Moving out to live on your own is a rite of passage that many college students go through, but who knew that the independence I gained brought along its close relative: loneliness?
I thought being free of noise and distractions would allow me to study better. Instead, it just amplified another type of noise. The various thoughts running through my head kept echoing off the walls that closed me in. It didn’t help that my family decided to paint them gray because among the neutral shades that they were choosing from, apparently, white made dirt more visible, and black was too gloomy. They failed to consider the gloominess that gray also had the power to impose.
A few months into my first semester in college, the mornings that I should’ve spent in class, I dedicated to sleep. In the afternoons when I woke, even though the sun hadn’t set yet, dark thoughts already swarmed my head. The sound of the traffic couldn’t drown out the voices. Although I could cram a good deal of pedestrians bustling in the streets into my field of vision by looking down my window from the 27th floor, those passersby were solely that: passersby; they couldn’t keep me company. They were out of my reach. At night, I chose the artificial glow from a screen over the breathtaking view of stars, spending all-nighters completing Korean drama episodes instead of assignments.
The bed would also be left unmade because I barely left the bed. On days when I did get up, it was solely to engage in my binge-eating tendencies. The 24/7 7-Eleven just downstairs only fueled this unhealthy behavior. The convenience store lived up to what it’s called because it was so convenient for me to go to even at 3 a.m.
I felt extremely guilty lying behind my family’s backs, but I felt powerless to change things. A line from “Darius the Great is Not Okay” summed up my experience accurately: “The thing about having depression is, you can recognize the cycles your mind goes through, even when you can’t do anything about them.”
Recognizing that I couldn’t battle this alone, I confided in my parents and sought professional help from a psychiatrist. Since I was already getting treated, I thought that I would enter the second semester better, but history repeated itself, leading me to decide to take a leave of absence.
I thought once I was home in the company of my family, I wouldn’t relapse, but I was wrong. I still smuggled food at midnight, too heavy to be considered a snack, enough to be called a meal. I tiptoed from my room on the topmost floor down to the kitchen, heated whatever concoction I whipped up, hoping the microwave buttons wouldn’t wake up my parents, and then snuck back into bed. I was too afraid to alert my folks if I did the dishes, so I just rinsed them in my bathroom and left them hidden in the cabinet under my sink, knowing how unhygienic it probably was.
Overthinking is a sign of depression, and one of the things I mulled over too much was whether I was ungrateful for feeling this way. I questioned why I couldn’t be happy despite my blessings. This calls to mind a conversation from “Darius” that resonated with me. Someone asked the titular character what he’s depressed about, but Darius didn’t have an answer thus he “felt so inadequate.” This dialogue plays over and over in my head, but it is a conversation I have with myself instead. However, I realized that mental illness doesn’t discriminate, and each person’s struggle is unique.
With self-awareness came a desire to use my privilege to make a difference. I am fortunate to have access to a conducive living environment and mental health care. I want to reach out to those who are far from such resources, advocating for better mental health care accessibility for all. Some have drawn shorter straws, and I admit I have it better than some. Mental illness doesn’t discriminate, but mental health care does, even though this is the one that shouldn’t.
According to a study published in the journal Frontiers in Psychology in 2021, “there are only 7.76 hospital beds and 0.41 psychiatrists per 100,000 people” in the country. “This ratio was known to be lower than other Western Pacific countries with similar economic statuses, like Malaysia and Indonesia.” This is why we must continuously demand the government to make policies and take other measures to address this. Nonetheless, it’s not just an issue in the Philippines but a global concern that requires collective efforts.
So, while location and depression may intertwine, it doesn’t mean we are bound to suffer forever. I now see my once-lonely apartment as a potential place for new friendships. The commute to school that I once dreaded now fills me with enthusiasm for the opportunities that lie ahead.
It was a three-year-long arduous journey to healing, and it is still ongoing, but it gives me hope that one day our country will also see greener grass in our journey to make mental health care accessible to all. We’ll get to a better place. We’ll get to a better location.
Ora Francine D. Astilla, 22, is a creative writing student at the University of the Philippines Diliman. Other than literary works, she writes songs that she uploads on her YouTube channel (Cheenee Astilla). She is the founder of “Habong,” a registered youth organization that advocates for the mental health of the citizens of Calamba, Laguna.