Dear world,
Hello, it's your little child Dee.
I want to let you know how I am doing. It has been a year since my last manic episode, circa June-August 2022. I left home on June and found sanity and safety in Shelter From the Storm on July 15, the Feast Day of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Truly, I was divinely guided and protected.
The madness of the outside world had gotten to me and it was either jumping off a roof or reaching out for help. I chose the later-- and that made all the difference, as Robert Frost says in his poem "The Road Not Taken". Who knew that a poem studied in high school would stick with me through all these years and actually have an effect on my decision-making skills.
My month in the center was well spent. Being the only girl there, I was blessed with my own bedroom. I designed it to my liking, filled it up with books from the SFTS library which I decorated on forgotten furniture. I added some of my affirmation cards and my Our Lady of Guadalupe bedside art that my grandfather Ramchand would take with him to every room he'd sleep in. It is one of my most sacred possessions, foldable and tiny enough to fit into my handbag.
I'd wake up with the sunrise at 5am to the sound of Christian music and the boys sweeping and making "bunot" the floors (polishing using the coconut shell 🌴). With no cellphone or alarm, I'd get up from bed to clean up the mess Garlic made, being a 3 month old puppy. I'd make my way outside to the utility room to get my broom and rags, say hi to my new friends then go back to my room to tidy up. I was only allowed 1 cup of coffee and had to settle for instant black coffee because that's all I could get for free from the kindness of our resident chef or get treated to brewed coffee if Ferdz and Gab were brewing their own.
After cleaning, I'd take a nice cold shower in my bathroom that was laced with chilly Antipolo morning breeze. The bell would ring for breakfast and we were served warm home cooked meals like rice with sinigang, my favorite! Lots of veggies!
After breakfast, I'd go to my room or find a sunbathing spot to write on my journal. Ethel gifted me with this fun notebook that I named "Dee's Big Bold Ideas". Here I wrote EVERYTHING-- my notes, letters, poems, verses, drawings, doodles and more. I had some colored pencils with me, collected some stamps and other art materials which had their own spaces in my room. My room was neat, cozy and nicely colored with my handcrocheted rainbow scarf from Pawee draped by my bathroom entrance and some plants that I moved indoors to keep me and Garlic company.
Next was daily devotional singing and journal sharing. On my first few days, I wasnt allowed to join the group and would sing from my room and cry alone, hugging Garlic. My life was falling apart. And staying still was the only thing I could do.. at least for now.
When things are taken or kept from you, the bare minimum remains and suddenly you become grateful for the simplest things. When I was allowed to join the boys on the 2nd floor for devotional and journal sharing, my heart jumped for joy and I raced up the wooden staircase and found a seat in the circle. I was in a safe space with new people who were there much longer than me, some even there for over a year. We started our journal reading with " Hi I'm Denise, a bipolar person in recovery and today is Day 1."
Day 1 lead to day 2 and day 3.. the days melted into each other but we had anchors to keep us grounded-- meal times with a bell to get our bellies excited, a bell to call out the next activity, a bell to wake up and say goodnight, sleep tight, dont let the bed bugs bite.
My meds were changed from quetiapine to amiabel which didnt have any snooze effect. I was able to teach myself to sleep-- guess how! By praying the rosary. I found a glow-in-the-dark rosary and kept it in my pocket. One night Garlic broke it while I was sleeping and I woke up to beads all over my bed. With whatever she didnt eat, I restrung the beads and was able to make a 1-decade rosary, which work for counting beads or sheep, whatever I needed to slide off to dreamland.
Raised in an Opus Dei home and school, I never thought Mama Mary and the rosary would become a part of my life as an adult woman in this world. But I am thrilled to have picked these up, because today, Mother Mary, the rosary and prayers to the saints and angels as well as JC are my anchors.
I read and re-read several books with all the time on my hands. The Little Prince was one of them. The life of 2 saints too, Marie Eugenie's was one of them too being an Assumptionista myself. It was also during these days that I enveloped myself with a cute little project, or two: 1) my worm tower to make compost from kitchen scraps and look after bugs, bees and worms and 2) my scrapbook for Padma, my grandmother-- who I meanly lashed out on minutes before checking myself into the center (yes, I was a bitch and I am sorry.)
After promising mama a book, finally I was holding it. A blank black-paper book became my playground. I began with some leaves that fell from the big trees in the center. -- "a message from the leaves-- we are all the same and different at the same time."
The pages began to get filled up little by little with every day that passed. From my apology x love letter "to my lotus blossom Padma", as papa would fondly call her, to family recipe fold outs and a complete family tree with full names and birth dates. My little book was a masterpiece. When I was done, I didnt even want to give it to her, so I loaned it to her until she passes it on to me to care for.
The book project, Garlic, daily routines-- all of these kept me sane and actually got me clearer and more level-headed. I knew I was grateful to be alive and sober. I knew I missed my children and pets. I was sure I wanted to be with my kids.. wasnt sure about my husband, but where else was I to go?
Looking back, I am grateful he took me in-- because I was jobless, pennyless (thanks to Garlic biting one of the residents so I spent my last $ on rabies shots for him + Garlic's vaccinations and food) and very vulnerable. I needed to heal. Close to my pets and boys. My garden and #sacredcemento sea+mountain breeze was exactly what my spirit needed.
Recovering from a manic episode isn't easy. Physically-- the body is exhausted. Drained from weeks, months of overdrive. Mentally-- the mind is also kappoot. Tired and practically braindead. Like a battery that's exploded from too much use, that was me. August 8, 2022. A few days before the Feast of the Assumption on 8-15-22, I went home.
Today, I am on Day 363 days clean and sober from all forms of substances. Nothing but 100mg of quetiapine, i like to call seroquHELL.
My soul tie Natalia told me to hang in there and kept telling me it would take around six months to start feeling better. Now when you are in a low, six months sounds like eternity. And it did take time. But man, was it worth it. To arrive ALIVE and SANE on the other side is a GIFT. I am so grateful for everyone who helped me get to where I am today-- all the cheering, crying, stomping my feet like the brat I can be, dragging me out of bed to get some sunshine or exercise, warm meals and cacao etc. etc. etc.
I remember being back in Baler for a few days and being on the beach with Camille. She invited me to sit in silence with her while the hubbies watched and swam with the kids. We walked off and found a nice spot to sit on in the sand. Knee to knee, we closed our eyes and began to breathe-- just breathe. The sound and breeze of the North Shore waves and us, nothing more. My mind was still not well, she was in knots, many crazy knots. But I was able to sit, thanks to Cams. We opened our eyes, she had tears in hers. We hugged and that was that.
Stillness.
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363 days living with my kids and pets
363 days living with the disease of addiction and codependency.
363 days living with a joyful heart.. things have never been clearer.
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I left my home in Baler on June 9, 2022. If you ask why, I will tell you.
But now, after being home since August 8, 2022, the same patterns and behaviors that triggered me to eject myself from MY home are still at play. Disrespect, cold silent war, disconnect, schism, madness and hate. With my clear beautiful mind and my years of experience (another one for the books), I am STILL living with madness.
You see, addiction shifts from one "substance" to another. As I removed drugs and alcohol, my mind is a little clearer to see how addiction is still alive in my home. The kids glued to their gadgets. The husband plopped on bed swimming in a world named netflix and instagram. Me, working tirelessly with my 2-3-4 "jobs" to try and make ends meet. As the adult and mom in this story + person in recovery, these patterns are so clear to me. It's like a veil has been lifted and "i can see clearly now".
The toughest addiction I've had to deal with was this-- the addiction to "Busy-ness"-- equating my self worth and value to the amount of work I did, which reflected in my bank account. This maladaptive pattern has almost killed me, several times. Topped with some drugs and alcohol + toxic relationships, unresolved childhood traumas, narcissistic relationships and codependency, my 42 years on this planet has been a nice fruit salad of madness, or halo halo like I love here in the Philippines.
To say that it's been easy is a lie.
To say that we are ok, is a joke.
To sit and pretend for more days, months and years is insanity.
This ship is sinking. Or rather, that ship has sunk. Deep deep down to the darkest crevices of the planet.
A new ship has emerged. And oh boy is it joyful to finally have arrived.
July 13, 2023
2:57pm
#sacredcemento Baler, Aurora, Philippines
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