For so many years, I have battled countless troubles. Some of those were the ones they called "the blues". Sometimes, PMS, I think. Some when I had my babies. Post partum depression, as they say. But some were pretty serious. Like suicide serious.
Robin Williams' death reminded me of friends I knew who suffered the same thing. They all lost the battle and succumbed to depression.
I, too, had my own ghosts.
You may think I am pretty much the well-rounded girl.
Friends and family--the closest to me, know it's not what it seems.
When I was in grade school, I got harrassed. I didn't say a word. I got through it. I became "siga" and boyish, to make it seem like nothing. I thought it would end things. No one knew. I never told anyone. Not even my parents. I felt like I was melting inside. Like I'm so small. I felt gross.
In high school, it happened again. It was a different person, though. On my third year, a neighbor, who lived near our place once or twice made a pass on me. He was old. It was gross. He never got the chance, as I was pretty good at dodging... And I was strong for a girl my age (thanks COCC training!). I wanted to kill him so I won't have to deal with him again. Or myself, so I wouldn't have to deal with shit like that again from him, or any other person. I brushed it off by tiring myself with cadet training. I thank my officers for the distraction. Years later, the geezer died of a heart attack, I think. Lucky me. My nightmare was over. A hurdle had fallen--permanently. Yay me.
Fast forward: college. For some reason, I have always felt lost. I don't feel like belonging to any friend. Like everyone's been talking behind me. That no one's really my friend--especially the girls. I remember one time, there was a retreat somewhere outside the city. It was a school thing. Our psych professor had an activity where you would have to stick a piece of paper on your back, while everyone would write things about you that they would either like or hate. There I realized how catty people are when they know that they would speak (or write) to you anonymously. It struck me real bad. For months, it got bottled up inside of me. Knowing that I cannot trust the "friends" I knew, and then a huge fight with someone dear to me, just made me lose it. One summer, I tried to slit my wrist with a dull balisong.
It was stupid. It was awful.
Still, my heart's pain, stung more than my wrist. People would ask how I got the wound. A basketball accident was my fake excuse.
Months after that, I started going to friends' homes. I would sometimes drink with them. None of them knew what I was going through. They thought I was just partying with them after a crazy exam. Or because it was someone's birthday and I felt like celebrating. My parents didn't know. I was passing college. Who would know that I needed help?
I felt down. I felt alone. I felt insignificant.
In times when I feel like shit, I would pierce my ear. Earring after earring, there was no more space. I pierced my tongue. I pierced my belly button. It dulled the pain inside for a bit. But somehow, it comes back. There, I found music. I had my band. It saved me for a while.
Sadly, work came. I had to leave my band. It was painful. Again, I felt alone. I felt like combusting inside. I was not amused with life. I was lonely.
Then I met Regie and we got married. No, it wasn't like a Rapunzel or Anna (Frozen) moment where we married a day or two after we first met. We became friends and he became my husband. Best moment of my life. He was there when I got sick. He was there when I felt alone. He was there when I needed someone to talk to.
And then, someone made a nasty rumor about me. The atheist became the mangkukulam. Someone dear to us died, and a helper told the person's family that the person died of kulam (hex); not thyroid cancer. It was a nightmare.
Things went all downhill from there. I almost left my husband to be alone. I wanted to escape them. I wanted to escape the world. I wanted to die.
My mother does not know that it was serious. She thought it was just out of sadness that I wanted to die. She was a tough woman. She thought I was THAT tough, like her. Like it's supposed to be something hereditary. I was not THAT strong.
My family--Regie's and mine, helped me through the ordeal. We cut our ties with those toxic people. Seriously, you'd rather believe an uneducated chismosang chimay over us? You'd risk years of knowing us, just because of that? Oh and really? An atheist mangkukulam. That's funny. Last time I checked, those people's belief in God and the underworld is stronger than The Mountain, The Hound or freaking Breanne of Tarth!
Those dumbass motherfuckers. They know nothing. Waaaaayyyy nothing. Like less-than-Jon Snow-nothing. I'd probably take this anger to my grave. Sorry, btw. Too much Game of Thrones.
Those dumbass motherfuckers. They know nothing. Waaaaayyyy nothing. Like less-than-Jon Snow-nothing. I'd probably take this anger to my grave. Sorry, btw. Too much Game of Thrones.
Anyway, we thought we'd probably need change. We thought we'd try to escape them all. We moved to Canada. Things are great now. A change of pace. A change of place. For now, I feel... content.
I am not dead. Not yet. No, I don't want to die yet. My kids need me. My family needs me. But it is inevitable though.
Countless times, I wanted to run away. Leave this world, for all I care. But I did not. I could not. I fought the voices. I try to shrug them away.
I tried to listen to them sometimes. But I didn't. And I survived.
Sadly, most of us who are troubled don't.
Most of us don't have friends who know us or a family to look out for us. Some are too busy to notice. Some are too proud to admit.
We all had our ways of coping. I drank and smoked (just cigarettes). I had friends (at least some of them, I think). I had music and art. I had my family.
But some don't.
Of course we won't ask for help. We never do. We're waiting as we drown. Waiting for that hand to pull us out.
Regie was there. He listened. He pulled me out. I owe him my life.
Some, unfortunately, had no one. They perished. They died.
To those of you who are afraid to tell your family, or need the anonymity, you can call a hotline for help.
If you are in the Philippines, you may dial:
(632) 804-HOPE (4673)
0917-558-HOPE (4673)
0917-852-HOPE (4673)
2919 (toll-free number for GLOBE and TM subscribers)
You may also call the CRISIS LINE at:
If you are here in Canada, you may visit:
http://suicideprevention.ca/
http://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
http://org.kidshelpphone.ca/en
http://suicide.org
There, you may find the number to call on your province or city.
You are NEVER alone.
Parents, talk to your children. Sometimes, just because you think they are normal, doesn't mean they are. DO NOT shun your kids away, just because you are busy and they are on your way. That would only make them feel more alone. They won't talk to you cos they know that you're too busy to talk.
Oh and this isn't just for teens, or adults. Depression also happens to kids.
You need to talk to them. And when you do talk to them, don't do a tough love shit on them. They went to you because they wanted someone to be there. They don't need you to tell them that, "You should know better", or "You're (you'll be) fine", or the all-time Pinoy fave, "Manahimik ka nga. Wag mo isipin yan. Para kang tanga!"
NO. NO. NO. Just NO.
They don't need a lecture. They need your love--then your lecture. I should know. I have been that kid.
It's bad enough as it is that they feel like that. You don't need to add fuel to their fire. They're sensitive and vulnerable at the moment. The worst thing you can do is to call them "mukhang tanga".
You need to be there. And not just physically be there. You have to BE there. You get me?
They don't need you to buy things, or shout at them, or feed them ice cream, or send them to a boot camp. They just need YOU to BE with them. You can get counselling books, if you want a guide.
And if they ask you to call someone for counselling, YOU DO THAT. Get them evaluated as they requested. Maybe it's because of your tough love that they'd rather speak to someone else. A professional one or someone who CAN speak to them and guide them.
As one line in Robin's movies go, "The loneliest people are the kindest, The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone else suffer the way they do."
RIP Robin Williams. Thank you for the great childhood memories you have given me, from Flubber, to Dead Poets Society, to Good Morning, Vietnam, to Jumanji, to Aladdin, to Mrs. Doubtfire, Patch Adams, Peter Pan and Jack... The list just goes on and on and on... Thank you, Genie.
RIP to everyone who fought and lost the battle. And my heart goes to those who are still trying to fight it. Again, you are NEVER alone.
