bleak and pretty

bipolarity, notes about daily life, and some personal essays.


I'm starting to feel the repercussions of quitting my medication all of a sudden. I am having difficulty sleeping now, although my appetite is all okay. There's just so many things that I want to look up and can't help myself. Maybe I shouldn't have bought data so I'd be forced to sleep or continue reading 1984. Then I should get some sleep.

Well, weed is my friend here – and right now as I write this I enjoy the mellow high that makes me feel like, well, a baby in a crib.

So what have I done after coming home today? Am I wasting time or is this the beginning of a hypomanic episode?

  1. Take dirty clothes to laundry shop.
  2. Take a bunch of selfies and manipulate through Snow.
  3. Comfort a deeply heartbroken friend.
  4. Half-read an article.
  5. Make a dream catcher; pin existing dream catchers on the curtain.
  6. Check Tinder for a bit.
  7. Watch YouTube videos about dreadlocks.
  8. Find a YouTube video about Sugar daddies/babies.
  9. Watch porn.
  10. Lookup my ex's sister on Facebook.
  11. Chat up with Kevin.

Yeah, that's pretty much it. Then now I smoked – to induce sleep – and found myself writing this note.

I haven't produced any formal essay recently, though I've been wanting to write about my surfboard shaper and surfing need-to-knows. I think I was supposed to also review pop up techniques on YouTube.

It's raining outside now. I guess this is a perfect time to doze off. I can hear a plane passing by. A honk of a jeepney. I think about if I'll ever meet another version of J again.


I have decided to stop my medication...without professional advice.

Divalproex sodium was prescribed to me as medication for bipolar, a condition that doesn't have a cure anyway. It was supposed to act as a mood stabilizer according to a psychiatrist. I'd been taking it for 6 months now, as prescribed, but I had come to a point where it felt like inorganic medication wasn't something I wanted to do anymore.

The daily alarm for 10:30 in the morning is an exhausting reminder: You need to take some inorganic substance because you don't count as normal and mentally stable.

I understand that discontinuing the medication can worsen my symptoms or cause a relapse. As of now, I feel completely fine and that everything's going great. This is probably because the medicine is “working”. Like, I owe Big Pharma the reason why I have my shit together.

The exact opposite may happen sometime in the future, all because I refuse to take medicine. It doesn't feel like a big decision right now, unlike when I came to the doctor for treatment because I have lost control of my emotions and feelings, as I have been banging my head on a wall and cutting my wrist.

When I recall that day, it's like remembering a person who is not me anymore.

I was first diagnosed three years ago. I medicated for a short while, like less than 2 months, then tried to manage it on my own. I'm doing the same thing right now. I just hope I don't end up in the same position as before. I hope I don't get suicidal thoughts in the future anymore.

I think I'm gonna do well taking care of myself: I just have to eat, sleep, and de-stress like a normal person, understand my triggers, stay in a “safe zone” in life, and continue exercising and all that good stuff.

And maybe not splurge all my savings again on an impulsive surf trip to Calicoan. And maybe not meet anyone from Tinder again. Maybe. I just have to live inside this bubble, continue writing, stay away from toxic people.

I just have to make sure that my feet are planted firmly on a tightrope, hanging 5000 feet.


Today a thought came to my mind: Normal just doesn't suit me.

I look back at my previous relationships and realize that I've always been trying and expecting them to fit a certain mold. What is considered appropriate. Romantic. “Healthy”. In the right direction.

And they all have “failed”. I think that what I'm looking for is something personalized and custom — with a formation and a set of rules that is tailored just for me and my significant other, whoever he/she is, if there ever will be any.

Breaking it down

Completely deconstructing here, I can even further break down the concept of a significant other. How significant, what kind of significance, what degree of relatedness (if any) would it imply? Sounds interesting. Like, it doesn't necessarily have to be that he/she's on paper as a spouse or something. Maybe we don't even need to have any sort of announced relatedness. And yet we can say that we're together and each other's significant other. We can even imply the same thing without using the words “significant other” and “relationship”.

Normal isn't for everyone. That kind of a normal relationship, which is supposed to progress and grow and develop into a rootcrop or something else might not just be for me. Functioning normally is something I'm just might not be wired to do. (Hint: I'm bipolar and not being a good patient, too.)

Everyone's supposed to develop a sort of attachment and to cultivate successful relationships, while I'm wired to drift and to pull away, to desire the uninterested, to seek the unavailable. While others crave consistency and regularity, it makes me feel dull and bored. Commitment is something that might be choking me and burning me out just by the thought of it. My paranoia is an imagined plane where one of my feet will always be on.

How does this make me feel? That I'm perhaps condemned to walk a path less recognized, even considered aberrational? What if loving relationships for me can only be in the form of a feigned intimacy with a fuck buddy? What if I'll really never have a husband/wife and kids? How does it feel to realize that my kind of life will never be portraited in popular culture as normal and proper?

Here's what I will say:

I am relieved. All along, I've thought that something was wrong with me or that I was cursed or something. Now I realize that I'm just walking a different path, a much different, considerably abnormal path, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's ok to be different; normal isn't for everyone. My “failures” aren't weaknesses or illnesses; they're just what happens in my life. As far as I know, I'm doing my best and I'm striving to make myself happy by living a meaningful life.

*And it just so happens that it's the norm to groom and comb your hair, get in healthy relationships, be a happy single person (who says I can't despair or be needy or get in trouble with cheating bastards), and be a nice person. And it also just so happens that what's normal doesn't apply to me.*

I don't intend to justify all the shit and trouble I've done and been through – we all do shit so I guess that's normal – I'm just sayin it's not a world of normal for everyone.

Carry on, twisted, evil, bad, weirdo creeps!

#pretty #stoned

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San Juan, LU

Northshore beach in San Juan, La Union.

It has been a year since I stood on a surfboard in San Juan, La Union. I remember asking myself, “Why the fuck am I doing this,” as I lie on my belly while my surf instructor pushed me against harsh, breaking waves.

I wasn't any good; I was never the sporty type. I didn't even know how to swim. Some people learn to surf and ride a board on their first try and clearly I wasn't one of them. I think I managed to ride once or twice during that one-hour session. I was a total sporting failure - up till now - but I found something beautiful on that Saturday that I was going to keep in my heart indefinitely: a love for the ocean, a love for falling and endlessly trying, a love for travelling, and a love for hot, semi-naked people.



as i write this, i am considering that i might be in love. there's a flutter in my chest and in between my legs. maybe it's only the high from what i smoked half an hour ago, or maybe it's his presence. his deep voice. his expressionless eyes that pierced me like i was a dove partially shot through by a blunt arrow.

if love is in hopeless fantasy, i surely am. here i go again, chasing pavements that lead nowhere.

When you can let go of anything and everything because you know that happiness resides within you – you are a free person.

Image by Pexels

Beautiful sunsets slipping away, right before our eyes. Purple colors of dusk disappearing into night time. Lovers walking away, friends saying goodbye. We’ve seen them too many times. Loneliness and sadness have more than once crept inside our hearts. It’s a little hard to breathe when you’ve got nothing – no money for decent food, no time for adventure, no warm body to touch – and you crave to live somebody else’s “better life”. How can you feel happy and free in situations where you’re apparently in a slump?



I had a dream about a very large wave creeping up behind me. Weird because I was inside a car – I didn't even know how to drive – and what were the odds that I'd find myself in a parking lot on an actual shore? And that the swells were what – 30 feet?

Today I received news that waves were back in Real. I was supposed to get surf lessons in a wavepool tomorrow, but my goddamned coach was going to Real. Because waves. Because salty surf.

Normally, I would go without a second thought – waves are life – but it just didn't feel right this time.

Tinge of doubt = No, no.


My heart isn't broken, but I must admit that it stings. The pain of a once-savored, now-lost passion is like the searing pain of scraped knees.

But was it truly lost? A friend of mine said before, “Waves don't disappear; you just find them somewhere else.”


It's Tuesday shift. Post-Monday blues. I've just had coffee and cigarettes and thought how nice it was to come down from a high and take these two other drugs.

It gives you the feeling of a beautiful sunshine in crowded midnight — smokers obliviously gathering on a small area and inhaling-exhaling all their lives away.

I'm the one you never noticed as I lean silently on the wall. I have been thinking of you. The image of you is a cigarette burn on my mind.


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