Medications: an update

I went to see my psychiatrist last weekend. What I reported to him was not good. Basically, I was self-destructing again, falling into bad behavior and self-harm.

I told Doc Rye that I moved back in with my mom, which gave me mixed emotions since it made me feel like a failure at adulting. However, I understand that for my own safety and sanity, it’s better that someone’s keeping an eye on me.

Basically, the session consisted of me whining and asking “why the fuck do I even bother living?”. Suicidal thoughts were rated 8/10 and I’ve cried myself to sleep for the past few weeks.

So Doc Rye decided on 100mg of Sertraline, 2mg of Risperidone, and 2mg of Clonazepam. I’m really hoping this drug cocktail starts working fast, since I’m exhausted of feeling miserable all the dang time.

He also instructed me to hand over my meds to my mom to avoid any temptation of taking too many pills. He knows me so well, heh.

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Everything is Better When It’s New

that new car smell

a pack of cigarettes

an unopened book –

newness makes us believe,

hope for something

better

than what we have

now.

if that’s the case,

then why

do i crave

the familiarity of

your face

your gaze

and

your arms as they graze

against mine?

newness

is overrated.

i long

for you

in the long

haul.

What Cigarettes Contain

“4000+ chemicals, 43 of which are carcinogenic.” (From quitsmokingsupport.com)

I like you in the way I like my cigarettes – always onhand. A constant. I am always craving more. Always wanting just one more hit – one more kiss.

And yet you are infinitely better for me than these carcinogen sticks. And I don’t just mean good for my body. I mean good for my heart, good for my soul. Yet you both make me feel breathless.

Cigarettes are 67 pesos a pack.

The chemicals, the genes, the blood that runs through your veins, the neurotransmitters in your brain – they’re priceless, each and every part that makes you who you are.

A pack of cigarettes holds 20 sticks manufactured to be exactly the same as the next.

You are a singularity. A rarity. And if you have been “manufactured”, “designed” by a god I do not believe in, I would like to believe the spaces in my hand were meant to be filled by your fingers.

Cigarettes are meant to be consumed in quick, easy breaks of 5-10 minutes.

Consume. You contain multitudes, endless enough that each hour with you seems like just 5-10 minutes, infinite enough to feel like I could never catch up.

My fingers are used to holding a stick every so often.

But now all I could think about holding is you.

Depression is such a bitch to fight

It makes you feel alone, even when you know there's a ton of people supporting you and loving you.
It makes you distant and disconnected from what you enjoy – writing, going to the gym, eating – until nothing makes you happy anymore.
It makes you wonder why on earth you should bother getting out of bed and doing the same shit all over again.
Most of all, it makes you exhausted.
I'm physically and emotionally tired of fighting this battle. I already have too many problems without my depression having to rear its ugly head. Then again, depression strikes anytime and anywhere. It's indifferent to my needs and its own bad timing. I have yet to fully grasp that.
I'm fucking sick of having to go to war with my own head as soon as I wake up. That voice inside me repeatedly tells me: you're worthless at work AND at home, you're barely keeping it together, stop trying so hard to be someone worthwhile because it's never going to happen. I have to remind myself constantly that my mental illness is lying to me.
Still, I won't deny that there is great appeal in the thought that I'll go to sleep and never wake up. The thought of finally succumbing to depression makes me despair, but not as much as the thought of having to go through this every single day.
I'm trying to get better. I really am. But fuck if I'm not sick of this shit.

We will all turn to dust

I've been feeling like shit these past several days. Not wanting to do anything but stare off into space, not wanting to go to the gym, not wanting to write… I force myself to do all these, but I don't feel like it. I think I'm in another depressive state.
I cannot help but think of how we're all going to die. And how I might be wasting my time here on earth. And how it's all meaningless anyway because eventually we will all turn to dust.
I was fine, okay? Matter of fact, I was fucking great for a while. I was productive at work, maintained a healthy relationship – hell, I even moved out and got a room in QC. I was doing amazing. Then this depression shit had to hit me again.
I feel so dumb for having thought that I'd beaten depression. It's an illness, a war I'd be waging throughout my life. I just can't seem to accept that it's always gonna be full of ups and downs – I'm always so pumped about the ups that when the downs get me, I'm stumped.
Anyway, at least I've been keeping moving. I take hot showers to make me feel better. I watch Netflix a lot (Brooklyn Nine-Nine has gotten me out of bad spots). I buy ebooks off Amazon to get me back into the habit of reading, which I sorely missed. I try to take care of myself the best I can.
I try to keep moving. But it's hard when you know you're going to do it all over again the next day.

I moved out, again!

I wasn’t truly serious about moving out. I was just browsing OLX looking for places to rent in Quezon City. I stumbled upon a posting of a room for rent which was pretty close to my office. It seemed affordable enough and had an air conditioner included in the room. Just because I didn’t have anything better to do, I went to see it that very day. 

And what do you know, I just about fell in love with the place. I liked the size of the room, perfect for up to 2 people. I liked the house itself. And they have an automatic washing machine! I never thought I’d be excited over using a freakin’ appliance, haha. And the landlord was really nice and answered all my questions. 

I was ecstatic. Mom, understandably, was not. She didn’t want me to move out in the first place.However, I was not to be deterred. I’m almost 25 and I want to be truly independent. I feel like this is the first step I’m taking to being an actual adult. So on June 15th, I packed my shit and moved.

So far, I’ve been doing great. I haven’t overslept once, I haven’t been late to work, I was able to feed myself (thanks, 8-MCDO), and generally I’ve been keeping it together. Hell, I even did some laundry by myself for the first time in years.

I’m still worried about finances – I paid a month’s advance and a deposit, so I’m short on money right now. But I believe that it’ll all work out soon. I’m gonna make it work *Tim Gunn voice*.

I do miss my home in San Mateo. I miss my pets, and I miss talking to my mom about little things like what happened in Ang Probinsiyano. And I really friggin’ miss wifi.

Still, this is all part of “adulting”, right? Homesickness, stress over bills – I have to know how to manage all that while working and keeping myself sane. It’s not easy, let me tell you – I have cried on more than one occasion because I was so tense. Hopefully, though, I’ll come out on the other side as a stronger, better person who’s all the wiser for having gone through these challenges. 

Recent struggles

I’ve been struggling. I have several debts which I’ve yet to pay off. Because I’m broke, Tony and I haven’t gone out on a proper date in quite a while, which really bums me out. I keep thinking, “What a shitty life.”

And that’s where I’m totally wrong. It’s not a shitty life. I’m just going through a rough patch, and that’s totally freakin’ normal. I keep thinking I have a bad life when really, I have it so good. I have a roof over my head, food in my tummy, and cigarettes in hand. I may not have enough money now, but I’ll be able to pay everything off in time. No point in worrying about it when I know I’ll make it through.

So I made a choice. I could keep on feeling bad about life in general, or I could embrace the present for all that it is and make sure I don’t repeat the same mistakes that led to this financial situation. 

I choose the latter. And that, I think, is a pretty damned adult thing to do.