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Foreword.

For password-protected posts, you can find it here: goo.gl/sLSJRp


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Hello, and thank you for visiting my blog. Much as I’ve always wanted to write professionally what’s on my mind, here are some things I need to put clearly so as not to draw extreme criticism or not to cause so much misunderstanding.

First of all, I am a new Psychology major, despite being 5 years in college. As of writing, I have just survived General Psychology. So what I intend to say is, some of my posts can still sometimes be inaccurate and erroneous. Much as I wish to be more expressive of my thoughts, I want to ask favor to please be modest in writing comments that would correct what I write, because I simply am very weak when someone writes angry negative stuff about me and what I do.

I know I’ve barely survived General Psychology, and I know I contain too much bits and pieces of higher psychological knowledge, so please bear with me if my correctness deviates.

Someday, when I re-read my blog entries, I wish to silently cringe over what I wrote in the past, smiling or laughing over it instead of being too crushed by the feeling of embarrassment.

What I intend, by writing in this blog, is to realize along the path of taking a Psychology major what do I want for myself in the future, the philosophies I’d develop and believe on for myself, and what would I do for people. This is simply because, the very young science of the mind (soul), for me, would be for the pursuit of knowledge and for the development of more systems that we can apply to aid humanity.

I do not want to be very grandiose in pursuing a great cause, but at least, I want to contribute a significant difference.

―YST

PS. People may deem me a hypocrite. Oh c’mon, I know that. In fact, that’s one of the main reasons why I self-loathe. But what do I do? It is actually a logical fallacy: ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM: TU QUOOQUE. I cannot be deemed invalid just because my beliefs or arguments don’t correspond my actions.

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World Mental Health Day 2017

For this year, I am celebrating World Mental Health Day for the first time as an aspiring Mental Health professional instead of merely a sufferer of these mental disorders.

For the first time in ages, I wore my black wrist band. The one that I used to wear to hide the scars in my wrist. I wore it not because I cut again, but because I want to remember those days of struggle fondly. Those days of struggle two years ago are crucial for me, considering that it gives me reason all the more to pursue this path, help other people, and alleviate them from struggle.

In this year’s World Mental Health Day celebration, their theme focused on Mental Health in the Workplace. However, while I still did not have any formal ‘workplace’ experience, I’d like to share how our workplaces could be crucial not only for people who work, but also for those who are immediately around them (e.g. family, peers). Bear in mind that this is purely opinion.

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On my personal experience, the first and foremost example I could think of is the student council I am currently working on.

I find it horrible when we are all working in a voluntary basis yet we are being overworked and undervalued both by those who are superior to us and the entire studentry that we serve. Imagine that we bear so much work along our duties as students yet we receive little to no consideration at all.

There are also stressors. These sources of stress can terribly affect the daily living. Coupled with things I cannot simply disclose to others because secrecy is a must in fear of being questioned or talked negatively, the lack of social support makes it a horrible experience. Imagine facing impolite students in the recent signing of clearance. Or imagine being deemed as “they just collecting random fees on us” in the informal allegation of corruption.

Or imagine the current of mine where I do not know how to balance my work at the student council and my requirements as a student. I nearly cried when I confided to my teacher. That’s how I was so stressed and drained.

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Another scenario is the contagion of stress.

I know I shouldn’t talk about this, but I can only think of my parents’ coping style, where rather than leaving their work-related stress at the workplace, it ends up that us children are the ones who suffer when they mischannel their stress.

Well, to the point that I personally grew with erratic behavior. Talk about being constantly afraid of being seen as wrong by my parents in fear that they may snap suddenly without warning. Or how I ended up copying the same style where I snap so randomly when stressed (especially when in workplace).

Stress, when mishandled, seems to be contagious. It is also crucial and difficult when in this era where working parents are common, they may end up coming home stressed and end up mischannel the  stress on their children, rendering erroneous child-rearing practices. These children, in turn, are prone to future psychological and mental health issues.

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Lastly, I want to talk about how people with mental health issues deserve decent work despite their struggles.

I want to stress that they also deserve a normal living, with normal work and normal wages so they can cope not only with their disability, but also to make ends with their living.

While certain disorders are pervasive and life-long, it is more important to let them earn for themselves instead of them relying on their family (and subsequently leading to the feeling of self-inefficacy).

They may be prone to triggering situations, but they deserve our empathy. Or at least the understanding. It’s simply because, they did not choose such life.

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Workplaces can be unhealthy, yes. We also need to stress that we need to make workplaces healthier– physically, socially, and emotionally.

For people who are working, it is ideal that their higher-ups decide for wellness programs that would benefit not only their workers, but the productivity of the entire organization/company.

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Mental Health Day is on October 10th. But every day should be further spread of awareness to these mental health issues.

“Don’t talk to me until Thursday.”

I remember those times in my former university when I ended up having to frankly tell my friend to not talk to me until a specific date, knowing that confiding my problems would only make me end up feeling more worthless and pathetic with my meager problems.

Part of me thinks about, what if it totally lasted in their memories to the point they laugh at it when they remember.

I don’t know.

But the fact remains: There’s so little trust that I could spare for anyone. It practically is hard for me to trust and entrust my problems to people who would only end up making me feel invalidated.

Maybe that’s where my secretive side nurtured itself.

Looking back, I know it was my fault for being such a drama king. I know it was rude of me to even burden others with my idiotic, illogical problems in life.

I do not even remember what I and this person fought over to end up not talking anymore with each other. It’s as if I have started to prune memories that are simply painful if I started remembering them, like the way I am forgetting memories of this that are so painful from way back high school.

Maybe, if my Timehop would show me, I would eventually see when and how did we drift apart–

Uh oh. Now I remember. It was included in the reason why I wrote about how I hate my birth month.

It was their birthday. I couldn’t help but be happy and excited for them. Yet them, they were too busy with school.

We ended up having to talk about it. But I ended up running away.

Nah.

It was too selfish of me to do that, but imagine two and a half years of friendship ruined by my severe urge to detach and be left alone.

Don’t talk to me FOREVER.

October

October. My birth month.

Most people would at least feel excited of their birthdays, but I’m like… why the heck do I always want to avoid that shitty day. Well, at least, for the last two years, I must say.

It’s as if it’s hard to sometimes accept that another year is added to my life.

Because sometimes, some people use it to place me in this damn society. Say: “you’re already almost 22 and you can’t even earn for yourself?”

Or sometimes it gives them the reason to invalidate my social anxiety. Why I hate going out of the house for walks, errands and stuff.

For the last two years, I’ve found it hard to cope with this phase in my life.

I turned 20 two years ago. Probably that was the reason why my depression escalated. Because I was supposed to graduate university in that age, yet I was in the middle of being threatened to be kicked out of school for persistent scholastic delinquency.

For the last two years, I’ve found myself gradually being in a worse state of depression when October comes.

Last year was a total mess. My mother thought bringing me to a Japanese restaurant in another city would greatly please me. When in truth, I just ended up feeling forced. I felt like I just wanted to be left alone on that day.

My birthday two years ago was binge eating alone in a Japanese restaurant. I wore a wristband, trying to hide my wrist scars. My friends either were already shut out by me or they simply had no time for me.

My birthday three years ago felt like an ordinary day. I skipped two meals that day and only ate dinner. My friends were somewhere where I am not. I spent the entire day alone. Not even my roommates knew it was my birthday.

My birthday four years ago was pretty much sorrowful. My parents ended up knowing my scholastic delinquency few days before that day. It was even pretty busy for both my parents because it was election season.

My birthday five years ago was plain and disappointing. I invited some friends, but only two came. I know it was because it conflicted with their grade giving day, at the same time I live in such a rural place. It was difficult to go to our place.

I think, in that span of time, I’ve realized that somehow, celebrating the day I was born isn’t worth it at all. It felt like my life isn’t worth living at all. More like, it was a time I feel regret for being alive.

I also remember those times I get way too excited for the birthdays of my friends, yet no one gets excited for my birthday. In fact, no one even remembers. In that aspect, I somehow end up hating my  good memory for dates and special events. That’s why I intentionally hide the date of my birth in my social media. So that they aren’t forced to greet me. So that I am not expecting for greetings. So that I don’t have the opportunity to feel special. So I have more reasons why I should be forgotten.

Because in the end, it will be a mere Tuesday, just like 22 years ago. Except that this year, there wouldn’t be a total solar eclipse visible in our country.

The month itself starts with stress, considering that I have requirements to finish. I have exams in the middle of the month.

I may grow older by another year, but being happy for a day wouldn’t make the rest of the year joyful.

In the end, it’s just a normal Tuesday. It will only be painful if I expect too much. That’s why I wouldn’t expect this time. I wouldn’t hope for a better year.

Undesirability

Sometimes I want to frankly ask if I am that undesirable and ever so undeserving of love and attention.

No, I am not saying this because I crave for people’s attention. But there are times I intentionally drop things on social media that are meant to deliberately capture people’s attention– only to end up unnoticed.

Part of me feels that it’s so unfair, seeing some people post nonsense yet get some reaction, yet I, someone who already done deliberate measures, still fail to elicit the desired response.

Which brings me to ask myself: Have these people all put me as “Unfollowed”?

I don’t really intend to use social media as a means of seeking attention. There are times I just want to talk to someone, or do something that please others… ah wait. I admit: I am the type that tries to please others. Probably that has been a firm foundation in my reasons to live.

It’s just  that… when problems come, I might end up feeling lonely as fuck. Because no one is there to listen. No one can empathize because no one showed that they pay attention. That I still am valuable, as a human.

I really do not want to feel bad just because people do not notice me, but I really, really, really do not know what to do when I start feeling lonely. I know talking it out helps. But how do I tell people I need at least someone to talk to?

I’ve already talked about “Talking your problems to someone alleviates your struggle” in this blog. But it seems the problem, on the personal level, recurs.

Of course, I also admit I am the type who would definitely hide details. I a the secretive type. I do not hide this fact.

But feeling undesirable and unlikable… somehow, it makes me hate myself for having this kind of personality.

But I am not the kind who channels his stress on uninvolved people intentionally; I wouldn’t bear grudge nor be selfish. If people ask for my help, I’ll be there.

Remember my motto since I was living in turmoil in my mid-teens?

“I’d rather understand people than be understood.”

And likewise, if prejudice once more becomes my enemy (considering some people may judge me as someone having a terrible temper), I’d rather understand them that they never actually tried to get to know me. Or when people judge someone for their actions, beliefs or identity, I’d rather be accepting. I’d rather accept that we live in such a diverse world.

If, at least, I reduce the prejudice by becoming one less prejudiced person, I’d rather take on such responsibility. I’d love to make this world a little kinder by being kind to my own kind. (Uhh…)

I’m only merely human. Who am I to judge another human? Certainly, I do not want to imply I am someone greater than someone just because I excel in one aspect. I believe I only excel in one aspect, but I fail at so many things that all humans basically can do.

I’d let karma do its own retribution for this kind unjust life I have to live– unless this is my own retribution in my past life. LOL.

“They won’t understand anyway.”

This sentence is such a powerful phrase for people with mental illnesses, considering that sometimes this sums up their struggle the struggle that they cannot open up and confide with their family and peers, the struggle of having to suffer what isn’t physical, the struggle of wondering how to make yourself understood while not understanding yourself. By such assumption, they we, rather diss off the idea of even trying to lighten the burden we bear, with the assumption that it’s gonna get worse anyway, if the other party shows that they cannot empathize.

Yes, we can distinguish sympathy from empathy. Or even pity, which is worse. We don’t deserve pity. We shouldn’t be pitied.

Another recent thing I’ve felt terrible about was the fact that some people, notably of authority or somewhere at a higher position in society, perceive our impairment as “something to be fixed” instead of a struggle.

We struggle, yes. It is obvious, considering that mental illnesses, by definition, needs to classify as “significant impairment”. Who would enjoy being impaired?

I just find it frustrating when people try to approach and help, but it only appears to me as something that they want to fix me, not alleviate me from struggle.

And thus, the “they wouldn’t understand me anyway” mentality perpetuates.

No, I don’t want to be seen as a defect that needs repair. I want to be seen as someone who needs assistance to recover. I need people to realize I am struggling with this illness and I need their empathy, not that I am some broken soul that needs fixing.

I am more than my illness.

I am a human, endowed with my own struggles, unique from the endowment others have.

I am a human who has humanly struggles, just like any other human.

Retrospection

Rereading some contents in this blog, I re-evaluate my decision on involving myself in our student council.

This is the time I start regretting my impulsive decision to join the school’s student council, to the point that I’m desperately wishing I never took part.

I wanted to write all I have, but certain things do not have to be under the public eye, so I will restrict my writing, first, as to what have I written about the experience here in this blog. Then subsequently, I’ll talk about other issues I see.

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“I don’t think I’ve ever stated the actual reason why I joined the student council in our college.

Simple. I just wanted positive credentials that would write off the negative implications of my four years of ‘wasted’ time in my former university― a reputable one on top of that.

Another one was to ease myself into the school’s microcosm, and make me feel less of social anxiety.”

Involvement as Rehabilitation
(a post in this blog)
May 14, 2017

True. I joined the school’s student council for this reason. But I now want to clearly enumerate my reasons.

First, it was when I found out that only a few people are running for position. Then I, someone who wasn’t given such opportunity in Elementary and High School although I am a well-performing student, I decided to join– since there aren’t that much rivals for the position. In fact, submitting a certificate of candidacy meant a sure spot in the council.

Second, I was serious about my future. I wanted to have credentials on my name that would effectively overwrite my past mistakes. My four years in my former university which is deemed a waste and is an embarrassment because certainly, I failed to graduate in the country’s premier state university.

Third, for a short period of time, I felt like, what if I became the president of our school’s student council? There’s no harm in trying. It can be a good addition to my credentials. But you see, the disillusionment is harsh. It showed me a terrible reality. I am not good in leadership. I snap so much, I cuss and curse at people. I have a very bad and uncontrollable temper. I also do not manage well, consider I am the type of person who does everything if I can’t trust my subordinates.

Fourth, I simply wanted involvement. I wanted to feel needed. I wanted to exhaust myself the energy I wasn’t able to spend in “The Youth I Never Had”.

Lastly, by becoming actively involved and slightly of authority, I need not be awkward in front of people. Needless to say, I formulated my own exposure therapy to help alleviate, if not heal, my social anxiety in a new environment, considering I am merely a new transferee in the previous year. This is the core of everything. I believe this was my main ulterior motive.

Now, with all firm repugnance, I refuse to take part in the future set of student council officers of our school.

If given an opportunity, I want to go on with being part of the student council for the next three years that I’ll be staying in this institution.

Involvement as Rehabilitation
(a post in this blog)

Well. NO MORE.

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“Nakakatuwa kaya. Na nakikita ko ang sarili ko na inaayos ko na yung buhay ko. Na nakahanap ako ng magagawa sa buhay. Pumasok sa student council. Araw-araw merong gawain. Hindi ko to dinanas noon. Hindi dahil sa talagang hindi ko ginusto para wala akong ginagawa maliban sa pag-aaral noon. Nagkataon lang talaga na yung mga nakakatanda, ayaw ata akong pasalihin sa mga pwedeng lahukan.”

Kapaguran
(a post in this blog)
July 26, 2017

I thought it was wholesomely fun. I thought I was only seeking fulfillment. I was wrong. Everything was pointless effort.

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“I told myself, “look at me. I am the example of what happens to you when you go singlehandedly against oppressive authorities“.

I simply am not born to be blatant in my upstream opinions. I knew my opinions will frequently divert from what the society deemed mainstream. It will only hurt me until the end, but I will live the miserable life of being different with the way I think.”

Bland
(a post on this blog)
August 27, 2017

The entire post detailed vaguely my grievances where I said that I have had enough. Simple: I have so many grievances and it simply wasn’t worth the pain anymore.

“The entire experience did leave a bitter aftertaste, but I dare say that it’s practically tasteless. Maybe it’s like alkaline water. Tasteless, then bitter.

I told myself I will go on with the student council until I graduate. But it simply hurts. The way I felt with the treatment sure felt like, somehow, this isn’t right.”

Bland
(a post on this blog)
August 27, 2017

I give up being part of the student council in the future because I will be re-channeling my energy. I will be studying more and aim to immediately pass in the psychometrician licensure exam. I want to aim for excellence in academics.

There are better school activities to take part on than stress myself on this irritatingly troublesome student council thingy.


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I still have other grievances to tell you.

Like how our organization cannot work well with the absence of two major officers, who were removed for their excessive absences and dysfunction. There were those times I had to fill in those two positions, simultaneously.

There were times I felt overworked. I am very prone to fatigue, and I only worsened my state with such involvement. Wow.

It was overworked in a sense that, no one else could do the job well other than me. And I had to secure the efficiency of the performance of the jobs. So it did feel like, wow, I hog up all the work that is not supposed to be mine. But I have no choice, if we don’t do our job well, we will eventually fail to get signed by some offices in the school.

“The future student council can have my advanced condolences.”

―from Bland

I’ll only have to finish this shitty school year, balance it somehow with my barely hanging academics and make sure I never ever involve myself with such psychologically and physically taxing position.

A year after stopping psychoactive medication

November 2015. I begun taking antidepressant and anxiolytic. August 2016. I abruptly stopped my medications. Here’s the story, so far.

[TRIGGER WARNING: I discuss my history of severe depression that included detailed suicidal ideation. Do not read if you know you are triggered by such things.]

I think only a few people knew about me taking psychoactive medication in the past. Of course, along with the mental health stigma was the issue about ‘synthetic medication’– along with what others thought to be manageable.

Well who gave them the right anyway? Did they ever have endogenous depression? I bet they have not.

Almost two years ago, it was the time I was almost turning 20. Quite a milestone, eh? Coupled with that was the pressure regarding my tenure in my former university. Thus, this teenager, who actually was denying depression for so may years, finally succumbed to suicidal ideation. Eventually, this teenager submitted himself to a psychiatrist.

It was that difficult. For around 8 years, I kept claiming “I am immune to suicide”. Yet, when things went terribly wrong, I sought the comfort of the cutter and rubbing alcohol, that I dabbed on the fresh wound so the pain would intensify. There was even that point I almost traced the blood vessels so I could effectively bleed to death.

I had no one to save me. I cut off myself from my friends. That’s something I’ve actually tended to do for so many years and I failed to identify it as a symptom of clinical depression.

Well, as my sister, who came with me to go to the psychiatrist, is a Medicine student, she knew from the start that a psychiatrist visit meant an immediate drug prescription. Because he’s a medical doctor in the first place, and that is their line of job.

I knew the difference of psychologist and psychiatrist prior to that, but I didn’t really expect. But without any delay, I bought my medications in the nearby pharmacy right after the visit. I didn’t even expect my mother would support me with my decision.

Months prior to that, on July 2015, I did submit myself for an evaluation by a psychologist. I told that I think I have symptoms for anxiety disorder. It was very expensive, and it didn’t give me any relief. It failed to pinpoint my problem. Maybe that was my reason why I submitted myself to a psychiatrist.

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It’s August 2016 when I decided I’d stop medication.

I couldn’t help but feel guilty that I’m only imposing on my parents to buy me daily medication when my mother can’t even buy her hypertension medication. But at the same time, I did feel like the medication no longer worked like it used to (I think I should blame those days I double-, triple-, or whatever multiple-dosed out of depressivity). At the same time, it is by belief that such medications should be with a psychiatrist’s utmost attention, which could no longer happen after I came home to my hometown, no longer planning to continue my studies in my now former university.

The withdrawal was abrupt. Even my medical student sister advised my mother that my terrible mood swings and behavioral changes were due to the abrupt withdrawal.

But within the last year, I have started paying attention to the reality of my depression.

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I once thought that my depressive episodes came twice a year. I knew I was the most depressed on my birth month, October. The other month was April, something that got associated with traumatic events in my life (2013, 2014 and 2015, as my story has so far told). Until I realized that it came every two months (on an even numbered month). Until I realized that it was very irregular to be deemed seasonal.

I found out that I do not fall under Major Depressive Disorder. I found out I am under Persistent Depressive Disorder, when I had to read and digest the DSM-V for my research paper that I submitted last March.

I also did what I could on my own for my social anxiety, and generalized anxiety. I started participating and involving myself– to become who I am right now. I have minimized my social anxiety because of my participation in the school’s student council.

I survived with the less resort to the use of cutter. Though I noticed that I have resorted to liquor more, lately. I guess I still have to withdraw myself from substance misuse.

I still feel depressed. I still experience anhedonia and anorexia frequently. But I believe that I have done more personal intervention after I quit my medications.

I may be embarrassed by my zebra skin-looking wrist, but someday, these scars will serve a reminder of how normal and humanly it is to struggle to the point of wanting to die. To erase existence.

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One year after, I cannot quite give a comprehensive outlook as to what is to happen with my perspective in life. I still do feel depressed and suicidal, but it has been too little compared to how I’ve almost seriously killed myself before.

“Lilipas din ‘to.” (This, too, shall pass) I kept telling myself.

I want to believe that despite the current struggles I have, it will definitely come to a point that I will be the one offering help to other people.

I will be the one to save.

In that way, I could save the me who used to be helpless. #


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Featured image: Photo of my empty blisters dated January 1, 2016.

Bland

In certain times, determination doesn’t last. Motivation is lost. Everything is rendered tasteless, like an anorexic episode in the midst of depression.

Recall that I did write before about being motivated and excited about opportunities I could get by being part of our school’s student council.

Now, all the motivation I used to have is lost.

It’s like a picture in grayscale. It’s like eating a hamburger, yet it tastes like crumpled paper. If not tasteless, nauseating. It’s like how I made a metaphor of the times I have no appetite, yet I have not eaten for days already.

However, this one’s not coming from inner sources, but from outer sources.

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I don’t know if people have known how much I’ve put up with shit our superiors have been demanding and imposing on us. They made demands that seemed manageable. Yet, in the middle of struggling to comply, I found out that they already asked a different person to do it. Or, they already did the job and it was finished.

Of course, I am appalled.

For so many times I have struggled to comply, organize, be our organization’s secret backbone, so on and so forth, I get all these painful emotions.

Sadly, all those pride I had when I boasted about the “wholesome stress” shattered. There simply was no point boasting that when I lost all motivation to move on.

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I wrote a letter to our superiors, complaining every grievances I have. The next day, we had a meeting, trying to address my concerns in the three-paged letter, where we had a lot of fellow officers.

“Tried to address”, shall I say. Because he did fail, miserably.

I only felt like my question was answered like the way publicities are done to save reputations. Yes, the kind of turn-around, indirect, and not straight to the point. Until the meeting ended, my concerns simply weren’t answered well. I wasn’t content with the way it was addressed. In fact, it was shameful on their part. To me, it only looks like the reaction of butthurt authorities.

I told myself, “look at me. I am the example of what happens to you when you go singlehandedly against oppressive authorities“.

I simply am not born to be blatant in my upstream opinions. I knew my opinions will frequently divert from what the society deemed mainstream. It will only hurt me until the end, but I will live the miserable life of being different with the way I think.

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Honestly, that meeting shocked me. I had class later that day and I really noticed the lack of concentration. I cannot help but feel embarrassed. I was impulsive during that time, and I was partly depressed, that’s why I was able to submit that letter.

The next day, I felt like skipping class. But I’m glad I didn’t.

In one subject, while waiting for the teacher, without bringing up the case of what I did, a classmate unintentionally gave me assurance.

“You are the Supreme Student Government. Supreme. Student. Government. You are supposed to be the ones who organize. You are supposed to be the ones who represent the students [to the administration]. You are supposed to be the ones deciding. You are supposed to be the ones doing most of the decisions. [They] are not supposed to do much interference and intervention.”

That did save me that day.

I was asking myself, “did I do the right thing?” And such assurance indirectly say, “yes, you did”.

A lot more repercussions came, though. And I shall not name them anymore.

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The entire experience did leave a bitter aftertaste, but I dare say that it’s practically tasteless. Maybe it’s like alkaline water. Tasteless, then bitter.

I told myself I will go on with the student council until I graduate. But it simply hurts. The way I felt with the treatment sure felt like, somehow, this isn’t right.

It felt bland. It also felt like I am getting taste aversion. I had too much and I will no longer try ingesting such taste in the future.

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The future student council can have my advanced condolences.

Kapaguran.

Madali akong mapagod.

Hindi ko pa siguro ito nasasabi kahit kanino man, pero madali talaga ako mapagod. Napapasuspetso ako [matagal na] na meron akong Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS)… pero siyempre, wala akong diagnosis. Kaya hanggang dun na lang ako sa “ah, ganito talaga ito, madali lang ako mapagod– kahit maghapon akong walang ginawa”.

Pero kahit kailan, hindi ko ito gustong gamitin na dahilan para magtatamad-tamad. Kahit na panay hugot ako na “pagod na ako“, hindi ko gustong matigil, at least, at the cognitive level. Kahit na maghapon na akong nahiga sa kama at walang ginawa pero pagod parin.

At isa rin sa napapaghugutan ko ng lakas na bumangon ay ang marahas na katotohanan: Bawal ipagkatiwala ang mga gawain sa iba. Mataas standards ko, kaya talagang madali ring ma-disappoint. Mafu-frustrate lang ako, o di kaya’y mapapahamak lang ako. Kaya buti pa gawin ko na lang.

Napagdaanan ko rin na tatamad-tamad ako at isang grupo ang napahamak sa sarili kong kapabayaan. Hanggang ngayon, dala-dala ko ang trauma at guilt sa dinanas kong iyon.

Mahirap, ano? Pero ganyan talaga ang tao. “Hypocrite” daw ang mga tao, sabi ng isa kong guro noon. Totoo, ako ay isang malaking halimbawa ng pagiging self-contradictory. Marami akong ambisyon, pero sarili ko rin ang kalaban ko sa pagkamit nga mga iyon.

Nabuhay na ako na bata pa lang ako, napapagsabihan na ako ng, “ang tamad mo kasi”. Panay “kung nagsikap ka lang sana…” yung iba. Kung siguro ngayon marami yung magsabi niyan sakin, malamang masasaktan talaga ako. Andami kong naging mali sa buhay. Tapos, ito yung kinalugmukan ko.

Pero ngayon, hindi ko na ito matatawag na “kalugmukan”.

Kasi nakikita ko sa sarili ko na bumabangon ako. Lahat ng damage na natanggap ko habang lumalaki, unti-unti kong natatanggap. Nakakasanayan. O di kaya’y, naaayos.

Nakakatuwa kaya. Na nakikita ko ang sarili ko na inaayos ko na yung buhay ko. Na nakahanap ako ng magagawa sa buhay. Pumasok sa student council. Araw-araw merong gawain. Hindi ko to dinanas noon. Hindi dahil sa talagang hindi ko ginusto para wala akong ginagawa maliban sa pag-aaral noon. Nagkataon lang talaga na yung mga nakakatanda, ayaw ata akong pasalihin sa mga pwedeng lahukan.

Hindi ko alam bakit, kahit na sila pa mismo yung nakakakita na matalino ako. Malamang… nahahalata naman nila kung gaano ako ka-iresponsable. Siguro nga, ‘no? Pwede kong sabihin na yung puntong umabot ako sa pagkuwestiyon ko sa kung bakit pa ba ako nabubuhay, o ano pa ba ang silbi ko sa mundo… ay nagbunga lamang sa kawalan ko ng oportunidad na makilahok.

Ngayon nga’t nabigyan ako ng oportunidad. Na maiwasto ang nasira kong curriculum vitae.

Sana tuluy-tuloy na ang pag-aayos ko ng sarili ko.