Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Better late than never

Hard to believe, but I was always anti-social. I am an introvert and I try to avoid social situations because I don’t quite know how to talk to people for the first time. Or, once that conversation has started, how to sustain it. 

This is why I do not have many close friends from my youth. The few that I have from high school and college remain special (even though we rarely see each other) because they’re like family. We grew up together and we learned to accept each other for who we were. And no matter how much we’ve changed since then, they’ve accepted that that’s part of your evolution. They still love you no matter what you’ve become. 

In fact, during a recent trip to Singapore with them, I realized that I was wrong for thinking that ours was a not-so-deep connection. It was there that I realized that they see the "me" hidden inside the “lost” girl I've always been. As I went through a very painful event in my life, they hugged me and cried with me. I realized, then (and even now as they express their support for me through my depression), that no matter how rarely we meet, their concern is genuine and unconditional.

In the honors section all, nerdiness brought us together. We may
have morphed into new beings but our shared history binds us.

In my midlife, though, with the added self-confidence and decreased self-consciousness, I have gradually made new, deep, meaningful friendships.  It didn’t take a lot of effort, really. I was ripe for new connections that would help carry me through to the next stage of my life. 

Surprisingly, I found out how the friendships I developed in my midyears could actually be the anchors that will keep me grounded and sane. Maybe it’s because I am already formed. I know who I am now. I am comfortable in my skin and am not ashamed to be me. I have come to a point where I pride myself in knowing that I am a good, loyal, honest, supportive, loving friend. And if these new characters in my life don’t appreciate who I am right now, I can move on without the pain of rejection. 

Luckily, I now have friends who accept me as I am. Flaws and all. History and all. Scars, deficiencies, quirks and all. I am not perfect. And they have willingly expressed that they themselves aren’t. We are all just people trying to make the most out of our lives. We want to be happy and have the unconditional support of sisters to help us get through whatever challenges we are going through.  Funny how I found that support from my Seoul Sisters.

Initially, I hung out with them for laughs and beauty advice.
Nowadays, I don't need a reason to. A month without seeing
them is just not complete.

They were my high school schoolmates but we were never close. I was always nerdy, in the honors section, and I was never their classmate. So I rarely spoke to them. After knowing them better in my 40s though, I’d like to say that we’ve more than made up for lost time. I often run to them for ears- about my passions, my weaknesses and my insanity. Who would have known that the women I once thought of as “landi  (flirtatious) would be my major support system? They might have influenced me somewhat on the “landi” front, but if only to assure me that I am beautiful and I should not be ashamed to flaunt it. 

Then, thanks to my indoor cycling classes, I have had the wonderful opportunity to meet women who inspire me in different ways. My dearest Ting is like my Ate- she is a role model, she inspires and guides me (she is also my favorite cycling teacher :) ) The rest of my spin sisters come from a wide range of ages, one as young as 38 and then there’s me at 46 (!). We are in this circle to share different perspectives, different experiences, different passions but one motivation- to be there for each other when needed. Who would have thought? Me? Friends with my exercise classmates? Unheard of in my 4 decades, but real now. And worth cherishing for as long as I live. 

Whether we hang out over Happy Hour or in cycling class,
seeing these girls always lifts me up! (missing Donna and
Eleanor here)

46 years old. And only now am I planning nights-out, sleepovers and out-of-town trips with my girls. I feel like a teenager again! Secure in ourselves, we are not afraid to show each other who we really are. We are secure in each other’s love. I am grateful.

For so many years, I kept my guard up with other people. I was cautious of making friends for fear of being judged. Not anymore. I love and feel their love because I, myself, no longer have those judgmental cobwebs in my head. I am ready to trust and am willing to be vulnerable and lean on them for support. No matter how late in my life. ESPECIALLY THIS LATE IN MY LIFE!


No more solitary emoting! In my 40s, I realized
that I didn't have to carry it all alone.
I have friends!!!

Like I always say, “labia” girls. I’m looking forward to growing old with you! 



Monday, October 9, 2017

Things Midlife taught me, part 1 (because I’m sure I’ll think of more along the way!)

1. Long-term planning is futile. Didn’t I wish that my marriage (marriages :) ) would last forever? I don’t even believe in forever. You live one day at a time and make the most of each day. You don’t wake up everyday and kill yourself working for a goal that will make you happy one day. You make yourself happy, today. 


Be happy. No matter how short-lived!


2. Parenting is not easy. I used to blame my parents for not being affectionate. I told myself that I was flawed because I lacked hugs. Here I am now, a parent of a 15-year old girl, and I’m thinking, “if I was anywhere near this, I understand why my parents didn’t want to hug me!”



She got the quirky gene so now I understand what my parents 
went through! It's just a lot tougher because I see so much of 
me in her.

3. (Related to #2 above) MY PARENTS LOVE/D ME! I grew up feeling like the ugly duckling. I was different. (I was pretty! Hahaha! Seriously…) I was the lost child. The one who gave them the most headaches. They may have rarely shown their love before in traditional ways (they still don’t), but I feel it now. They love me and care for me. I just have to be open to receiving that love.

I have learned to accept that Papa's
"lumulobo ka na naman, ha?" 
actually means, "stay healthy, 
my baby girl!" :D

4. Motherhood supersedes ALL THINGS. Even your own happiness. The minute my children started expressing their wants- it was Jollibee every time we ate out! Or if we tried planning for a family trip, the answer always used to be “Disneyland!” (Which I dread like crazy because I have vertigo!)

But, really, their welfare trumps all things. The minute I had them, “I” was shoved to the back shelf. A mother would never allow herself to be happy at the expense of her children’s happiness.

4. Being Ms. Congeniality is tiring. I used to be a people-pleaser. I had to be friendly to everyone. I would tiptoe on eggshells so that I wouldn’t offend anyone. 

Well, those days are gone! I know now what I want, what makes me happy, what is worth my time. I take great efforts to nurture friendships that are important to me. Every one else can call me a B (although I’m rarely rude and never unkind). 

Though late in life, I developed deep friendships with people 
who help me stay sane.

5. To hell with what everyone thinks of me! I never wore sleeveless shirts most of my life because I knew I had fat arms. Well, those days are over! Global warming demands sleeveless shirts and halter tops! 


Seriously, I have loose skin because I lost 70 pounds. I even have stretch marks because I used to be an elephant (though my youngest says I’m a zebra because I have stripes!). But, when you’re 46 and you may die soon, you realize that you want to feel sexy even if you’re not perfect. You want to show some skin finally because you’re not too young that it’s immoral. You’re not too old that it’s disgusting. And, specially because, your husband understands your need to show more skin in your midlife. If not now, then when, right?!

Elephant no more! Now it's "baby elephant"! Hahaha! (I spy
stretch marks, cellulite and loose skin.)


6. I am “Aphrodite!” That’s what my psychiatrist said. She said that, under Jungian theory, I am an Aphrodite. I am naturally friendly and charming. I tend to attract people’s attention and admiration and (hard to believe!) I exude sensuality. (HA!- maybe I should replace my shrink!) So, I say to my husband, it’s not my fault that men (of a certain discount age) look at me stickily. Blame it on Carl Jung!

The shrink said I was a "Diana," too, but only
mildly. I was always meant to be "Aphrodite"!

And, finally for now….

7. Life is short. Make the most of each day. Tell people you love that you love them as much as you can. Forgive. Be kind always. Tie loose ends. And- live! Learn new things, love with passion, do good, find your happiness. Try not to die with regrets. We only get one chance at this. :D

Amen.

Sunday, October 8, 2017

Hello, darkness, my old friend

My friends know- I’m an avid Facebook user. I’m on Facebook all the time with memories, my current events, even my diet and exercise. I have a happy, exciting Facebook life. What 95% of my Facebook friends don’t know, however, is how I’ve battled depression for most of my life. 

It started in my teens. I think I was 13, a junior in high school. Like many teenagers, I questioned my life. I self-pitied. I cried about how my family was imperfect and how nobody loved me. By the time I was a senior, I started missing school. I’d tell my parents I wasn’t feeling well when the reality was I just wanted to withdraw from the world. 

For those who have known me (but weren’t close to me) since high school, this would be hard to believe. Even then, I lived the “perfect” life. My family was financially comfortable. I was popular in school. I was in the honors class.  I was president of the Dance Troupe.  I had many suitors. I had a life many girls envied. 

I was 13 when my depression started. I was popular. I was an
honors student. I was talented :D, but I was unhappy.

I hid it well. (I still do.)

Eventually my close friends noticed. I almost did not get a silver medal for my high school graduation (boo-hoo, but it was a big deal for me and my family). I got into a much-coveted pre-medicine course in the University of the Philippines (UP) but decided to shift to another course after two years. Then- I decided to pack up and move to another UP campus after I fell in love with a boy who lived in Los Banos (LB), Laguna.

I continued my perfect life in LB. I was popular and admired. But it was there that I started to overdose on over-the-counter drugs just to numb my emotions. Whenever I would get into my crying spells (that last for up to 6 hours), I would feel so desperate to make the pain stop that I would drink 4 or more Bonamines (Meclizine HCl) at a time. It wasn’t because I wanted to die. It was because I just needed the pain to stop. I wanted to stop crying. My boyfriend even had to get me through a couple of vomiting sessions to expel the Bonamine out of me. 

Pregnant bride at 20. I actually believed that
I finally had my "happy ending."

In LB, I started skipping classes, went on prolonged Leaves of Absence, and got pregnant. I married him, that boy I moved to LB for. The marriage, the baby, meant I could start anew. I would finally be happy and live a normal life. But that was short-lived. At 25, I realized that there were no happily-ever-afters after marriage. I separated from my first husband and launched myself into a world of drinking and smoking to once again help me survive the pain. 

I called my eldest, Paolo, "my hero" because he
helped me forget about my depression. 

You get the point. I was always depressed. If I wasn’t crying, I was getting myself into situations that were harmful- smoking two packs a day, relationships with scary men, drunk-driving. I was always the belle of the ball, the clown, the life of the party. (That is, whenever I did go to a party, which was so rare because I didn’t like social situations.) I looked happy and full of life. If only to hide the yearning to die that was inside. 

When I was 30, I married my high school sweetheart. For me it was a fairy tale ending to my tumultuous life. And, just like with my first marriage, my second wedding was my fresh start. And to give myself, my husband and my family credit, I was happy for many years. I stopped drinking and smoking. I had my life figured out- I was mother and wife. I did it well and I was happy. 

I believed my second chance at marriage would
stop the depression. 

Fast-forward to 42 years old- I started feeling that I was failing as a mother and was not happy as a wife. So, I was depressed again. The most obvious manifestation was the alcoholism. What started out as social drinking of mojitos became nightly rituals of red wine sometimes up to a bottle per night. I knew I was in deep trouble when I started ordering alcoholic drinks every time I’d eat in a restaurant. Mojitos with my pizza, Cabernet Sauvignon with my steak, sake with my tonkatsu. There was a time I even had to have a mimosa with my breakfast tapsilog!


This was a 2pm mojito. Last year, there was no right time to
grab a drink. It was happy hour every time!

It got so bad a few years ago, that I felt that I was going to die of alcohol intoxication. Lying and crying on a couch in a Napa (for wine-tasting, of course) hotel with my husband sound asleep on the bed a few feet away, I felt myself spinning. I was spinning, gasping for breath and nauseous all at once. I was so scared that I would die that night. I didn’t, of course, but that episode scared me. It signaled that my depression was spinning out of control. I needed help.

I loved Napa for obvious reasons!

My near-death episode taught me that no matter how many hobbies and skills I indulged in, no matter how much I traveled around the world, no matter how pretty or thin I was, no matter how many prayers I prayed, nothing was fixing my depression. I used to think it was a stage- adolescence, postpartum, now midlife. But all those years, even when the disease was dormant, I could always feel it like a dark, heavy cloak on my shoulders, just waiting to engulf me again. 

It was merely a coincidence that I found my psychiatrist. She shared an office with my son’s doctor. Without knowing her or what her approach was, I booked an appointment immediately. In my 33 years of depression, this was the first time I was willing to address it medically. And I’m glad I did. 

It appears that my latest episodes were actually another depression stage for me (and many women). I am premenopausal and, with hormones fluctuating, I am now again vulnerable to emotional upheavals. 

The psychiatrist gave me a prescription for mood stabilizers, but I call them “anti-depressants.” And although at the start I was extremely skeptical (even judgmental) of the power of these medicines, their effectiveness in my life is proof that my depression was chemical. With one pill a day, I get through 24 hours without an emotional meltdown (usually :) ). 

I am now painting, sewing, spinning, learning
 Italian. I try to keep busy and appreciate the
stability my medicine brings.

When long ago I would cry buckets and hide under the sheets because, maybe, the driver couldn’t pick me up on time (it was that bad!), I have recently even surprised my husband who said, “the medicine is working, no? When Ton (our son with autism) was having a meltdown, you just sat there and said, “it’s okay. It happens.” Long ago you would have cried for hours, too.” Or, a week after we arrived from Paris (where I forgot to bring my medicine), back home in Manila my husband said, “are you drinking your meds again?” I nodded. “Good,” he continued, “you were super grumpy in Paris!”

My husband said I was grumpy in Paris. I beg to disagree.
I was silly-crazy half of the time!

I haven’t turned into stone. I’m still the crazy, silly, socially-happy ME. I still get sad but it’s a nice feeling to not cry every time I feel lonely. Sadness is no longer a vortex that draws me into depths of depression; of despair, isolation, pain and desperation. It has now become just this heavy pit In my heart that I carry. Then it passes. 

Typical ME- humiliating myself in public!
(Easier done in a foreign country, by the way.
This was in Portugal!)

I don’t know how long this current depressive stage will last. My psychiatrist says that I should use this stable time to learn new things, engage in various activities, find diversions, build tools to help strengthen my own ability to handle the depression. So that, one day, I won’t need the meds anymore. 

I don’t think there’s a cure for my depression, really. I’m just wired this way. It’s part of my quirky, silly, friendly makeup. But- with the help of my psychiatrist, “quirky” no longer means that I am crying every night wanting to die. Nowadays, Quirky wakes up every morning, with new hopes for a better day! 

One day at a time...