I think I'm fat

I'm not the type who is conscious of her figure. Partly because I have a relatively fast metabolism. And really, eating what you like is probably one of the most glorious feelings in the world. I've always believed that you should dress according to your figure, instead of altering your figure to fit into the clothes you like. For me, there's always a way to accentuate your best features, and the clothes who do that are the clothes that are perfect for you.

I've held onto this belief for a very long time. Until I saw that my lower abdomen seems to be getting bigger and that I am gaining weight.

No, I am not pregnant or anything. Just getting...fat? Am I getting fat?

I don't live a sedentary lifestyle. I walk a lot. I jog when I can. I don't drink sodas, but I love eating carbs because I feel weak without them. I eat what I want with confidence because I know I will be able to burn those calories. I eat fruits, and I drink green tea especially when I ate a lot.

But last week, when I was trying out swimsuits because I wanted to buy a new one, I saw that I didn't fit into my regular size anymore. My size in this particular swimming and sportswear brand is large (they have small sizes), but now, it isn't. I am now an XL.

It's not supposed to be a big deal. After all, the jump  from large to XL isn't really a big one. But I am worried, and my number one reason for being so isn't even health-related. It is this: Z leans on the chubby side, and I don't want to look like her. I don't want to be like her.

Now, brace yourself for another Z-related post.

I've written before that I am no longer as insecure of Z as I was before. That I have learned to love and appreciate myself more. But now, I am afraid that I will be chubby like her, I don't want that. I want to be the prettier and slimmer one.

I sound ridiculous, yes? I think so, too. But I can't help it. And I can't believe I'm saying this. I can't believe I'm feeling this.

My bf PM and I decided to cut back on our rice and junkfood intake this year. We'll still eat rice (of course!), but we'll say no to a second cup. We also vowed to consume less chips and go for peanuts instead when watching movies. And we will exercise more (we do jog at least once a week. We'll keep that up and add more activities to our exercise routine.

PM keeps on telling me that I am not like Z and that I do not look like her. And that I won't be as chubby as she is. And that I am prettier. But again, when I look at myself in the mirror, I am inclined to believe otherwise. I look huge next to my petite sister, even when she told me that it's because my bones are bigger than hers. I am a bit taller, too. I have wider hips and bigger thighs and calves.

This seems petty compared to what I have been through with my depressive episodes and anxiety attacks. But I guess this falls into one of the cognitive distortions I am guilty of having. I don't know which one though.

I don't want to be like this. I don't want to feel bad about myself just because I am not (or no longer am) skinny. Ultimately, I should exercise and eat right because I want to be healthy. I should do it for myself and not because I don't want to be like Z (in fact, Z shouldn't be in the picture anymore). No one is complaining about my weight or my figure. I am the only one. So why should it be an issue?

Some end-of-the-year thoughts

When a year comes to a close, people tend to post their reflections and throwbacks on blogs and social media. Before our newsfeeds get filled with all these musings, allow me to post mine.

A huge part of my 2016 has been devoted to dealing with my psychiatric condition. Having bipolar disorder is no joke. Dealing with sudden mood changes is difficult, especially when I'm plunged into a depressive episode that lasts for weeks, months even. And a huge part of my depressive episodes involves my insecurity toward Z. Forgive me for sounding like a broken record talking about Z again and again in this blog. I don't even know whether I'm depressed because I'm insecure of Z, or I'm insecure of Z that's why I am depressed. I don't know which causes what. All I know is that those two go together. 

This is why when I learned to love myself more, I couldn't be happier. After several therapy sessions, dosage adjustments, and countless advice to friends who understand what I'm going through, I finally learned to stop feeling small and stop comparing myself with Z. We're different. 

I also made new friends this year. Some of PM's friends and fraternity brothers became my friends, too. In our boarding house, my roommates and I got closer. We bore witness to the blossoming of our respective romantic relationships. Grazielle got married. PM and I celebrated our first anniversary (of being together) and we're going strong. Lea and Camille found love in the last quarter of 2016. For us, 2016 has been full of love, and for this, we are thankful.

It is interesting to note, though, that while I gained new friends, I also lost some. Maybe that's part of growing up. Maybe that's part of #adulting. It's not about the number of friends you have but it's more of having true friends around. Life isn't a Ms. Popular competition. You don't have to be friends with everyone. I don't have to be friends with everyone.

We're down to the last day of the year. Tomorrow, it's 2017. While I'm anxious and a bit scared, I'm also looking forward to the new year. I'm excited to do things I haven't done before. I'm looking forward to getting better as I continue to have slow but steady improvement in the psychiatric department. I'm looking forward to another year full of love and happiness. No matter how shitty 2016 has been, everyone has a chance to reset in 2017. And that's what I am going to do. 

Self-love

My session with Dr. G last December 12 went well. This is probably the third or fourth session in a row that went well. Every time I leave her clinic calm and composed, every time I leave her clinic happy as if I just came from a nice conversation with a friend, I count that as an achievement.

I've been making slow but steady progress ever since Dr. G and I discussed cognitive distortions. Now, whenever I feel that negative thoughts are starting to cloud my mind, I am now able to step back and evaluate those thoughts. I don't tell myself that my thoughts and my feelings are wrong. I even acknowledge that I have a right to feel those. But now, I have learned to stop blaming myself all the time and have started to accept that some things are beyond my control. I am not the one to blame all the time. Not everything is my fault.

I also go back to my conversation with Dr. T, PM's friend whom I met last month, every time I feel bad about myself. She gave me an important piece of advice--that learning to love oneself is a process. It isn't done overnight, so I should be patient with myself. That even if I fail to love myself every single day, I should forgive myself, and then try again.

Her advice played a huge part in helping me deal with my insecurity, too. She knows Z personally, so I value her opinion whenever she says there is no reason for me to be insecure of her. A lot of people tell me that, but because it came from her, I feel it has more weight. I also got the same input from Dr. C (another friend of PM). Both of them know Z personally, so their opinions have a huge effect on me and my thinking. It's as if Dr. C's and Dr. T's opinions signed and sealed all other opinions I've heard and made them more valid and official.

Now, I feel that I am no longer as insecure of Z as I was before. I still am, but I have learned to love myself more. I now give myself the appreciation it deserves--appreciation for my talents, my skills, and even the way I think and talk to people. Dr. T said that this is even better, because the change didn't come from Z. It was not "based" on her. It was based on how I now feel towards her. This is a remarkable progress, and I am happy about it.

I still can't go out without makeup. I'm still scared of bumping into Z, and I don't want to look plain when that happens. But I am being patient with myself. Getting over this is another process, and I'm taking it one step at a time.

Stories of insecurity

Around this time last year, my anxiety level was so high it probably went beyond the stratosphere. I was to meet Z in a few days, and I was so jittery. I was so insecure of her that when we got introduced, I wasn't able to eat even if there were countless of sumptuous dishes on the buffet table.

I remembered this because last weekend, a good friend of mine talked to me about her insecurity. Like me, she's insecure of a girl. The thought of her makes her feel small and inadequate, just the way Z makes me feel so small. I can relate to every part of her story. When we were talking last Saturday, I got transported to that dinner party where I met Z for the first time.

I've talked about my insecurity a lot on this blog, with my boyfriend PM, and with a few close friends. Sometimes, I feel they are already tired of me telling them how insecure I am of Z. If I can get over it by sheer willpower, I will. But unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.

I once told PM that maybe it would help if I talk about my insecurity with other people who know Z personally. PM agreed, so I talked to two people who know her. Even if we're not particularly close, I appreciate these two friends (Dr. C and Dr. T) of mine who took the time to listen to my story. Both of them gave me the same piece of advice: that I should love myself. That there is no reason for me to be insecure of her.

PM helps me with my insecurity by telling me the qualities that he likes about me. He even greets me with "Hey, Pretty!" or "Good morning, Pretty!" I appreciate every bit of it because it makes me feel good about myself. But ultimately, this appreciation should come from deep within me. Self-love, as what my two doctor friends have advised.

A year after meeting Z, I am still insecure of her. But now, I am finding less reasons to feel that way. I have started to love myself more. I wear my favorite deep red lipstick when I need a boost. But I still can't go out without makeup. I am afraid of bumping into Z without looking my best. Maybe this will pass, too. And when that happens, I will be wearing makeup for the sheer joy of doing so and not because I am insecure of Z.

It took me quite a long time to make this small progress. Battling with insecurity is a long (and painful) process. It involves a lot of tears and a lot of talking with close friends and loved ones. If I would give my friend who talked to me last Saturday an advice, I would tell her to just hold on. Nobody can set a deadline for someone to get over her insecurity. I am still not done with my battle. But eventually, I will. And so will my friend.

Little achievements

Yesterday, I had another session again with Dr. G, my psychiatrist. She had to attend a conference two or three weeks ago, so my appointment (as well as others') got postponed. Thankfully, I managed to secure a slot in her schedule yesterday.

I wrote here before that I lent her my personal journal--my purple journal with an elephant in front. It was the journal I had been keeping before Dr. G gave me a homework of keeping a thought journal that follows the CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) format. Yesterday, she returned my purple journal. "Thank your entrusting it to me," she said. I think she read the entire journal that's why she wasn't able to return it to me sooner. I was a little surprised because I thought she would just browse through it, but she read it. And I appreciate it.

For the second time, I didn't emerge from her clinic as disaster. After my session last month, I didn't emerge as a disaster either. This counts as an achievement for me. It makes me feel that even if I frequently have depressive episodes, there are days when the sun shines on me. In fact, I haven't had a major depressive episode lately. Sure, I do get visited by anger, frustration, and anxiety, but there are days when a dose of happiness and calm comes knocking on my door. And I let it in.

I showed my thought journal to Dr. G yesterday. My thought journal now has doodles and letterings, aside from the usual narrative text that I write there. I don't know how to draw, but it doesn't matter. My thought journal isn't just a homework. It's another venue for me to express my thoughts and emotions, which Dr. G and I analyze every session.

I am to see her again mid-December (that is, if someone cancels). She told me yesterday that perhaps, she can start weaning me off my meds if I keep being in this calm and stable state. That means, if I won't have depressive episodes in the coming weeks, she can start decreasing my dosage little by little (and maybe take one medicine out of the three that I am taking). I hope it happens.

Aside from this small achievement of mine, another thing that makes me happy is the fact that some of my friends have started talking about their psychiatric struggles on social media. That they, too, are openly talking about it. That makes me happy, because why do we have to hide in the dark and talk about our struggles in hushed tones? It's about time that we break this stigma. When my friend Pam and I started talking about our condition in our respective blogs, there's a part of us that hopes we can make a difference--even just a tiny difference. Or even just a dent in our friends' lives, a dent that will prompt them to feel that they are not alone, and it is okay to talk about their struggles. That there is someone out there who is in the same boat and who is willing to listen.

And because of this blog, these people didn't just find me. I also found them. That's why I keep writing on this blog of mine as honestly as I can. You don't know how happy I am when people send me messages that say they read my blog. I am not doing this for page views or likes. I am doing this to share my story (and consequently, myself). It's my way of saying, "Hello there, you're not alone."

The Philippine Psychiatric Association is pushing for the passage of the Mental Health Act through this petition. The Department of Health is prioritizing mental health (read the article here). If you have a few minutes to spare, I hope you could sign the petition. Let's help spread awareness and break the stigma.

A year of sharing

November 4, 2015. This was the day my friend Pam and I first wrote about our struggle with mental illness on our respective blogs. Fighting an invisible war, as I had called it. I have, since that day, written about my experience of dealing with bipolar disorder. I didn't hold anything back (and I am not planning to). I have opened myself up to the world. I have let myself become vulnerable. And I have shown how I can be both weak and strong at the same time--weak in often succumbing to a variety of triggers that pull me into a dark, downward spiral, but also strong in a sense that I still manage to hold on even to the thinnest of strings that connect me to my sanity.

To be at war with one's own mind is probably one of the most difficult battles out there. For how can you protect yourself from your own thoughts? How can you shield yourself from your mind's violent attacks that cut, wound, bruise, and maim you? Oftentimes, I just want to lock myself in a bathroom stall or hide under my pillows and blankets just so I would feel protected from the vicious attacks of my chaotic mind. But every day, every time my phone alarm rings, I know I will be facing another 24 hours of unpredictable moods.

Whenever people send me messages of support on Facebook, I can't help but be thankful. But I think the most beautiful thing that came out of my blogging about my condition is how friends of mine became open to talking about their respective struggles. Mental health and mental illness are, let's face it, still considered taboo and are not openly talked about. Even I didn't tell a soul when I first sought the help of a psychologist (and later on, a psychiatrist). But when everything got so overwhelming and the thought that what if someone out there is looking for company dawned on me, I decided to write about my own struggles on my blog so in my own way, I could tell that someone that hey, I'm here and we're on the same boat.

I've been receiving psychiatric treatment for a year and a half already. I am not in a position to assess myself, to say if I have improved or not. But all I can say is that I saw and felt the difference between my pre-treatment self and my current self. My medicines have done a great deal in improving my mood, even if I still sink into depression from time to time. I swing back and forth, from being okay to not being okay, from being terribly anxious and restless to being calm, from being happy and cheerful to being down. I swing back and forth every single day. This is the reality of my condition that I have come to accept.

But God is kind, and He has sent angels my way. I have my boyfriend PM, who has absorbed a great deal of all this; my hotline friend Pam, whose number I dial whenever I am in an emotional emergency; my family, who tries their very best to understand me; my aunt who has been so generous in giving me financial support; and other people from whom I've received kind and encouraging words.

This war may be invisible, but it doesn't mean we have to fight it alone. Let us not live in fear and shame. Let's get all the help that we need, and let's be there for each other. The whole world may ignore us, may judge us even, but if we have each other, we got this.

Inversely proportional

I've encountered this term several times when I was still in school. It's used in physics. It's used in mathematics. And now, I realize, it can be used in my daily struggle with my mood and emotions.

I've been thinking a lot about this, and I have come to this conclusion: My highs are inversely proportional to my lows. I don't know how high my mood should be for it to be considered a manic or hypomanic episode. But all I know is if I'm not wallowing in despair, I talk loudly, spewing out witty and funny comments with an unbridled energy. It's as if I don't run out of jokes and witty retorts. I make people laugh, especially my housemates in the boarding house. I love being in this kind of state, although I wish I hadn't spilled water over one of my housemates the other day while I was spewing out these spiels and wanted to demonstrate something funny. 

But this state scares me, because I know that when the energy and laughter have died, it will be followed by a deep downswing. It can come hours after this high, or at times, minutes after this high. My mood will slide and before I know it, I've hit rock bottom. Again. For the nth time. 

And when I am in this state, everything is a struggle. Waking up is a struggle. Getting out of bed is a struggle. Doing anything is a struggle. I don't want to go out. I don't want to be around people. I just want to stay at the boarding house with my housemates or go see PM, my boyfriend. 

Then, my mood would lift, but it wouldn't last long. I would again exchange funny banters with my housemates. My energy would be at an all-time high. Then, my mind would be so active that I would work like a beast until the wee hours of the morning. 

When I work at night, I don't take my meds until I'm done. Maybe it's the reason why my mind becomes active and I feel that I can do anything and everything. There's nothing that can knock me down and sleep. I can go and be a machine. 

And then again, when all these is over after a few hours, I would plunge again. The higher my energy was during my active moments, the deeper I would sink into depression. 

Maybe this is what having a bipolar disorder really is about. My psychiatrist Dr. G once told me that she doesn't see me having manic or hypomanic episodes, but she thinks it's because I am taking medicines for bipolar disorder (Quetiapine and Lamotrigine). I think it's also because when I see her, I'm usually in a depressive episode. She doesn't see me every day. She doesn't see me talk loudly and expel jokes one after another. She doesn't see how noisy and energetic I am when I am not having a depressive episode. 

I am supposed to see her today, but she has to attend a conference, so I have to wait until my next scheduled appointment, which is on Nov. 9. I wish she didn't need to attend to that conference, because I want to see her. I want to report to her everything that has been happening to me. I want to know her thoughts on this. 

I have to hang on. I have no other choice, even if these daily ups and downs are driving me nuts.