Out of darkness, yet shall I follow a path of greater darkness. From the mountain crest, far-off moon, give me light.
izumi shikibu, 978?-)
My name is PJ. I’m in my mid-thirties and I’m from the Philippines. I was previously a PR agency writer and an English teacher. Now I spend my time doing what freelancing work comes my way.
I have a mental illness. I was diagnosed with clinical depression in the first quarter of 2015. I went to therapy. I was put on a course of medications. (I can still tell you what the generic names of those meds are.) At present, I’m off the meds, and I’m not seeing my therapist.
I was, or I guess I should say I still am, married. I loved my husband for the 13 years before we got married, and I loved my husband for the better part of about four more years after we got married, and then, well, there was a sudden breakup.
Or maybe it wasn’t that sudden. Maybe things had been heading towards the precipice, and over it, for a long time. He loved other women, and never stopped looking for other women to love, and for a while I let myself become a willing accomplice and enabler for his needs. For a while I gave up all of my own wants and needs for the sake of staying together with him.
All of this is in the past tense now, except for the fact that I am technically still married.
I saw my husband today. I had braced myself to feel like a wreck after seeing him. I had been getting ready to console myself. I had expected to have to stop and take a moment so that I could focus on the rest of the day.
Today, I looked briefly into his face, into his eyes, and realized that there was nothing left of “us”.
I’m a little surprised that all the feelings that I used to have are gone, and it’s only been six months since we broke up.
I’m surprised and relieved.
Which doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped feeling lonely and sorry for myself. But those things are not exclusive to a breakup. Those things are part of my depression, and always have been. They have been my constant companions through the years, so — well, literally speaking, what else is new?
I’m not new to the blogging thing. And I’m not new to the journaling thing either.
Here I’ll write about myself, and my mental illness, and the things that affect me and make me think. Maybe I’m doing this in the faint hope that someone out there might find some kind of help in what I have to say. Maybe I’m doing this to remind myself of what I need to do and what I have already been through.
(Which means I’m really going to need to put some kind of organization on this blog. Tags or something. But even when I’m writing for myself I only ever pay lip service to the idea of outlines and organizations and things like that….)
(Can I possibly trick myself into thinking that organizing my thoughts here might also help me to organize the rest of my life?)
If you read this and got all the way to the end, thank you. If you read this and decide to follow me and my blog, thank you. If you read this and decide I’m a little bit full of it, well, thanks for reading anyway.
Here I am. And here is my road to that elusive place called Recovery — which is just another step to the promised land called Happiness.