To see many tomorrows
Trigger warning: Suicide.Today, I bought a hedgehog—a red-eyed albino African breeder. The moment my older sister and I got her, still enclosed in her little cage, what immediately popped into our heads was what to call her. What should we name her? Will “Izzy” be good? How about “Pinky”? or “Yuri”? Of course, we could just come up with any combination of vowels and consonants, as long as it’s enunciable. We could name her “Bidang,” for heaven’s sake. But it was an important decision. This hedgehog will be a member of our family from now on. In her four- to five-year lifespan, our home will be her home. And so, deciding her name is not to be taken for granted. “How about Happy?” said my sister. “Too common,” I responded. “Star?” “Too childish.” “Twinkle?” “Too cringy.” In the end, we could not settle on a name. So, we just decided that we’d settle it at home by drawing lots.
It was at home that the irony finally hit me. Here I am, trying to decide on a hedgehog’s name, when the same day last week, I was at a bridge trying to decide whether this life of mine is worth the struggle or not. How did I end up there? You may ask. Well, it all began with sad news. My Ninong Priest passed away from a stroke. And then my bipolar brain got triggered. And so, I ended up with a depressive mood, which kept me immobilized in bed for days. When I finally had the energy to get up, I wore my running shoes, took my pills, rode my bike, and headed straight to a bridge under the pretext of having some morning exercise. And it was there that I faced Shakespeare’s eternal question, “To be or not to be?” In the state that my mind was in, the answer was obvious.
I consumed over 30 pieces of escitalopram and over 1,000 milligrams of valproic acid in a deliberate attempt to overdose. In the end, I was too much of a coward to die alone, so I rode my bike home. Perhaps to share my last words? But at home, the vomiting began. And so, my parents started asking why I was vomiting too much. I couldn’t answer at first, but I finally gave in and told them the words that would scar them for life: I took a bunch of pills. After having said that, my younger brother began crying, my mom started panicking, and my dad began asking why I took so many pills. My aunt, too, kept asking why I did it, and my sister started rubbing my back. Soon, I found myself being rushed to the nearest hospital. But then this hospital lacked resources, so they referred me to a hospital located in the city. I was transported through an ambulance together with my mom and my brother, while my dad and my sister rode in our multicab. I was conscious throughout the process, which, in hindsight, was a good thing. When we arrived at the referred hospital, they immediately took me to the emergency room, where I was detoxified. And so, long story short, I survived.
Looking back, I still don’t understand why I did what I did. This is the scary thing about bipolar disorder: The fact that it could make you irrational. My personal problems and the external happenings in my life do not warrant the act of attempting suicide. But with bipolar disorder, everything gets distorted in my mind. This gets amplified until the truth is pushed aside and all you hear are the distortions. I am a seminarian. I was aware of the consequences. I was aware that I would be bringing great pain to those I’d leave behind. But my bipolar disorder made me think that the pain was not greater than the favor that I would be doing for them if I took my life. I was aware that I’d end up in hell and suffer for eternity. But my bipolar disorder made me believe that it was something I truly deserved. Yes, bipolar disorder is a phenomenal liar. And a persuasive one, too. And if you’re not careful, you’ll surely end up in a really dark place. If you’re not careful, you’ll really succumb to the void.
I am one of the lucky ones. I am blessed to have survived my suicide attempt, which is why I’m here telling this story instead of being confined in a box six feet underground. Yes. I’m truly blessed, which is why today I bought a hedgehog—a breeder—which means that it’s under gestation (pregnant). I bought it not just for the sake of buying it but because it symbolizes for me an anticipation for the future, which means that I’m looking forward to seeing many tomorrows again—just to see the sunrise; just to hear my favorite song; just to watch my favorite film; just to laugh with friends and taste ice cream; just to be with my loved ones. Or, just to witness a hedgehog give birth to cute little hoglets.
Yes. To exist; just to exist. And live.
By the way, the name has been drawn. It’s “Nami.”
Sunshine Boy, 21, is still trying to find the balance in bipolar but is nonetheless happy that Nami is in his life.
If you or someone you know is in need of assistance, please reach out to the National Center for Mental Health (NCMH). Their crisis hotlines are available at 1553 (Luzon-wide landline toll-free), 0917-899-USAP (8727), 0966-351-4518, and 0908-639-2672. For more information, visit their website: (https://doh.gov.ph/NCMH-Crisis-Hotline)
Alternatively, you can contact Hopeline PH at the following numbers: 0917-5584673, 0918-8734673, 88044673. Additional resources are available at ngf-mindstrong.org, or connect with them on Facebook at Hopeline PH.
