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...