As I had been feeling too overwhelmed by certain posts in my other Facebook account, I decided to shut if off temporarily as I needed to rest from the hurly-burly of information extant in that social media platform. This I had to undertake as a resolution to my current choleric state—I do not want any more doses of political posts, partisan politics, vituperations against particular beliefs, and certain nonsensical memes that do nothing but uphold the proliferation of ignorance rather than enlightenment. All those “noise” in my news feed while I try my very best to wheel myself out of depression and dysfunction nowadays, so I decided that deactivating would be a key to my sanity. Instead I hobbled through signing up for another Facebook account, added individuals who mean most to me, and began posting more personal thoughts and ruminations as always. While doing so, for some reason, I felt a sort of encompassing calm in that of I resolving to take a step backward and enjoy a more uncomplicated social media environment. In my new account, all I could see are snippets of life that my friends encounter in their everyday journeys such that I revel in the jubilation of making a move to diminish, even just for a while, a burgeoning arena of hodgepodge tales and impervious jokes and sometimes political finger-pointing that mortify my spirit. I have had enough of those. Enough.
Yes, I have depression, terrible bouts of depression.
It has been years ever since I was diagnosed (see my ABOUT page) yet my dark days seem to overwhelm me still most often than not. Some might say that my medications are now being overruled by the intensities of my condition, i.e., my system being “immune” to the concoctions already, thus the inability to stabilise my moods or that ever perennial self-destructive behaviour (with bouts of hypomania in between). That is why sometimes, holding on to every single pill I take can, at times, be very disillusioning: there is always a possibility that symptoms could either temporarily appease themselves or merely provide an influx of false positives in terms of my actuations and/or mind processes. Of course, I am not discounting the fact that medicines are effective as they can be. They are. But what if that, despite countless of pills I take, the symptoms are still there?
That would be a different question altogether (albeit related in a sense). Since I very much aspire for wellness, for a panacaea, for an all-encompassing sense of serenity and security—beyond what medications may offer, of course—I try to take a mental account of all things that I have been undergoing the past week. As people very well know, I am a teacher by profession; and the very notion of teaching can equally conjure up impressions about the difficulties the job entails. I would agree that teaching is difficult, that no soul dares tread such a path if he/or she is faint of heart. Yet I am here, with all my episodic depressive states that at times hamper my performance: what I ought to do in order to make the classroom “child-friendly” and “wholesome.” In fact, I’ve always ruminated on the question on whether someone with mental illness can, truly manage diversity as personified by each individual I encounter day in and day out, when I myself bear the brunt of such an arduous task. This being said, this week is no exception, given that I have to take care of things in preparation for the upcoming school year including certain school activities such as enrollment and entrance tests. Of course, I prepared. I could say I prepared myself well. I submitted a diagnostic test. I was coordinating with the assistant principal regarding student enrollment and skills assessment. She even praised me for “my efforts.” I was not necessarily on cloud nine but I was okay, and my brain felt okay because I was accomplishing something noteworthy. And I was medicated.