Category: Mental Health

In our Mental Health pieces, individuals may be receiving unexpected diagnoses, ruminating upon symptoms impacting daily life, and engaging (and reengaging) with coping mechanisms. Are you brave enough to delve into the facets of your own mental health journey?

My Healing Dance

Posted on by Jonathan

Life, like a tapestry, weaves together moments of joy, sorrow, and resilience. Yet, sometimes, we find ourselves ensnared in the knots of our past, unable to move forward. Seeking counseling became a way to unravel my knots and discover the beginnings of release.

I carry with me unhealing scars, wounds that refuse to mend. 

Instead of finding solace, I bottled up these scars, sealing them tightly. When I’m at my lowest, I uncap the bottle, and the pain rushes out as if the wounds were fresh. 

One morning, I woke up with a heavy heart burdened by old scars. Unable to bear it any longer, I decided to seek counseling. I found an online counselor, and during our virtual session, she emphasized the essential nature of healing. “Forgive yourself,” she urged after I confided in her. “You’re too hard on yourself.” I questioned her words, pondering why I am so harsh on myself and how I can find forgiveness. Perhaps laying out my scars and discussing them will be the first step towards healing. Was the first step.

Craving love

The abandonment by both my parents has left me deeply scarred, but it was my mother’s absence that cut the deepest. I yearned for her love more than anything else, and this longing fostered a sense of not being wanted with a painful feeling of being second best. 

I often told myself, “If your own mother doesn’t love you, who will?” Perhaps this is why I accepted unfair treatment, simply craving love. Now, at 22, I find myself unable to define what love truly is. I’ve never uttered the words “I love you,” nor have I heard them yet from anyone else. Tragically, my mother passed away without ever expressing those three simple words.

My inner child

“Do you have someone to talk to?” my counselor asked. 

I replied, “No, I don’t trust anyone.” 

Perhaps it’s because I don’t want to reveal my scars, as it’s become clear to me that my reluctance isn’t about a lack of willingness. Instead, it’s rooted in the fear of what might happen if I trust someone and share my vulnerabilities. What if they, too, abandon me like my mother did? I find myself caught between two versions of myself: the 22-year-old who seeks healing from the sense of abandonment, and the scared little girl who still resides within me. How can I convince that inner girl to forgive herself when she doesn’t even know how? To her, forgiveness feels like admitting fault, as if she did something wrong. But is it my fault that my mother abandoned me? The scar of abandonment will take time to heal. My 22-year-old self is ready to move forward, but the wounded girl within me is not quite there.

The now version of myself blames her for being so, and I carry the weight of self-blame. Should I have forgiven her? 

My inner child insists that my anger was reasonable because she never apologized. But my adult self reminds me of our given philosophy: forgiveness is for us, not them. Now I’m grappling with guilt. 

Perhaps my inner child is right — she was the elder one, and she should have asked for forgiveness. 

Abandonment scars are not the only ones I harbor. I am a home for many more. However, abandonment is my deepest scar. Counseling has pointed to a few issues that I need to deal with personally before moving forward on this healing journey. The little girl in me wants to be loved, and cared for. I tell myself: “Mama is gone now, little girl.” Yes, we grieved, and yes, we loved Mama even though we were angry at her. But now it’s time to love ourselves and stop expecting it from someone else. 

I promise

Tears burn my eyes, and my heart swells with the realization that I should begin to love myself. My counselor was right — I hate myself, and I didn’t realize it until she pointed it out. From today on, I promise to try and love myself more. Maybe loving myself is the second step towards a sense of healing. The pain is too much for me to handle now, but I promise to love myself and care for me. “Little girl, the time is now to take this first step”. 

Jumbled healing

(Image courtesy of Hilarycl via Morguefile)

I’m discovering that healing isn’t linear; it’s a lengthy journey. Sometimes, you don’t even know where to start if you never realized you needed healing. 

But I’m embarking on this path now. Healing is like a dance — the music changes, but the steps carry on. Two crucial steps I’ve learned are self-compassion and acceptance. By acknowledging the scar and embracing self-compassion, I’m willing to heal. I’m discovering again and again that healing isn’t linear, but a jumbled journey. 

I’m willing to heal.

Unwritten Dreams

Posted on by Jonathan

I forgot to have a big dream
Now that I think about it
I never even found my passion
The easy solution would be to claim that I’m a writer 
But that doesn’t feel true most days
The words I write are not my own
Rather the physical manifestation of my pain
Of something within me that is beyond my control
And removing them is a process that exhausts me

I never planned for my future
I simply took it day by day
Leaving me to feel lost and unprepared
Unwilling to accept that this is it
I am missing the feeling that used to drive me
That gave me hope for what was to come
Because I am in a future now
Once again filled with words that hurt me
And worried that this is all I will ever amount to

Stitches and Thorns

Posted on by Jonathan

I once wrote that I was held together by duct tape… staples… and thorns of roses
I also said that I was falling apart but no one noticed,
Now it seems I must correct myself.
Or rather acknowledge the changes that accompanied at the time.

It is obvious now that I am falling apart
Something that everyone has noticed
Or soon will.
There is no denying that I can barely hold myself together
The stitches that are meant to keep me in one piece are visible 
Which brings me to my next point.

The staples that once held me together 
were replaced with medical-grade stitches.
Something stronger was required to keep me together,
The duct tape was replaced with rope,
A material that can withstand daily wear and tear.
Surprisingly, the thorns remained.

But not to keep the smaller pieces of me attached
Instead, they serve as protection
To keep people from getting too close. 
The only thing that hasn’t changed is the fact 
that I am falling apart
The saddest part?
The only thing that I really wished would change
Remains the same–
The fact that I am falling apart.

Shiny Eyes

Posted on by Jonathan

The beauty, the beauty of heaven, 
Your red, blushy cheeks. 
The grace of every person’s heart,
Your comforting smile.

I  can declare the worth of a warrior 
I can declare the worth of a demon
I can declare the worth of the heavenly world.

The divine one answers 
The divine one encompasses all,
and every  light of the universe is nothing in front of your omni shiny eyes.

You and Me Against Sanity

Posted on by Jonathan

When none of the fireflies stayed alive for long enough in the jar, I stuffed it with Christmas lights and kept it on the table beside my bed. While I wrote those words inside my heart, like a love song, I realized I was still thinking of you.

Are you thinking of me as well?

They always say we think of the one who’s thinking about us. So, I wonder if we’re both counting sheep on our different beds together while I’m staring at my phone, thinking should I call you?

Do you remember the way I smiled at you? Did you read the message among all the jokes? I never knew how this would’ve felt, and believe me, I tried to fight it, but the joke always seemed to fall on me.

I’m terrified sometimes 

Even though I have your love, I’m always thinking about what I’ll do to jinx it.  What if your love and passion finally run out because you seem too good to be true? 

Am I the only one missing you too?

When I lie in bed, I feel your fingertips move gently across my cheeks. I feel your breath upon my lips. I’m sure… If I close my eyes a little bit tighter and hold onto my breath for a little longer, I might feel your lips, fast and fleeting, upon my skin, like a breeze.

Time stops for a moment, and suddenly it feels like I’m in nirvana… but then, reality sets in. I open my eyes and I try desperately to hold onto that never-fading memory. 

I wondered. Could our souls, possibly, connect? Perhaps, through this soulful connection, I’ll understand what you think of me. It is this feeling that makes me feel like I’m going insane.

My silver bullet?

It’s more than just a passing infatuation. I can’t imagine my world without you… even if the only place I can be close to you is in my dreams!

You’re like a drug… a drug that keeps me alive, almost like a poison.

Should I feel hopeful? Should I keep telling myself that maybe I am yours, too? I can draw you out with my eyes closed, and pick you out in a crowded room with similar faces. There is just something about you that I keep asking myself… 

You intoxygenate me. Is this love or madness?

I know I’m not supposed to think about how I could feel your eyes meet mine for a split second. Probably because when I look deeply into your eyes, I feel your hands entwined tightly around mine like a glove. I shouldn’t look at that picture of us on the ceiling of my room. I want to hug my pillow, smelling like you, and that has your face on it. However, unlike any other fragrant perfume, yours stood out because it was natural. 

So yes, maybe I want to indulge in my fantasies this one time. I ignore the mess across the floor that I glimpse from the corner of my eye. In that very moment, I imagined you next to me, with cards still stuck in my feet, or the scattered pills and drink that left a trail to the bathroom. 

Meanwhile, a once perfectly arranged table is face down. The image of red liquid flowing from a glass of wine and pieces of paper, maybe love letters, across the floor,  could all fit like a puzzle…

Within this pattern lie the necessary words to fulfill our promises — for both me and you — against sanity. 

The Price of Addiction

Posted on by Jonathan

Alcohol abuse runs in my family. 

It seems like a curse passed down the generations.

That said, I also struggled with substance abuse in my early adult life. 

It has been a battle not to run to the bottle when I am feeling lonely or unsuccessful. I do not want my generational curse to overpower and ruin me. Hence, I fight for a better future every day.

A summer to remember

One summer, I was feeling extremely lonely and defeated. I was failing community college. I was having relationship drama. My mom was in Pennsylvania with my dad and my friends were nowhere in sight, so I turned to wine.

I was also on medication for my mental health. Mixing those with wine was a huge risk. There wasn’t a single day that summer when I was sober. As a result, I got a speeding ticket, three points on my license, and had to join a driving school.

For the first time, I felt completely alone, as if I did not have anyone to turn to. And I think that is why a lot of people drink. They drink not to feel or to numb their feelings of hurt and despair. Or, as in my grandma’s case, to forget, for a while, the mental trauma of the past. 

My familial alcoholic traits

My dad’s family is all alcoholics. They drink in secret and judge people for drinking at a bar. It’s kind of a double standard mindset- like the saying, “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” My dad is not as alcoholic as his mom and siblings, but he has some narcissistic traits.

My grandfather died of an overdose at the age of forty. He was a heavy drinker and physically abusive. My grandparents were divorced by then, so my grandma raised five kids by herself. My grandma and dad found my grandfather’s dead body in his apartment, surrounded by empty beer cans and pill bottles.

My aunt’s husband walked in the same footsteps as my grandfather. He was only in his thirties when he died of an overdose. He was found in his car at his workplace. Fortunately, he was not driving so the only life lost was his.

My way of ending the toxicity 

Some people drink to celebrate a good time but mostly, I think, people drink to numb the pain and avoid feeling certain emotions. 

I know because I did the same. I drank to numb my childhood pain, to numb my feelings of loneliness and despair, and to forget about life for just a little while.

I stopped after that summer. The reason was, firstly, my mother had returned, and I was no longer alone. Secondly, being fully aware of the effects of addiction, I never gave in completely to the high, having learned from my grandfather and uncle. 

I lived in the present moment, so I could change the outcome of my life. I wanted a better future for my kids, so I chose therapy instead of the bottle. 

This is how I broke the generational curses that haunted my family.

Whispers To My Starry-Eyed Crush

Posted on by Jonathan

There’s no time I can imagine myself not thinking, 
Of the “New Girl” euphoria theme song not ringing. 
Every time I close my eyes I’m daydreaming, 
‘Cause I would never be the person I was without 
Your human being. 

Pinky promise, don’t disappear? 
I know I might be your biggest fear, 
I know I don’t make things kind of clear, 
But I would hate to admit, I shall be a lover to volunteer. 

Funny how sometimes you just find things 
And I didn’t even need to find our invisible string, 
You steal my words from my mouth like I’d never exist, 
As soon as I fall into, my heart won’t resist. 

The fact that you were born in the same constancy, same instancy, 
Makes me want to have my fingers crossed- for me to be one who is hurt, 
And you know that my eyes aren’t able to not flirt. 

I sound a little bit exaggerated, 
It’s because you make me sound so overrated,

My laughs just float when I’m around you, 
Making me nervous to imagine- 
You were the person I was  
Looking through. 

It sounds clingy, 
However, can you be my sweet nothing?
My hands never lie, 
Like I would never be by your side, be aside.

Moving Away From the Cliff’s Edge: A Mum’s Story of Her Child’s Mental Health

Posted on by Jonathan

It is no understatement that the last few years have been difficult for various reasons. It’s almost too obvious to state that we, in the West, consume a lot of environmental, social, and political information that clogs up our web browsers and mental state.

Meanwhile, the external world provides further insights with its doom and gloom, and you wonder what this does to your internal world and, more importantly, the internal world of your dependents.

Impact on my son’s world

My son is almost twelve years old. He had rolled through lockdown like most kids his age; with an interest in what is happening in the world and not attending school online.

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months. We were let out briefly, then locked down again.

We didn’t force homework on the kids; we ate meals together and walked around the neighborhood, trying to follow the advice of mental health advocates by maintaining a calm atmosphere.

Eventually, we all returned to our pre-COVID routine: school, work, supermarket shopping, and socializing.

My son entered a new school, a major leap, as he was now a little fish in a big pond. Senior students were young men dressed in school uniforms towering over him. He was excited and wanted to go, especially since many of his friends from his primary school were joining him.

Things went okay; there was lots of new stuff to remember, which was overwhelming for any kid. 

But, as the year passed, he stopped communicating, wanted to stay home more, and got irritated when asked to do his homework. Children undergo emotional cycles that coexist with physical changes, which we understand. It’s natural! 

Let’s face it: We all have to deal with many life changes, so we are all in the same boat, right? 

Then, arrived that moment, when my son uttered that one sentence, which changed my perspective forever!

“Mum, please don’t freak out, but sometimes I think I am pointless and don’t want to be here.”

To this day, I still recall that visceral experience whenever I drive down the street where he said this to me. 

I was ready for a conversation about bullying, but not for one about suicide.

In line with my son’s request, I did my best not to freak out and decided that today was not a day for school, but for getting hot chocolate and heading to the park.

We talked and shared moments of silence before heading home.

Later, I had a breakdown in my bedroom, experiencing a complete red-eyed, sobbing meltdown.

You see, suddenly you understand that your child is grappling with their persistent  suicidal thoughts.

You can effectively address bullying or support someone coming out, as our society is much better at dealing with these issues, and schools are well-placed to help. But, conversations around suicide are different and tricky. They are complex to hear and even more challenging to own. 

(Photo courtesy of Anastasiia Chaikovska via Pexels) 

Finally, navigating the cliff’s edge

One way to describe this experience  as a parent is to imagine that you are in a field, whose one of the boundaries is a cliff.  You spend most of your time in the middle of the field, with your life seemingly moving along with little fear or disruption.  You can’t even see the cliff edge because there is a natural boundary of beautiful trees or native bush. This vegetation represents the details in your life that keep you intact: a comfortable living environment, the love of family and friends, food on the table, and the power on. 

When something happens, such as a life-threatening health diagnosis, the death of a friend, or, in my case, your child experiencing extreme mental strife, you are catapulted from the relative safety and comfort of the middle of the field to the cliff edge. It triggers a raft of strong feelings, a desire to run away, but a relentless obsession with looking into the abyss. 

You see your friends and family in the middle of the field carrying on with their lives, which now seems pointless or distracting. All you can do is live in a void between the edge of the cliff and the threat of falling to the bottom.

Consequently, your mind gets so tied up in problem-solving and self-doubt, and the need to wrap them up that it gets harder to sleep and talk to anyone about it. It feels like a personal failure. 

Why can’t I make my child feel happy and safe?

What did I do to him?

Can I pinpoint the moment all this started?

Of course, I could not answer these questions sufficiently. All I could do was stop looking over the cliff’s edge and secure my footing to secure my child’s.

Taking the necessary steps

After meeting his facilitators from school, who were helpful and constructive, we consulted a counselor to assist him with his overwhelming feelings.

It’s been a long, difficult road, full of sleepless nights and moments of terror. For any parent, checking your child’s room for anything that may harm him is distressing..

Acknowledging that you can’t fix everything is something we parents instinctively know, yet knowing and fully internalizing that knowledge are two very different paths.

Mental health issues are a part of the human experience, regardless of age. I am incredibly proud of my son for having the strength and bravery to tell me how he felt, especially while being so young.

He is bright and quirky, with a great sense of humor, a talented artist, and a loyal, compassionate friend. He is also a troubled soul with a profound understanding of his darker side. 

As his mother, I am in awe of him, but it feels bittersweet that he carries this self-knowledge.

(Photo courtesy of cotton bro studio via Pexels) 

I love him to the moon and back

A Connecticut Snowflake Comes Out to Play

Posted on by Jonathan

As far as I can remember, I have not liked cold weather. 

And I have my own reasons for it. 

My birthday falls in the summer, so you can say it’s in my DNA. 

I’m not a fan of sweaters or long-sleeved shirts. 

I have lived in Connecticut and dealt with brutal winters while growing up. I catch a cold easily and have worn jackets until early May. So naturally, winter isn’t an enjoyable time for me.  Most winter days, you could find me at home, lying on my couch under at least one blanket, snacking on something, and feeling sorry for myself. Though I do it well. 

I have never been officially diagnosed with seasonal depression or seasonal affective disorder. However, many of my bad mental health episodes have occurred during winters, especially in recent years. As I’ve gotten older, the allure of the holidays, playing in the snow, and days off from school faded away. The latter two definitely have.

Gloomy December 

In December, I usually freak out about the end of the year. 

I feel like I haven’t done enough throughout the year. I feel like I should’ve gone to more fun events. This usually leads me to wonder what could’ve been, and I hate going down that path. I’d rather be happy for what I did than feel bad for what I didn’t do. I get caught in cycles of regret and self-hatred whenever I start wondering about all these things.

Lazy January

In January, I feel okay at the start of the year. 

Like most people, I try to stick to my New Year’s Resolutions, but I usually only manage to honor them for about a week. I feel bad for not sticking to them, but I’m unable to overcome my laziness, and I’m not sure why. January also seems to be the longest month. I spend the second half basically hoping it’ll end.

(Image courtesy of Lenin Estrada via Pexels)

Emotional February

February is usually tough for me. I’m single, so Valentine’s Day isn’t fun. 

By this point, I’ve been in the house for three months. It’s the last month of winter, and I just long for warmer weather. I feel like spring is dangling over my head, making me jump for it.

The onset of Spring

The start of March makes me feel better. 

Even though it doesn’t get warm until the end of March or early April, I feel it’s sunny, or at least I convince myself there’s more sun out there. It also seems like more events are happening in my neighborhood during this time, or I’m in the mood to check in frequently.

I have had these feelings for three months, so this past year, I decided to find ways to enjoy myself.

(Image courtesy of Javon Swaby via Pexels)

Overcoming challenges

I made 2023 my “year of health.” 

This past January, I started taking apple cider vinegar gummies. 

I also made it a priority to go to the gym more often. I did new workouts like weight training, and even lifted 25 pounds. I also enhanced my skincare routine by trying new products to see what works best for my skin.

Prioritizing my physical health has helped my mental health. This past winter, I didn’t feel as sluggish as I have in the last few years. It also motivated me to not just lay around my house when not working. 

Want to take it outside?

I realized that one potential source of my winter depression is the lack of sun and going outside. 

This winter, I tried to be outside more, as long as it wasn’t too cold. I realized that I needed exercise, vitamin D, and a change of pace from my usual routine, if only to walk to the grocery store or bookstore up the street during the day. 

Even when it’s cloudy, getting out makes me feel better. It also allows me to add variety to my winter schedule, instead of doing the same thing each day. Maybe connect with nature or reality, but it works. 

I have been trying to go out a lot at night, too. I love going to local drag bars and Meetup events with friends, even if it’s just a casual game night. It’s another thing that helps me break up the monotonous winter darkness.

Even though I’m an introvert, I enjoy going out and spending time with others, selectively. I think it uplifts my mood. Since these activities are indoors, I only have to be outside in the cold for a brief period of time. 

I discovered that spending more time outdoors and strengthening social connections have significantly improved my winter outlook and boosted my overall well-being. 

In body and mind, less isolation. In the end, tougher hide and tender heart. Maybe I created my own behavior modification program without realizing it.

Who Am I?

Posted on by Jonathan

If someone asks “Who are you,” how would you answer? Could you even answer honestly? Would you even answer in the first place?

“Who are you?” A simple question I’ve been very familiar with growing up. 

Different, though?

I still remember an incident as a child when my family and I visited a distant relative. My mother prompted me to go and greet our hostess, and the first thing that came out of her mouth was, “Who are you?” To which my mother replied, “She’s my youngest daughter.” 

Our hostess looked taken aback. “Is she? Why does she look so different from your other kids, though?” My mother explained that I inherited my father’s genetics, which stopped further questions.

Another incident was when my mother’s brother and sister-in-law once visited us from the US. I greeted them as they entered the house. I was already in high school at that time. My aunt asked, “Who are you?” 

My mother would once again explain that I am her youngest daughter. My aunt quickly responded, “You gave birth to another child? I thought you only had four children! Why didn’t I hear anything about her till now?” she asked, surprised by the revelation. 

Another shock came when I was already in my thirties. A friend of mine arranged a job interview for me at her office. I asked her if the boss knew about the supposed interview, but she assured me that everything was good. However her boss was unaware of it, and to my utter embarrassment he asked me in front of everyone present, “Who are you?’  Justify yourself. 

It’s funny how I still remember these incidents after so many years. There were still a few more incidents when I was questioned “Who are you!” I slowly became accustomed to the demand.

As a child, hearing this question over and over felt odd in some way, but I thought nothing about it. In my young mind, I thought it was just a usual way of life. But, as I matured, it made me question my very existence more and more.

“Who am I?” 

I would have answered it directly and honestly if not for the rumors flying around that I could no longer ignore. 

Some circumstantial shreds of evidence also led me to another question, “Where did I come from?” I tried finding answers on my own with no success. As the holy scripture has its Genesis, so should I. 

“How did I come to be?” a question I needed an answer to

When I was about eight or nine years old, my eldest sister had a little disagreement with our father about me, then she referred to me as their “ward” in a burst of anger. This incident made me realize that something wasn’t quite right with my situation because, even in anger, she should have referred to me as her sister, right? 

Nosy neighbors, friends, and relatives often asked my parents where I was born; surprisingly, they always had different answers. My father would say that I was born in Manila, while my mother insisted that I was born in the province, leaving me with more questions and doubts. I mean, which parents would provide opposing answers to a question they should have known the answer to, right?

Am I really “the daughter” or a “long-lost daughter of someone else?” 

Why does my very existence drive people to ask “Who are you?”It’s  a question not even I can answer. 

Not even family members are willing to answer. To the grave and beyond, I will carry these doubts. How I wish…. that I could proudly say that I know myself like the back of my hand, but I simply cannot, and that’s just how it will perhaps be for a long time.

Who am I? I feel like a simple person, still trying to find her niche in this world, trying to thrive and find happiness along the way, but if someone asks who I am in a literal sense, my response would be, “I don’t know.”

So many questions left unanswered, one after another. 

(Image courtesy of Magda Ehlers via  Pexels)

Who? What? When? Where? How? All running through my mind nonstop. And every time I try to unravel the mystery, I am met by a wall so high blocking my view of the truth. 

I am already weary of looking for some clarity. Yes, the truth might hurt, but also set me free? Only time will tell if I will ever discover the truth. With the way things are at the moment, who knows if I’ll ever find the perfect answer to the nagging question:

“Who am I?”