bleak and pretty



Looming depression is not just in the mind. You feel it. It comes with a heavy chest, poor posture (weak muscles), slow hands, and blunt concentration. It's hard to smile.

You find no joy in life. Everything, even getting up from bed, feels like a chore. But you try nevertheless. Try not to let others see through the ordeal. You try to act normal and hide it. Life suddenly feels scripted.

The thoughts that come with it are just half of the torture. Think about every single beautiful thing you've planned. Now imagine all of these falling apart. You're suddenly in the worst case scenario – except it's all in your head, but it just feels so real.

Then you start seeing awful things in people, probably push them away, too. Suddenly you don't even care about talking. You just kind of want to block everything. Your irritability peaks. All jokes are suddenly offensive. Everyone is saying the wrong things.

He hates this city. He doesn't really want to stay with me. I'll never have a family of my own, or I'll get pregnant and then he'll leave me alone. He won't marry me when I ask him. It will all be a ruined fairy tale. There isn't going to be a happy ending.

My greatest fear is that all the plans I've set on full gear won't happen at all, and that I'll be back to square one. I feel scared.

But I'm not panicking because I've started over many, many times before. I've been alone, cold, and empty many times before. I've bled. I've been in pain. And each time that happens, the bleakness passes, and brighter days come.

There's always a happy day lying ahead, though it might not be in the same place and same way, and it might be with different people.

Insecurities that don't just fade away

I feel so anxious about my relationship. I don't feel the security of a healthy partnership, and somehow, the looming depression makes it worse.

It feels like he can always leave me. On the other hand, if I attempt to do everything to make him stay, it would mean trading my personal freedom. He's controlling.

I'm trying to feel where the boundaries lie. How much I can tolerate. How much would seem acceptable for me.

Days under sunshine and beneath crashing waves seem so far away.

He's lucky because he can do whatever he wants.


I'm planning to live in a cocoon for a couple months or so. I'm planning to strip everything away from my life except for my job and daily survival. I will take a closer look at my relationship with myself.

It feels like my baby is never gonna happen.

I'm writing these words in search of clarity. I want to feel solace amidst the mental and physical exhaustion, the push and pull of life, the sheer frustration. I need a breather.



I have decided to stop my medication...without professional advice.

Divalproex sodium was prescribed to me as medication for bipolar, a condition that doesn't have a cure anyway. It was supposed to act as a mood stabilizer according to a psychiatrist. I'd been taking it for 6 months now, as prescribed, but I had come to a point where it felt like inorganic medication wasn't something I wanted to do anymore.

The daily alarm for 10:30 in the morning is an exhausting reminder: You need to take some inorganic substance because you don't count as normal and mentally stable.

I understand that discontinuing the medication can worsen my symptoms or cause a relapse. As of now, I feel completely fine and that everything's going great. This is probably because the medicine is “working”. Like, I owe Big Pharma the reason why I have my shit together.

The exact opposite may happen sometime in the future, all because I refuse to take medicine. It doesn't feel like a big decision right now, unlike when I came to the doctor for treatment because I have lost control of my emotions and feelings, as I have been banging my head on a wall and cutting my wrist.

When I recall that day, it's like remembering a person who is not me anymore.

I was first diagnosed three years ago. I medicated for a short while, like less than 2 months, then tried to manage it on my own. I'm doing the same thing right now. I just hope I don't end up in the same position as before. I hope I don't get suicidal thoughts in the future anymore.

I think I'm gonna do well taking care of myself: I just have to eat, sleep, and de-stress like a normal person, understand my triggers, stay in a “safe zone” in life, and continue exercising and all that good stuff.

And maybe not splurge all my savings again on an impulsive surf trip to Calicoan. And maybe not meet anyone from Tinder again. Maybe. I just have to live inside this bubble, continue writing, stay away from toxic people.

I just have to make sure that my feet are planted firmly on a tightrope, hanging 5000 feet.