Yes, I am still alive. But barely.
I’ve been out of circulation for six months. Too many things have happened and this day, I can’t believe that I am still going strong, struggling–yes; but amazingly, surviving.
The past months I have been gone, I was both swallowed by the responsibilities of daily life, and recently — some sad developments in my personal life. It is funny when I think about it, and to think that it would never happen to someone like me. After all, if there’s someone convinced there is FOREVER, then that would be me. I don’t know how I managed to survive. Maybe sheer tenacity, sheer stubbornness?
At my lowest moment, I contemplated about killing myself (but only fleetingly), my background as a publicist and my inflated (albeit, badly bruised) ego saved me from entertaining any further thoughts of just ending my misery. Why? I know this might not be funny for some, but — do excuse my morbid sense of humor — but at my lowest moment, when nothing but dark thoughts, filled my head, I suddenly thought of garish headlines printed in some of the sleaziest tabloids available and immediately shook any dark thoughts away from my head.
I don’t want to get into details but I was at a pretty dark place these past two months. I refused to eat (in spite the pleas of my parents and worried siblings) and I had trouble sleeping, often lying in bed awake trying to cry myself to sleep.
It was excruciatingly painful, to think that I had to go to work everyday and pretend I am okay — attend high-level meetings, manage projects, unveil and manage events and act like I was not hurting inside. I had to talk to my friends, my colleagues and everybody like my normal self, when deep inside, all I wanna do is just crawl into a hole, cry my brains out, and just stop breathing. It’s like two different personalities — the carefree, happy-go-lucky one which I immediately switch off once I enter my room and finally alone. There are times, when I feel like all I needed was the red and black tights and costume and the heavy wooden mallet and I can be Harley Quinn — happily dark and crazy.
But you know what, I am still here. I managed to stand up — and now I am working hard on making myself whole again.
I guess one of the things that pulled me out of the dark place is the love of my family, especially my mom who was, surprisingly, there each time I am at my lowest moment. I don’t know how moms do it — but each time I am crying or sinking further and further into depression, my mom would suddenly appear at the door, checking if I was okay. (In my head, I knew that she might be checking if I was still breathing — knowing how fragile I was during the last two months).
Work, no matter how miserable and tedious it was, also kept me busy and preoccupied. I guess when you are too tired that you can’t barely even move your body, you no longer have time to cry or grieve.
I also stayed away from all forms of social media, well, except Instagram where I amused myself by filtering the shit out of photos and regraming emo quotes. I stayed the hell away from Facebook, knowing that I will only be more depressed when I see my timeline. I stopped communicating with people and I stayed away from What’sApp, Viber and even Twitter.
I started working on my relationship with God. I have been pretty wishy-washy when it comes to my faith but when I was at my lowest, all I ever did was read the Scriptures and talk to him. In my mind, my faith was my only anchor of sanity. Praying and just shutting my mind helped me push the evil thoughts at bay and helped me climb out of the dark hole where I was for two month. I kept thinking that God will not give me something I can’t deal with and that there’s a reason why things happen. His Words gave me comfort and I tried drawing strength from my Faith. This allowed me to survive and to believe that I am above any form of trials. That no matter how clumsy and puny I maybe, I am strong.
I started taking care of myself again. I run regularly, I colored my hair back to black and started planning for my future outside the corporate world. I am now seriously going back to writing. This is something that I have been thinking about for a very long time, though it scares me a bit because I am not sure if I can manage to land a writing job again, ten years after my last writing assignment. What I am sure though, is that I am already done with corporate and my remaining months as part of the walking wounded will be devoted to growing my savings account.
I am okay now. Still not at my best, still grieving and yes, still depressed. But I am also convinced that the fact that I am still breathing highlights the fact that I am a strong woman and I can rise again, no matter how hard, how deep I fall.
This is my dispatch from the bottomless pit. Yes, I might still be here but I am getting better and in time, I know I will be able to climb out and be new again.