Diagnoses and disorders

There are moments in our lives when we think that we could have made better decisions — to get checked up, get clean, actually choose a degree program you like, and many more. As a nursing student, this comes often, usually in the form of “I should’ve studied more,” “I should have not slept,” “I should have listened in class,” and other excuses that college students make for themselves.

Being in the medical field, when you experience symptoms, you’re always bound to self-diagnose, may it be physical ailments or mental ones. You skim through all the books you’ve read, all the articles, research papers, and journals just to try to connect the dots. Once you arrive at a working diagnosis, if it’s an okay one, you hope you’re right, you hope that all the studying has paid off and it’s just another minor health occurrence. But, if it’s not an okay one, that’s when things get a little rough, and you hope to God that you’re wrong.

I recently started going to the therapist. I’ve had five sessions so far, and I’m now on three types of medication: quetiapine, risperidone, and depamax.

During the first session, I didn’t ask my doctor what my diagnosis was because I thought that was something they would immediately tell you. I brought it up on my second session — all the hours of studying, analyzing, and connecting the dots. The doctor was quite amused in a good and interesting way because I had gotten the diagnosis correct — major depressive disorder with psychosis and with a need for monitoring.

I asked myself: Why did I let it get so bad? How did I let it get so bad? How have I come to the point that I now worry about voices in my head? How have I reached this kind of low? I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was feeling this way, or manifesting these kinds of symptoms. My doctor said that everyone is riddled with imperfections and insecurities, it’s just that we tend to focus more on our imperfections and insecurities because that’s part of being human. I look at myself in the mirror and see a person who is comfortable in her own skin. I see someone who is strong but also weak because the longer I look, I see that there might actually be something wrong with me. I start to hear the noises in my head a little louder and for a moment, all the strength is gone, and there is nothing but the shell of a fragile child.

I think I owe it to myself to admit that I feel more hopeless than hopeful nowadays. To add to that, I recently realized that I can’t necessarily ground myself anymore. Before, I used to do the 5-4-3-2-1, it’s when you look for five things you can see, four you can feel, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste. I also make a list of the things I was grateful for in a day, it would usually take me a hundred before I calm down. Now, I just get more anxious, the flight of ideas sends me into a spiral, and the existential burden weighs heavier.

My doctor told me something that I’ve been pondering on for quite a while now: The illness can control us, it can weigh us down, but we should never let that happen. More often than not, we dread the decisions that we make, we believe that we are capable of choosing better ones, but always end up making the decisions that put us in awkward circumstances. But, truly, there is nothing to do than own up to the decision that we have made and to make amends with ourselves about the things that are happening around us.

Someone once told me that it was selfish to think that we need to forgive ourselves, somewhat self-centered even. However, I think otherwise. We owe it to ourselves to admit that the grace of forgiveness is not just something we give away to people, it is also something we afford to ourselves because we can never give what we do not have. Some may think that it’s petty to look at yourself in the mirror and say: I’m sorry — to genuinely apologize to yourself for the wreckage and havoc that is bound to happen again when things do not go well. I’m sorry for the repeating cycle of self-inflicted violence that seems to happen more often than it should. Nonetheless, there is bravery in accepting the flaws that we have, our imperfections. There is still kindness in the depths of this hollow frame we call a body. To see that, to acknowledge that remains to be the greatest hurdle we are yet to overcome, and one that I think, no matter how much we evolve and develop as intellectuals, will still be hard.

Today is not as different as any other day, but today, I choose forgiveness. This is my better decision.

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Julyan Ira B. Kabigting, 22, is a nursing student from Adamson University. She is from the city at the foot of Mount Apo but now lives in Pasay City. She dabbles in art, poetry, and self-reflection.