That grounded feeling | Inquirer Opinion
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That grounded feeling

/ 04:15 AM November 02, 2024

The thing about seeking professional help is it can make you reliant on your meds. The thing about this statement is it scares people off.

“What if I get addicted to the meds?”

“Can I afford to see the treatment through?”

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These questions become the biggest barriers for a Filipino to get therapized. And the truth is that they don’t get answered even after two years in therapy.

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The first question came to me while walking down Makati Avenue after an office day in Ayala Triangle Gardens. Except, the question had a minor (yet significant) difference: What if I’ve become too addicted to my meds? I asked myself as I walked into the 6 p.m. rush hour, careful not to bump into city street runners, bikers, and fellow employees ending their work day.

With each step I took down the sidewalk, soft electric shocks pulsed through the nerves in my head, my arms, and down my back. Think touching a wire that’s “grounded,” as our elders put it, but in timed pulses. The shocks made me see double, made my vision throb, and got me disoriented—so much so that I almost bumped into a horde of sweaty runners with their smartwatches and designer rubber shoes.

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It’s been two days since I last took Sertraline. It happens every once in a while, especially when my paycheck won’t allow it. By how often this happens, the neural electric shock is familiar to me now. It even has an official term: antidepressant discontinuation syndrome or “brain zaps,” colloquially.

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Some researchers say it’s caused by the sudden drop in serotonin, while others attribute it to returning to the fight-and-flight default of one’s anxiety. Basically, it pulls you back to survival mode.

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If that’s the case, are the stability and confidence I feel when I’m consistent with my meds a step up from survival? Is it, possibly, what “living” feels like?

If so, is this what they mean by the cost of living?

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Spending P2,500 on each therapy session, P39 per tablet of SSRIs, an HMO that would only cover expenses that are practically life-or-death. All this while you work your third-world a** off for a White-person company.

Is this what life means? Is this what living looks like?

I admit I’ve been doing better since I went to therapy and started medicating. I’m less short-tempered yet more expressive, less self-sabotaging, and more mindful of my boundaries. I pursued graduate school out of my own volition and am doing my best to tick off goals for a very reachable promotion.

I’m living with the love of my life. In a home where no one shouts. Where there are no helicopter parents or neighbors you often see in church. I get to study when I want, watch pirated films when I want, and be in a place—for the first time ever—where I feel safe.

And yet…

All this comes with a price, I thought as I handed my beep card to the dispatcher of the P2P bound for home.

Should have I just booked a Grab home so I could rest? No, our rent is coming up.

A safe space comes with a price, I realize as I pay our bills while passing the time on the road.

Should I move back to the province to save on expenses? Is it a worthy trade-off for living alone? No, my life—and the opportunities for someone like me—are in the city now.

Learning comes with a price, I decide as I move money from my payroll account to the personal account I reserve for my graduate studies.

Should I just postpone my enrollment for another year? I could’ve used that money to support my siblings instead—wait, no. Your therapist said it’s not your job to parent your siblings—or anyone else, for that matter.

Healing comes with a price, I sigh as I hand my debit card to the cashier.

How much does a box of Sertraline cost? Damn, it’s over P1,600.

I wondered how long it would take before my therapist would put me off meds. It’s been two years since I started the journey of healing, of finally living my life.

Can I afford to see the treatment through?

No. I gave up too much to stop now. I’ve made so much progress. I’m finally, finally living well.

There is a great distance between my life now and the survival state I was in before. For that, I am grateful. It makes me feel like I’ve become a queer person who gained the privilege of choice.

And yet—through a series of brain zaps, through a pile of price tags—I wonder whether this really is a life.

Or have I just traded survival by endurance for survival by consumption?

—————-

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Shom Mabaquiao, 26, is a junior editor for a behavioral insights company. He’s taking his master’s in psychology, with a focus on social psychology, at the University of the Philippines.

TAGS: opinion

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