Lessons and realizations

I'm sure a lot of us love sharing that year-end post--you know, that post on social media that summarizes the lessons learned this year, challenges overcome, and resolutions for next year. I'm not fond of making resolutions, because I might not be able to keep them, but I do love looking back on the year that was and sharing what I have learned.

So before I become busy with Christmas and New Year gatherings, dinners, and festivities, I'd like to share some of the lessons and realizations I've had this year:

1. Listen to my body and my mind.  
I've learned not to dismiss everything that I'm feeling as mere drama or kaartehan, because they are not. They're symptoms of a condition that needs treatment. That's what months of consulting with a psychiatrist and taking meds have taught me. It takes courage to accept that I have a mental condition, and all the symptoms--feeling weak and down, being anxious, being insecure, and others--are not the type that I can just put in a box and set aside. I need to deal with them using all the help that I can get. And if my body and my mind tell me to slow down, I need to slow down in order to heal and recover. I cannot say that I've fully recovered, but I'm proud to say that I've begun on that long and difficult journey.

2. I'm not being selfish when I choose to focus on myself at times. 
Sure, being selfless is an admirable trait, but it's not a crime if I prioritize my personal needs over other responsibilities. Part of slowing down to recover is letting go of things I can't handle at the moment. As my psychiatrist had told me, being in a dip brought about by my bipolar disorder makes me function on fifty percent battery, so I really cannot do everything like I used to. I then learned to be kind to myself and humbly ask others to understand. I'm grateful how considerate the people around me have become.

3. I can get over my insecurity, even with slow, baby steps. 
I must admit that I broke down after coming face to face with the, uh, embodiment of my insecurity. Never have I ever felt so small as when I was standing in the same room as that person. But now, I am slowly getting over my insecurity. I asked myself, "Why am I wasting so much time thinking about everything that she is and everything that I am not?" Talking with a dear friend about this also helped knock some sense into my head. So now, I'm just focusing on myself and the things that I love to do. I'm taking steps to get my self-confidence back, like finally making a Sound Cloud account and uploading some voice recordings.

4. Cliche but true: It is when I'm at my darkest and lowest that I see who genuinely care for me. 
Salute to my boyfriend who never gets tired of listening to my laundry list of emotional battles. Salute to him who never gets tired of comforting me, no matter how shallow I sound. Salute to my family who are trying to understand my condition. Salute to my teammates and friends at work who listen. Salute to my very own Miss USA (you know who you are) who has stayed by my side throughout all this. I don't need a #SquadGoals-worthy group around me. I just need those who genuinely care, no matter how few they are.

5. It's okay to be down. 
Sadness is a human emotion, and if I feel sad, there's no need to fight it. I don't always have to be chirpy and sunshine-y and positive. I don't have to fight my own emotions. I feel them for a reason, and sometimes, all I can do is to stay calm and wait for the storm to pass.


I hope these learnings have inspired you in one way or another. And to my fellow "patients"--whether you are battling anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, OCD, or other mental conditions--2016 is another year for us not to give up. We're in this together.

The night I prayed St. Teresa's prayer

The other night, while beset again with anxiety and insecurity, I prayed the prayer of St. Teresa of Avila. Here it goes:

"Let nothing disturb you.
Let nothing frighten you.
All things pass.
God does not change.
Patience achieves everything.
Whoever has God lacks nothing.
God alone suffices."

I must admit I've forgotten all about this prayer until December 6 when I watched Teresa: 500 Years of Grace, a production staged in my alma mater, St. Theresa's College Quezon City, in celebration of St. Teresa's 500th birth anniversary. Watching the production not only brought back high school memories but also made me reflect on the words of St. Teresa.

I've been in this mental and emotional dip for several weeks already. It's taking a toll on my sleep, my concentration, and my daily life. I find myself carrying something heavy in my mind and heart almost all the time. I don't know what to do anymore because I've already tried everything. I just can't get out of this rut that I am in.

And so the other night, while my roommates were sleeping tight, I prayed the prayer of St. Teresa of Avila. I uttered the words softly while crying out of helplessness and desperation. I prayed for myself and for a friend who has similar troubles. I prayed softly and repeatedly until my eyes closed and I fell asleep.

I cannot say that I already felt better when I woke up the next day, because I didn't. Until now, I'm still down. But that night, when I was crying and I couldn't sleep, St. Teresa's prayer calmed me down. It's as if the first two lines are written precisely to calm me down.

Maybe the prayer is also a reminder for me to lift everything to God. I may try everything humanly possible to get rid of my insecurities and fears, but it is with God's help and grace that I will be healed. Maybe not today, but eventually.

Structured living

Managing my condition entails following a structure. I've never been the carefree type, but I'm not one who follows a strict schedule either. Now that it's becoming clearer that what I have is a bipolar disorder, I have to create a routine and stick to it.

The first thing that I'm trying to do is setting up a regular sleeping schedule. My psychiatrist recommended taking my meds three hours before bedtime, so I could wake up at a decent hour the following day. This also means that I have to sleep earlier than I used to so both my mind and body can get enough rest.

This entails quite a big adjustment on my part. I've backed off from choir practices and activities in the meantime (while I'm in this dip) to help me set up a regular sleeping routine. I can't pull an all-nighter anymore, even if I'm rushing an article to beat a deadline, so my mind won't be plagued with anxiety at night. The closer I get to my set bedtime, the lesser the things I should be doing, and the more relaxed I should be.

It sounds easy, but being used to an active mind, I find this challenging. How can I train my mind to slow down by 8 p.m. when I know I have a lot on my plate? How can I tell myself to simply breathe and relax when my mind has always been noisy?

That's when my compartmentalized mind comes in. Seeing my mind as divided into sectors rather than as a big chunk helps me prioritize and manage which matters are more urgent. It makes thing less overwhelming.

The next thing I'm trying work on is creating an exercise routine. This is harder because of my ever-changing daily and weekly schedule. But so far, I've managed to attend two yoga classes. I've also jogged twice recently. I count those as achievements, no matter how small.

How about you? How do you manage? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments section.

That thing called insecurity

Why do some people seem to have it all? They're smart. They're talented. They're kind. They're pretty. 

I know it's wrong to compare myself with others. I know it's wrong to use others as a barometer for self worth. I know I shouldn't be competing with others (and I'm not). But you know that feeling? That when you're finally comfortable in your own skin and confident with your abilities, you'll meet (or know about) that one person who will shatter your self-esteem and make you feel so small. 

That person will become insecurity personified. He or she will be the epitome of awesome/cool/great/whatever. And you'll never be at par with him or her no matter how hard you try. 

I feel that way almost 90 percent of the time. Anxiety attacks make it worse. When insecurity and anxiety join hands, they eat me alive. They eat my soul. It's debilitating. And sometimes, I wonder how can one person cause this much anxiety and insecurity, especially when that person doesn't even know me. 

It's easy to say that I should change my attitude towards this whole insecurity thing. That I should just focus on myself and stop comparing myself with others. Believe me, I've tried all these. But then again, when I finally feel great, insecurity comes back and haunts me. 

I don't know how to compensate for this, or should I even compensate at all. I have skills that I'm proud of. But even so, I still feel small like I don't matter. 

When I've tried everything to make myself feel better but insecurity still holds me down, I just stay still. Fighting it will be futile. I just let its weight sit on my shoulders and I retreat to my bubble. This bubble may be imaginary, but it's where I feel safe. I stay in my bubble, and hope that the next day, I won't feel so down anymore. With fingers crossed, I continue to hope. 

A compartmentalized mind

Part of being kind to myself, per doctor's orders, is dividing my mind into different sectors. It's just like making a to-do list, only this time, I'm listing down the different aspects that make me me. The movie Inside Out illustrated it well in Riley's different islands of personality. I just don't call it such. I call it my compartmentalized mind. 

These are the compartments: Me, Myself, and I; Work; Romantic Relationship; Family; Choir/Extra Activities; and Friends. When I'm in a slump, like how I've been in the past two weeks until now, I can't attend to all these compartments. I have to shut down some, sad to say. And I did shut down the latter three. 

Don't get me wrong. I didn't set my family aside. By shutting the Family Compartment down, I set aside home matters. I didn't want to worry about stuff at home. Having moved out is a good thing because I can focus on myself, my meals, my rent, my own survival. I just can't deal with additional matters right now. 

Shutting down the Choir Compartment saddens and pains me, but I had to do it. I'm not 100 percent okay to sing. They're giving their all, and it's unfair to sing with them if I can't do the same. I'm also beset with anxiety and fear, and I'm scared to move around the city. I'm scared to commute alone. My current state doesn't allow me to go to any place that will take me an least an hour to get to (and in Metro Manila, it's practically every city). I stay within the vicinity of my office and my boarding house. My boyfriend had to pick me up when we went out last weekend. 

My Friends Compartment is, should I say, filtered. I talk to just a few friends--the ones who I know will understand me perfectly. The ones who will not judge and who will not utter unsolicited pieces of advice on things they don't completely understand. And I'm thankful for having friends who always have my back no matter how irrational I sound. 

My psychiatrist said that when I'm in a dip, I'm like a gadget functioning on 50 percent battery, so I don't need to push it. I don't have to attend to everything all at once, and it's perfectly okay. Hence, I created my compartmentalized mind. Having one makes things less overwhelming. I don't know until when I will be in this dip. I'm doing my best to get out of it, believe me. But while I'm still here, perhaps the best thing I could do is function while some of my compartments are turned off. 

The dip

"When you recognize that you're in a dip, be kind to yourself."

This is what my psychiatrist advised me this morning. I went to his clinic for my monthly consultation, which I think was timed perfectly: I was (I am) in a dip. Meaning, I'm having a depressive episode. I've been in one for more than a week already, and it's hell.

Such really is the case for people with bipolar disorder, no matter how mild or how severe the disorder is. My psychiatrist always tell me that in people with bipolar disorder, the part of the brain that regulates mood doesn't function well. Hence, we experience extreme mood shifts. It's like a pendulum that swings from extreme ends. It's like a switch that goes on and off without warning or without cause.

That explains my dip from being okay and stable to being so down. It's as if I'm surrounded by dark, heavy clouds. I remember feeling great at the end of October, the highlights of which are our anniversary concert last October 26 and spending the next weekend at my boyfriend's hometown. After that came the dip. There was no trigger. There was no cause. The switch flicked off by itself, and I was plunged into depression.

Getting out of bed is a battle whenever I'm in a dip. I can work, yes, I can write, but I can do so at a slower pace. I feel weak. I don't have strength for anything. My body just wants to keep still. Even if I want to go elsewhere, I can't go somewhere far because my mind isn't strong and stable enough to bear the commute (and here in Metro Manila, you need a strong mind and body to fight, and I really mean fight, the monsters of commuting).

"Be kind to yourself," my psychiatrist told me this morning. When I'm in a dip, he told me to lower my expectations of myself, because the disorder causes me not to be at my 100 percent. He added that it's okay if I can't do everything at once. I just need to prioritize one and shelve the rest for the following day or week. And that's perfectly okay.

This reminded me of what my friend advised me last week. She told me that we shouldn't feel guilty about how we're feeling, and that it's okay if sometimes, we can't attend to our responsibilities. We're not being irresponsible. Things just become harder when we're in a dip.

Right now, I'm in a dip, and that's okay. No need to fight it and be a superwoman. I just have to do what I can.

Struggles

This moment is one of those when I don't know which is better: bury myself in work or drown myself in tears. I can't even describe how exactly I'm feeling.

One way of putting it is to say that I'm spiraling in and out of a dark place. I've been spiraling in and out of a depressed state, and when I'm out of it, I'm not happy. I'm not filled with joy. Instead, when sadness takes a break from pestering me, fear and anxiety take its place. It's as if I can only juggle these three emotions.

The worse comes when I'm not juggling them, because that means I'm feeling them all at once. I feel sad, scared, and anxious all at once. Do you know how that feels? It's torture. It's eating my soul alive, and I can't move. I have no energy for things I used to do. For things I love. For things I'm passionate about. Heck, I can't even get out of bed.

I lose a part of myself in the process. The things I love are the very things that define me, so when I'm not doing them, it's as if I'm not me. It's not me to just hide from my responsibilities. It's not me to be away for quite a long time from activities I love. It's not me to do nothing.

And yet, that's all I can do. Nothing. The more I try to fight my inner demon, the more it grows stronger. The more I try to make myself feel better, the more I feel miserable. The more effort I put into getting our of this hole, the deeper I sink into it. It's like quicksand--the more I struggle to get out, the more it pulls me down, until I finally sink and drown.

If I let myself pause and be still, I'm worried about what other people will think of me. They might hate me, despise me. They might not accept me anymore when I become ready to "go back to normal." That when I'm ready to come back, I might not have something I can come back to.

I messaged my friend (who also has the same struggles as I have) earlier, and asked for her help. I shared with her this battle, and she advised me to let go. Just let go and not feel guilty about how I'm feeling right now. Just let go not necessarily to feel better and lighter after. Whether I feel better or not, it doesn't matter. I just have to let go.

And that's what I'm trying to do. Let go. Breathe in, breathe out. I can hear the calm voice of my yoga teacher: "Concentrate on your breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Think of nothing else. Put it aside. Inhale. Exhale." And that's all I can do for now.