within my network by his own doing, dallying with that ex-reporter girl. He underestimated my network, how far my arms can reach, what my ears can hear. He can no longer use my network even if I chose to be quiet because that’s the most dignified thing to do. I just let the universe do its thing.

I was used and I realize now that was from the very beginning. I took it hook, line, and sinker. I believed what I wanted to believe and ignored the red flags. He used baits like “Will you give me a home?” schtick so that I would give him everything that I had, believing he really wanted to be with me. I accepted him for what he was and when he was at his lowest, I tried to give him the world, with all that I had. I supported him with everything—moral, financial, professional…

I recognize and experience that relationships sour and breakups happen. But what I found unacceptable to me were the deceit and the lies. The way he treated me especially in the end. And what makes this healing difficult is that I am trying to live my life quietly but things still come unraveling to me even until February-March this year, about 14-15 months after the breakup. Like, what the fuck?! What did I do to deserve this?! He just kept throwing all these curve balls on purpose. Typical narc.

All I did was to love unconditionally, but loved the wrong person. Very wrong person. Now I don’t have anything left to give to anybody and I don’t think I have the energy and love left. I realized that love is not infinite.

So healing is not linear. You go take one step forward, two steps back many times in the course of this wretched stage. At the same time you are forced to “adult”. If I were still a theater actress now, I know I would be able to bring more depth and gravity to the characters I will play because I finally know now how it is to die and come back from the dead. Well, for me that’s how the past two years felt like. I died and come back from the dead several times.

Through this past two years, I learned how invaluable professional therapy is. Not just the woo woo group therapy (those New Agey things). You know, grief messes you up and chemically, your body changes and it short-circuits you. As my doctor said, it’s trauma and left unaddressed, the short-circuiting continues. Long Covid didn’t help either. Depression and anxiety are not trivial. It’s not a sign of being weak and/or lack of faith in God. Some people are predisposed to it due to heredity, environment, and/or it’s just how they tick. I realized that I’m an empath and I absorb the slings and arrows of everything and everyone around me–that’s why I have the double whammy. Artists (even not good artists like me) are prone to such things—the twin evil named depression and anxiety. That’s where we get our mojo. That’s why I could draw better when I was down and out. I could write the most heartfelt piece when I hurt. We draw our power from our gut and as a consequence we expose our innards only to get bruised more.

J may not understand what I went through and would think that I had just been melodramatic if he only knew (so that’s why it was really better for me to be scarce and disappear), but that again boils down to how differently we valued the relationship and one another. To him, I was just a tool and a means for him to reach his goals, one step at a time; for me, he was my world—at that time. So again, he would never understand.

So in summary, the past two years had been a long difficult process. It was walking through fire barefoot. It was like having an odontectomy but local anesthesia does not work (and yes, this literally happens to me). It was like battling with a Balrog in the depths of Moria, dying and coming back as a white Maiar, bleached by pain and death.

But bouncing back as a more powerful wizard.

I have found my inner strength and a new-found love for myself. I had found my voice again.

I may not be shiny and effervescent like those big-boobed women who go bar-hopping and post their night life on social media to prove that they have attractive, “meaningful” lives. I am also not a high-powered woman executive that command thousands of people with a snap of her fingers.

I am just me.

I can be charming if I wanted to be. I am intelligent and there are no dull conversations with me, if I wanted to. But most importantly, I can offer a warm home with lots of love and care, where someone can belong and grow roots. Because anywhere with me is home—that’s the best I can give to anyone.

And J just doesn’t appreciate that. He is the wrong person.

Soon, I would just wake up and say, “Who was he again?” That’s the best indication of indifference I hope to achieve.

Vincent

Posted on by
Almond Blossom. Vincent van Gogh (1853 – 1890), Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, February 1890. He painted this with love for his nephew and namesake.

I was just vaguely aware of Vincent van Gogh’s life and was more familiar with his paintings.

Until tonight.

I read up on him the entire night (for some reason) and learned about his loving relationship with his younger brother, Theo. I felt his struggle with his mental health and his desperate need to paint because that was the only way to quiet his spirit and ease anxiety and depression (oh how painful it would have been without modern medicine!).

His anxiety deepened as he felt his dependence on Theo’s generosity is weighing on the future of his nephew–his namesake–and Theo’s wife.

He knew he was not getting better. He could no longer contain the pain.

Gun to his chest.

His brother died heartbroken six months after Vincent died of gunshot wounds.

Although I may never know how a bipolar felt, I could understand his need to paint and paint to draw out the pain from his body. As if painting numbs you. As if that’s the only way to silence the raging emotions within you, the pain of emptiness that envelopes you.

I wanted to cry for Vincent. It wasn’t his fault he was sick like that.

The last time I drew and painted was when I was 17.

Until I had an “episode” (as my doctor called it) in February this year—when I received J’s painting and had learned about the the truth that I didn’t want to discover—I have never produced something passable as art. It’s that pain of hollowness, that depression, that inexplicable feeling of wanting to be free from something unseen that drove my pencil and brush. Only my hands could express all of those because my keyboard suddenly became bereft of words.

This was a product of my need to draw my heart in a different way. I could not express the pain I had at that time so this came into being. I became a writer who could no longer produce words. That’s how bad it was. Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com

I drew this because I had no words to give friends who asked how I was. This was my easiest answer. Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com

I painted this when I was 15, inspired by Van Gogh’s cypress trees and some landscape painting of Arles. Because I was feeling his emotions through his brush strokes. It resonated with me. I must have been feeling something strong at that time when I did this. Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they’ll listen now

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night

Vincent by Don McLean

Fixing broken things

Posted on by

I’m on a mission to fix broken things, saving things worth saving.

Like for example my printer. It was working the entire year after I bought it in December 2020 and the black cartridge became shot because of the printing job I did last Friday. 72 pages of complaint/petition. I went to Greenhills this afternoon to have it fixed and et voila! It was clogged with cars. Like inflation didn’t climb to its highest level in 14 years and people are still shopping like there’s no tomorrow.

People on a shopping galore. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

Greenhills gives me the chills. I’m always reminded of my #$%$#%^&*(* ex because we were often there to have his laptop or mini-PC fixed. Or to buy his Gundams. Or to meet for the weekend so he can drop off his laundry at my apartment—never I get invited over that condo we leased together. Probably the slut was already sleeping over there. Then I remember the time I went to Greenhills to order the girls’ new PCs and I was supposed to go to his condo to bring him some stuff and I was thinking of spending the night there. Then he got unreasonably angry because I was going there when he clearly said he won’t be there because he was supposedly meeting somebody in Megamall or something.

That was…that tore me apart.

So Greenhills is still a sore point with me, two years after.

I’m still fixing myself, getting back my self-esteem and confidence. Trying to forgive myself for letting myself be used in so many ways. Trying to forgive myself for ignoring red flags that this person is horrible.

No person has broken me more than him. Not even the girls’ dad.

I don’t want to encounter J ever again. Ever.

Part of fixing myself is trying to get back in shape. I got stalled during my holiday because I got sick. Then I lazy because…I was I was dealing with a storm and a roller coaster of emotions.

Because I was off from my workouts for a week, I got bloated again. Now I wonder if I could still fit in my dresses that I was thinking of wearing for the cocktails event in Singapore that our company is sponsoring.

Which reminds me that I should look at new clothes to bring to Singapore when I go to Makati on Tuesday for a meeting.

Still on the topic of fixing, I am fixing our lives (after the hiccup with J) by building our future, which includes my new tiny house. While I was in Greenhills, I saw the new area where the furniture and home decor stalls relocated. I checked out some lighting fixtures and…

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Photo by CallMeCreation.com

For some reason I want to hang this in my bathroom. The store owner said this was really meant for a bedroom but people had been telling her they were going to install it in their bathrooms, too. She just couldn’t get why. I don’t understand it either but it looks just right for a ridiculously decked out bathroom.

And the funny thing here is my bathroom is just condo-sized.

There is more space beyond that annoying post and beam that we could not move. My contractor said he will just disguise the post by making concrete shelves. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

To make this more over-the-top, the bathroom door is hardwood–the former bedroom door.

Then I saw this, which was prettier and cheaper than the ones from Ikea.

I’d like this to hang over the dining table. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

I just need to send these photos over to my contractor. I think he will have a heart attack when he sees the chandelier. HAHAHAHAHAHA!

And finally, I am trying to fix the broken water system of my hometown.

We arrived at the office of the water utility before 10 am. I didn’t tell the people here that I was bringing along the local broadcast network with me to document the entire thing as a payback for snubbing their invitation to guest on their show because they wanted answers why we are so fucked up.

I also didn’t tell the company that I was bringing the GM of the water district—the government-owned company that was part of the JV and part regulator (yeah, the set-up is messy and I will try to get to the bottom of this).

Only when we were seated did I tell them that the crew I had with me were part of the local broadcasting station.

Long story short—they don’t have any disaster SOPs in place, to capex plans, no systems in place. NOTHING. No record of improvements on infra, NOTHING. Except for this newly constructed office, which I learned was built at the height of the pandemic. Sneakily.

New office of the water utility. Photo by CallMeeCreation.com

I could no longer recount what I said and what others had said because it triggers me so much. My sister, who is a climate change disaster mitigation and adoption expert, asked questions that they could not answer—very important points that every utility and local governments must address.

The GM and the community relations manager (the husband and wife tandem) couldn’t say anything. They knew they were fucked. And it’s all being recorded.

It will be aired tomorrow. Then I will share the broadcast to anyone who would care.

They didn’t know what hit them.

I’ve been in this business for long time and I wouldn’t survive it if I haven’t learned how to be crafty, sharp, and always on my toes. Journalism is a mind game. My guide has been the 48 Laws of Power, which has taught me how to handle people and how to approach people who are higher in stature than me. I have to be two steps ahead of my interviewee and of the principal characters in the stories I am pursuing.

This is why I like strategy games.

In the meantime, I need to rid myself of bad jujus because some heavy work load is ahead of me this week. I’m scheduled to present to the commercial team on Thursday, showdown with a conglomerate (that is part of the water JV of my hometown) on Wednesday, and meeting on Tuesday.

Sigh. *pat on my back*

Everything will be all right. I’m doing good. —> I need to assure myself or else I will crumble with stress.

Day 3 of vacation leave

Posted on by

I was just supposed to do my grocery shopping today but I ended up spending 4 hrs with a friend who asked for counsel about her career.

Early dinner of cold soba before walking in UP. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

I was the one who helped her transition from media to another industry (via my connections and gave her good backing). I was also instrumental in her pursuit of a master’s degree from Australia via a scholarship (also gave her topics for her dissertation because it was within my area of expertise). Due medical issues, she must now leave the agency she has worked for but she still has to complete her contract service. Complicated, but long story short, I was able to help her clear her head and suggested to her the appropriate steps to take so the ends are tied neatly.

Basically, stress almost killed her. She suffered from high levels of anxiety (that job is really stressful) that led to stroke. She had to go through physical therapy, speech therapy, etc. so she can regain her old self. And as a former broadcast journalist, losing your ability to speak is devastating.

It was the same kind of stress and anxiety attacks that my other friend, M, is experiencing. His BP is shooting through the roof, too alarming that he had to be brought to the ER. It is happening regularly that he needed to take a 4-month medical leave.

I told this friend, T, that we as journalists have this bad habit of ignoring our bodies when they’re breaking down because we are used to just pushing forward—because that’s what we are supposed to do. Now she realizes that mental health is not trivial.

We had discussed so many things while driving, while walking around UP campus—16k steps in all—and it feels good to untangle cobwebs while exercising.

She was so thankful I took time to see her. I said, if there’s one thing that this Covid pandemic taught me, it is that I should make time for people who are important to me. I told her that there’s a reason why I had to go through so many bullshit and earn cuts and bruises—maybe because my role in this universe is to counsel friends. To share my experiences like struggles with mental health caused by bad breakups, trauma, work, etc. Experience in managing people and in having bad bosses and ok mentors. And overall experience in the industry. As a true empath, I absorb all these and then I make sure my friends and loved ones don’t fall into the same ditch.

I said whether it’s work or relationships, we must take care of ourselves. Because T and I are both empaths, we tend to lose ourselves in the service of others. In relationships, we roll the red carpet and over-extend ourselves, while in the process, we slowly but painfully kill ourselves.

We need to set our boundaries so we don’t melt and disappear like candles because we tend to give and give even though we don’t get any in return.

A glass of bubbly tonight to end this day. Video by CallMeCreation.com

Boundaries are physical manifestations of self-love. We empaths need to preserve ourselves so we do not just melt, evaporate, and disappear because we gave too much.

Reflections now that I’m 43 years old

Posted on by

It’s past 2 am and we just arrived from Lasema. Why late, I don’t know. Maybe I’m trying to avoid the weekend crowd.

I picked up my cousin this morning from her house north from where I live because she wants to celebrate my birthday with me. For lunch we threw health consciousness to the wind as we grilled steaks. My cousin made Vietnamese spring rolls to balance the meal 😂.

Photo by CallMeCreation.com
Home made Vietnamese spring rolls. She also made the sauce. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

We had dinner at the restaurant at the ground floor of Lasema building. The girls just wanted the dimsum and gimbap served at the jjimjilbang so we needed to do round 2 there.

Side dishes. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
Photo by CallMeCreation.com
Cooking myself at 55 degrees. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

Why did we go to Lasema? It’s because this cousin was the one who introduced me to Lasema. She treated me to my first jjimjilbang experience for my birthday more than a decade ago.

Happy birthday to me.

What did I do during my birthday last year? I can’t remember but I think I was still confined in my room, recovering from Covid. The year before that was equally dark because I was suffering from anxiety and depression since I was already being mistreated but I still couldn’t figure it exactly or I was in denial. I remember writing I was confused why I was so unhappy. In 2019, we were in Bohol but right there I knew something was amiss. My ex was more interested in diving than being with me. I was just a means for him to get there. The supposed intimacy was just a duty and I already felt that.

Well, he just used you to be able to settle here, my cousin said. I know, I replied. He already told me that when we broke up. He said we needed each other at the time we met. He had planned to come here even before we got together, he said.

I was convenient.

But for me, it was genuine. I needed him because I needed him. Not because of anything else. I would have left my old house even without meeting him.

Ah well, this darkest episode in my life taught me how to stand up and love myself. But it would have been better if I didn’t experience him. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

So this is the first birthday in a long time I’ve had a happy birthday. I deserve this. The now. The peace. My life is benign but at least I’m not a human appliance or a meal ticket. At least I know the people around me genuinely like me and are putting up with whatever I am today because of that. I may be bitter but at least bitterness in ampalaya protects it from pests, just the same way it protects me from evil people. It’s too exhausting to be in a relationship, it really sucks the life out of me.

Forty-three. When I was a kid I thought this age is already really old. How wrong I was.

My life is just starting.

I just slept almost the whole day. My body may have been compensating from the stress that I’ve experienced the past week so now it just wants to hibernate.

My girls made banderitas that said “Happy Birthday” and they had hung it against the curtains downstairs. They had to take it down though because of the cats. But I loved that they made a lot of effort in doing that. If you have children like these, what else would you need in life, right?

While I was changing my bed sheets tonight, I thought about the possibility of someone knocking on my door. I think I would tell him, let’s see first if we really like each other. Passion fizzles out but developing genuine like for each other takes time. I just don’t want to settle so that I won’t be alone—that’s so distasteful to me now. What if he’s shallow, what are we to talk about??? That person has to meet me intellectually and our interests should align without having to exert too much effort. The problem with me before was that I pushed heaven and earth to meet their interests, to align myself with them. It shouldn’t be so—that’s why I always ended up exhausted and resentful. Just like with the girls’ dad, I pretended that we had the same values when in fact they were poles apart.

For example, I don’t think I would be able to stay with someone who does not care about my concern about the growing possibility that China will invade Taiwan this year or next—at a time when Russia just declared martial law in occupied areas of Ukraine. He doesn’t have to understand the technical aspects of what I’m writing about for my job but at least we could talk about ideas and we should not be limited to conversations about events—or worse, just about people.

Because at the end of the day, friendship and companionship are more important than sex or any other thing that comprise a romantic relationship. It makes the effort of accommodating that person in my life when I’m already settling in my ways seem worthwhile.

That person shouldn’t tear me apart and destroy my mental health; he should uplift and take care of me and not drag me down. I shouldn’t always be carrying the world so he would stay. I shouldn’t even be pushing heaven and earth so he would stay because a person worth my while will stay no matter how strong the earthquake is. That he will always choose me.

Sometimes I do get lonely because I have no one to share many things on an intellectual and spiritual level. But when I remember the anger, pain, and sheer exhaustion that I experienced whenever I accommodate a person in my life, my loneliness dissipates. It’s more painful to be with somebody who makes you feel lonely than be lonely alone.

As I told my cousin yesterday, I’m still working on loving myself, working on having a healthy view of myself.

I wrote on my IG several months ago:

This is the first and only time I will talk about this.

I encourage all people to take care of their mental health. The best thing I did for myself was to seek professional help because I was crumbling inside while maintaining my super mega facade. People were surprised to know that I was a highly functional clinically depressed person; I didn’t look like I was mentally ill. I was dealing with multiple traumas, especially after The Breakup almost two years ago.

I had enough bullshit to last me a lifetime. For years, I was alone in raising my twins and their dad thought that “babysitting” them was not his job. It didn’t even enter his mind to parent them. Raising sickly twins, being the breadwinner, and being cheated on over and over (discovering Tinder on his phone and disappearing on weekends just to find out from other people that he went to the beach with friend/s)—it’s enough to break a weaker person. Add to that is my highly stressful work as a journalist. I was suffering from anxiety attacks because I was carrying the world on my shoulders. I even thought I was having a heart attack one time I brought myself to the ER. I was smoking like a chimney.

Then I thought I got my shit together after closing that chapter. But then everything fell apart almost two years ago and I sought solace from different things to cure myself, which exacerbated my traumas. In August last year, I downed a bottle of wine by myself and was drunk posting on FB and drunk texting people—that’s when I knew I needed help.

I will soon have my last session with my therapist, I’m off my meds, I learned about my triggers, what co-dependency is, and learned that is treatable. I learned to love myself, treat myself better, untangle my messy brain, and I’m living a healthier life.

I learned that I deserve to be treated better by other people and I shouldn’t accept things just because that’s what society expected me to do. As my cousin told me, if you don’t love yourself then who will? If you don’t take care of yourself, who will? Who will take care of the twins as well?

I lost friends from suicide because they couldn’t get out of the deep, dark pit they were in. No one could understand the pain of being there. You think some people are fine but they aren’t.

I’m still working my way though all these. I’m trying to heal and I’m not imposing a strict timetable on myself… I will heal in God’s time.

Defeated

Posted on by

I don’t feel good right now. An article I had labored over is being questioned by a guy who has been in this job only for a year. 🙄

I’m tired because I had been editing until 7:45 pm. My brain is already fried. Then I get an email from somebody in New York about the wisdom of the story I wrote.

Just like last night, I was disturbed by an editor who asked me “do we publish this kind of stories?” I said yes, since the time I joined in 2014. I was hired to do this kind of stories because there’s plenty of this in my market and no one specializes in it.

I just want to scream.

Maybe I need to rest. Like rest for a long, long time.

My boss just sent us our numbers for 3Q22 and I’m on the top 3 most productive person in APAC. No wonder I’m so tired.

I was trying to hug my cats but those critters are useless as emotional supprt animals 😑

Kimchi being a pompous ass here after running away from me. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

My kids hugged me but they’re too busy with their own stuff. I didn’t tell them that I just needed some affection because everything went bad today. It’s not good to burden them with my emotional needs. That’s not what my kids are for. Children who are made to shoulder the happiness of their parent/s become broken human beings.

I just have to hug myself today.

I have 100 things on my to-do list but I couldn’t strike off any of them because I no longer have the energy to do them.

Out of whack hormones and sheer exhaustion, this is all what it is. Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.

I will just cry tonight. I just don’t know why I have to but it will make me feel better.