Cure vs. Heal

"People get cured from depression."

The person who told me that gave me a reassuring smile. And upon hearing those words I was, well, reassured. She was after all, someone who has the credentials to back up her statement. She was one of those people who have impressive titles attached to their names that it would be difficult not to believe anything they say.  Or maybe I believed her because I wanted to. I wanted to be better. I wanted to have something to hold on to. I needed to believe in something because I lost faith in everything. And sitting there listening to someone tell me that whatever is was that felt heavy in my heart will soon go away, I was given hope. 

Fast forward to two years after when I was already "cured" and was off medications, I got into a debate with a clinical psychologist friend who believed that depression cannot be cured, just managed. Heck, I was cured and "depression-free", what more proof did she need? But she argued that clinical depression, like diabetes, needs lifetime treatment. It doesn't necessarily mean though, that one has to take anti-depressants for as long as she lives. Depression may be tempered, but it's just there, silently waiting for the next crisis that will trigger the symptoms to come full force, like the rejection of a loved one, the work promotion that didn't come, or a family reunion that reminds you that your life is not going in the direction that you initially aimed for. That's why, she says, a person who has once been diagnosed with depression and has already been "cured" has to have some powerful radar that would detect when a situation would set off the depression, and then do something fast to prevent it from coming. She cites physical exercise, meditation, counseling, and proper nutrition as some of the ways to manage depression. 


I find out now that she's right. A person with depression cannot be cured. But she can heal. 


And what is healing? A wise spiritual friend defines it as "awareness", and she was not only referring to depression but also healing from all the wounds of our past. Healing requires us to be fully conscious of the reasons why we say and do certain things, why we behave in a particular manner, and doing the necessary inner work to be free from the wounds that prevent us from becoming the best versions of ourselves. 


Healing is awareness. 


Awareness that it is your own insecurities that make you talk about your co-worker behind her back. And so you stop, and instead focus your efforts to overcome your envy towards her by working on your own strengths as a person. 


Awareness that you feel resentful over the fact that you are not the favorite child of your parents and so you work yourself out over the masters degree, the high-paying job, the latest gadgets, and the travels to cover-up for your sense of low self-worth. Healing is when you believe in your own importance as person not through your social status and other people's approval. 


Awareness that you are eating that second slice of chocolate cake not because you're still hungry, but because you want to numb your pain. And so you walk far away from the dining table to find more constructive ways to deal with the betrayal of a loved one. 


Awareness that you hold on to a relationship no matter how bad it is just so you won't be alone. Healing is finding happiness even if you don't have anybody to kiss under the mistletoe.


Awareness that the reason you get so riled up about the incompetence of the people you work with has a lot to do about hating yourself for not measuring up. And healing is being kind to yourself and accepting your own weaknesses as well as being patient with the shortcomings of other people. 


Awareness that you run away to some foreign tourist destination every chance you get and knowing that it's your way of escaping from facing something that you couldn't. Healing is learning to stay still while your own boat rocks violently. 


Healing, says my friend, is a lifetime process. There are no guarantees that you will no longer feel like a failure. In fact there will be many moments when you will fall flat on your face and you will be tempted to give up. But that's what healing is all about: it's about trying, wanting, reaching, and falling. And knowing that you will be okay, anyway. 

The Current State of My Nation

A colleague of mine just got married yesterday. She's changing her family name to Ramirez. She's not the only one among the people I know who now has a different surname. I see it on Facebook everyday- friends, former officemates, high school classmates, and college buddies, writing hyphens after their surnames followed by their new husband's family name. Wedding pictures, details of christening ceremonies, videos of some baby's first steps are all over the news feed. 

A few days ago, a former student of mine happily shared the news that she's now working as a chef in New Zealand after finishing a one-year culinary course. It seems to me like it was just yesterday when she would frequent my office to help her make some decisions regarding her choice of undergraduate course. Another student just sent me a message that he passed the board exams for engineers. He now has the title "Engr." attached to his name. 

Hearing about the recent developments in other people's lives somehow makes me feel...stuck. Everyone is going somewhere, but me, I'm still where I was when I first started nursery school: at the backstage of a ballet recital in my ballerina costume, peering behind the stage curtains to watch my peers perform, lacking the bravery to go out there and face the crowd.

I just handed in my resignation letter a couple of days ago. Though I like the work that I did, I  felt like I was being too comfortable with where I was and was no longer growing as a person. 

So now I have no job, no hyphen to my surname, and certainly no kids (I never want to have any, which is different story altogether). I am not bothered about this. I'm just saying that my life, it seems, is at a standstill. I'm standing at a corner in my ballerina costume while everybody else is caught up in the excitement of performing in a dance. 

When an elderly co-worker, who is like a mother to all of the younger ones in my place of work, learned that I'm leaving, told me: "You're doing so many things, you have a lot of involvements, but you're going nowhere." It was only then that I realized that my life's compass has seriously gone awry. 

Is there something terribly wrong with me that I am not the least bit bothered about what my co-worker told me?  I guess I have subscribed to the idea that "Life is not about the destination, but the journey." I might be a little lost right now, but I've decided that it's okay. I'll make sure to enjoy the scenery and the people I meet along the way. What's important is the HOW of life, not the WHAT. Emma Morley, a character in a novel called "One Day" written by David Nicholls which I've recently finished reading, puts it this way: 

"What are you going to do with your life?" In one way or another it seemed that people had been asking her this forever; teachers, her parents, friends at three in the morning, but the question had never seemed this pressing and still she was no nearer an answer... "Live each day as if it's your last', that was the conventional advice, but really, who had the energy for that? What if it rained or you felt a bit glandy? It just wasn't practical. Better by far to be good and courageous and bold and to make difference. Not change the world exactly, but the bit around you. Go out there with your passion and you relectric typewriter and work hard at...something. Change lives through art maybe.Cherish your friends, stay true to your principles, live passionately and fully and well. Experience new things. Love and be loved, if you ever get the chance."

My "Imperfect" Sunday

I have unsightly scars on my legs.  My skin is really sensitive so I scar easily. When I was young, I love riding bikes and I fell off a lot of times when I was still learning how to do it. I would get wounded which would turn into scars. But I didn't care, I would bike anyway. When I was still a student, gym class was always always always an excruciating experience because we were required to wear shorts and my scars would be exposed for everyone to see. Now that I'm older, my wardrobe choices are very limited. I can only wear jeans to hide my scars. I cannot wear shorts, mini skirts, and even capri pants. 

I am also not tall. I stand a mere 5 feet. (If you've noticed that this is becoming a litany of my insecurities, please be patient. I have a point, I promise). When I was in high school, I would take vitamins which I heard from somebody would make me taller. (It didn't). I also never wore flat shoes. Only platforms and not lower than two-inch heels for me, thank you very much. 

I know those are trivial matters, but it made me miserable for the most part of my adolescence. But at this point in my life I have come to accept my height and the ugly scars in my legs. I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when it happened, but I have already made my peace with jeans and flat shoes. Yes, I am pandak, and that's okay. I have learned that my physical appearance does not dictate my worth as a person.  

This afternoon, I met some people who are trying to come to terms with more serious "imperfections" than height and highly pigmented skin. I attended a get-together of persons who  have mental health issues, meaning they or someone they know have been diagnosed with clinical depression or bipolar. It was held at Van Gogh is Bipolar restaurant and organized by the owner, Jetro Rafael and facilitated by Dra. Angie Sunga and Jetro's friend, Robert Alejandro.

Jetro himself has been diagnosed with bipolar and he is surviving and living well despite his condition. He aims that the get-together be an avenue for people who are living with mental illnesses to share their difficulties in a setting where they won't be judged. By hearing the stories of people who are similarly situated, Jetro hopes that those who attend will find comfort, no matter how little, in the fact that they are not the only ones who are going through the same difficulties.

Being diagnosed with depression, I understand how lonely it feels to be misunderstood by people who thinks that depression is not a serious mental illness. I've been called many names, among them "brat", "drama queen", and "self-absorbed." That's why it felt good to be in the company of people who did not think that I was any of those names. They understood perfectly how I would sometimes feel the urge to slap people with the Diagnostic Statistical Manual and tell them to educate themselves on depression before they say the words "cheer up", "get over it", "think happy thoughts", etc. 

But as much as I may sound as someone who is comfortable with my diagnosis with depression, I've come to realize from the get-together that I have not fully accepted my "imperfection". I push myself too hard to get better, I don't allow myself to cry when the pain gets too much, and I refuse to look at the illness fully in the face. I have even stopped taking medications. In other words, I would still wear high heels even if it hurts like hell. Sure, I would easily admit to myself and to others who would care enough to listen that I have clinical depression. But I lack kindness in the way I treat myself when I mess things up because I'm having an episode. I might need to clarify that what allows me to ignore my condition is because of its nature that it's only a mild one, but chronic, which is called dysthymia. It's a different case with people who have major depression that manifests symptoms they cannot just ignore. They find themselves not getting out of bed, quitting work, and others would even attempt to end their own lives. People with dysthymia, on the other hand, as what Elizabeth Wurtzel described, "are more likely to be the walking wounded. People like me who are quite functional, whose lives proceed almost as usual, except that they are depressed all the time, almost constantly embroiled in thoughts of suicide as they go through their paces. Dysthymia is not just a mild malaise but one that is quite severe and yet still somehow allows an appearance of normalcy because it becomes, over time, a part of life.” I try to pretend that I am normal and as a result of refusing to fully accept my illness, there is always this nagging feeling that I cannot shake off, some sort of an unfinished business, that just won't go away and hounds me all the time.  Perhaps in some twisted way I believed that I could get rid of it by ignoring it. 

But I know now that I couldn't. It is part of who I am, though not all of me. I have to be comfortable with it in the same way that I am now comfortable with with my height and the scars on my legs. And as Jetro would always say, "celebrate your imperfection". He is one person who is doing this- and well. 

I offer prayers and wishes to the people at the get-together that in time, we would all get healed and celebrate life, and believe with all our heart in what Lucy Gomez wrote today in her column in the Philippine Star that "Life is beautiful, always, even if it is sometimes sad."


Photos by Michael Galang of Icebox Imaging
Van Gogh is Bipolar Restaurant is located at 154 Maginhawa St., Teacher's Village, Quezon City

My Favorite Place

I’ve read in the online newsletter of Reader's Digest that one of the ways to combat stress is to find a sanctuary. It says, “We all need our spot, just one, no matter how small, that’s all ours. Once you find it, make it your instant retreat.”

This is mine:

This is the adoration chapel of Our Lady of Pentecost Church in Loyola Heights, Quezon City. This is where I go when laughter is hard to come by, the tear ducts are overflowing, and disappointments come aplenty from people I counted on. I sit in silence, and as I do, the universe is being re-arranged to make things a bit easier for my heart. External re-arrangements might not happen, but radical shifts are occurring internally. The things that weigh me down are now seen in a different light. Problems have lost their intimidating powers. They are dissolved into life’s gentle reminders for me to keep on growing and evolving into someone better.  And then there comes peace. Peace in knowing that “wherever I am in my life right now, things will get better. Because it really does.”


When I leave my sanctuary, the world is still the same. But I'm not. I'm stronger.

Playing with Fire

As far as I’m concerned, there are only two uses of fire: to light tea candles for my aromatherapy fixes and to cook oatmeal (which I do a lot of each time the weighing scale squeaks disapprovingly at the frequency of having ice cream cake for dessert).

Obviously, I haven’t heard of agnihotra, a kind of healing through fire. 

A friend sent me an SMS invitation to join an agnihotra healing at her healing space in Quezon City. Without really knowing what it is, I said yes. These days, the demons of depression are threatening to come in full force so I don’t really have the right to say no to anything that spells “healing”, even if it comes with a word that’s not easy for me to pronounce.

agnihotra (noun): the science of healing and purification through the medium of fire.

The fire is prepared in a pyramid-shaped copper vessel by mixing dried cow dung and ghee (carified butter). Some mantras are spoken and meditation is done until the fire is extinguished. This spiritual technique is performed twice a day at exactly sunrise and sunset. It is during these times when the whole environment gets charged with positive energy and it gathers around the copper pyramid. This positive energy neutralizes negative energies in the environment and brings about healing.

The session was like going through a detoxification process. I felt like all the toxins from my body, physical, mental, and emotional, was flushed out.There was something about the smoke from the burnt cow dung that facilitated a deep meditative process. My mental chatter went to a complete stop. The agnihotra practitioner said that if the practice is done regularly, the benefits would include:

·         

• An experience of peace as mental tensions disappear
• Agnihotra renews brain cells, revitalizes the skin and purifies the blood
• Plants, animals and humans receive nutrition from the vibrations of Agnihotra atmosphere, become happy and grow well
• Agnihotra smoke gathers particles of harmful radiation and on a very subtle level neutralizes their effect.

The agnihotra practitioner, who facilitated the healing session I went to, shared that fire healing has helped him overcome his addictions, restored his balance, and put a complete stop to his mental chatter.

I have every intention of getting into the practice.

Now I wonder if it can help me overcome my addiction to ice cream cakes…But then again, I don’t think I would really want to stop being addicted to the one thing that never disappoints and never fails to be there for me when everything else runs for the door and slams it on my face. (It’s just sad how I place my trust in the hands of refined sugar and butter). If only my weighing scale would stop being so disagreeable about it…