Suicidal Thoughts

I had to stop seeking psychiatric help because of financial constraints, and that hasn’t been easy. There are moments when I feel deeply sad, especially when things don’t go the way I hoped. But I’m slowly learning that not everything will go according to my plans, and that’s okay. Not everything is meant to move with me, and not every situation is within my control.

What I’m trying to hold onto now is growth. I may not have everything figured out, but I’m becoming more aware of myself, my triggers, my reactions, and my patterns. And with that awareness, I’m learning to pause, to choose better responses, and to be more patient with myself.

Becoming a better version of myself doesn’t mean I’ll suddenly stop feeling these emotions. It means I’m learning how to sit with them without letting them define me. It means choosing to heal, even in small, quiet ways; through reflection, through accountability, and through showing up for myself on the days it feels hardest.

shooting you with bullets of memories that Ricochet

armed with a battalion, Impossible to dodge.

An Enemy of the weak,

It’s like going through a breakup with someone you deeply love; except there’s no closure, no chance of ever getting them back. It’s the quiet, constant searching for their presence, catching yourself looking at strangers in a crowd, wondering if somehow, impossibly, it could be them. You glance at restaurant windows, reflections in glass, or passing faces on the street, hoping for a familiar silhouette.

It’s a kind of beautiful delusion, a make-believe reality you hold onto just to soften the ache. You convince yourself that maybe, someday, in some unexpected moment, your paths will cross again. And for a second, that thought makes it easier to breathe.

I am a registered pharmacist, and I’ve realized that I no longer have the heart to work in a hospital setting. Back in 2022, when I started my journey as a clinical pharmacist at St. Luke’s, I had the emotional capacity to be fully present during RRTs and Code Blue situations. I believed I had a strong heart—strong enough to swallow my emotions in one gulp, as if seeing patients’ relatives cry after losing their loved ones didn’t affect me.

I know this because that’s exactly how it felt when Papa left us. The earth kept revolving around the sun, people kept moving forward with their lives, and days continued to pass. But for me, time slowed down. Each second felt heavier than the last, filled with memories, grief, and a silence that never truly fades.

I used to earn just enough to provide, working tirelessly, taking overtime whenever I could, and that was okay. If working every day, even on my days off, meant I could somehow extend Papa’s life, I would have done it without hesitation. I was always on a tight budget, but I was happy because I could give, because I could provide. When we give too much importance to a person, we naturally begin to prioritize their happiness, even if it means depriving ourselves. We start living for them and forget to live for ourselves. I guess that’s what love is, being willing to give that much for someone.

But now that Papa’s gone, everything feels different. I still provide, I still work hard, but suddenly I have more time, more space, more breath for myself. I can buy the things I want, even the small ones I used to ignore, and try to live the life he always wanted for me. And sometimes I pause and think: maybe this is what he hoped for all along, that I would learn to choose myself too.

I know Papa never wanted me to be just the provider. He wanted me to live, not just survive. To rest, not just push through. To be happy. Deep inside, I know he’s proud of what I’ve become, of how I learned to carry him with me while still moving forward.

And maybe treating myself now isn’t selfish at all. Maybe it’s a way of honoring him, by living a life he would be grateful to see.

As I was listening to “Pag-ibig ay Kanibalismo II” by fitterkarma, this thought crossed my mind: maybe she isn’t wrong when she says that love is a form of cannibalism. Because even if we try to deny it, love eats us up. Love consumes your soul, your whole being; it devours you slowly until you start losing pieces of yourself. That’s not the kind of love we wanted, but somehow it’s the kind of love that haunts us, because it’s the kind we’ve learned to tolerate.

And it isn’t just romantic love. Even the love we have for our parents can feel like this. We disagree with them, we feel misunderstood, and they don’t always know how to love us the way we need to be loved. They provide because that’s what was taught to them, because that’s the version of love they grew up with. But emotional tenderness? Affection in the language we understand? Sometimes they simply weren’t taught that. Yet we still try to give love back to them, even when it hurts, even when it feels like we’re giving parts of ourselves they’ll never know how to hold properly.

That’s why the song hits differently. Pag-ibig ay Kanibalismo II isn’t just about romance; it’s about the quiet violence of love, the way it asks for sacrifice without always giving nourishment in return. The lyrics feel like confessions whispered in the dark, admitting that love can be both the thing that keeps us alive and the thing that slowly devours us. It captures the heaviness of loving people who don’t know how to love you back in the way you need, and the exhaustion of trying to hold on anyway. Listening to it feels like staring at a mirror you’re afraid to look into, because it reflects the parts of love we rarely speak about.

I cried as your memories returned, uninvited yet so painfully familiar. I cried my heart out as the water dripped down my body, mixing with the tears I could no longer hold back. Somehow, it hurt even more today, like grief had found a new place to settle in my chest.

The longing still lingers. It waits in the quiet corners of my day, attacking without warning, reminding me that love doesn’t disappear just because time moves forward. Some days, the ache softens; other days, like today, it comes back with a force that steals my breath.

Time has passed by so fast. Who would have ever thought that it’s already been forty days since you left us? Yet the pain remains the same; if not twice as much as we could ever imagine. Your memories continue to haunt us, appearing in the quietest moments, in familiar places, and in the smallest things that remind us of you.

It still feels unreal, like you’re just away for a while and will come home any day now. But reality strikes harder each time we remember that you’re truly gone. We try to find comfort in the thought that you’re at peace now, free from pain and suffering, yet our hearts still ache with longing.

Some nights, when I can’t sleep, I find myself wondering what you’re doing up there in heaven. Are you singing with the angels or laughing with the family who went before you? Do you smile often? Do you still laugh your heart out at the funny stories you used to tell, sharing them with everyone around you?

I wonder if you finally get the rest you truly deserve, or if you’re feasting on all your favorite foods without a care in the world. Do you ever look down on us, watching over the ones you left behind? I like to think you do, that you see us, that you still find ways to be near, even when we can’t see you.

He became so stressed that it drained his appetite, until his shirt hung from his shoulders like laundry on a line. I’m sure he cried every night. Deep, silent sobs that no one ever heard, because that’s how he was. He endured everything until he couldn’t shoulder it anymore.

But he wasn’t alone. I was there; we were all there, fighting for his life. And though the story ends here, I’m glad that his pain and suffering have finally come to an end.


But these thoughts have long legs,
and memories wear no chains.

I thought I had left them behind,
buried in the silence of forgotten days,
yet they found me again
in the dark, in the stillness,
where my heart is at its weakest.