Day 5.

Today was my weekly visit to my psychiatrist to refill my medications.

Nothing particularly special happened during today's session.

I just...

Cried.

A lot.

I'd already had a minor relapse since I woke up, so seeing my psychiatrist was exactly what I needed.

During the session, he told me there are three ways to deal with stressors.

Adapt

If you can't control the stressor or change the situation, you learn to adapt to it.

I guess that's what I'm trying to do right now.

Solve

If you can, solve the stressor.

Unfortunately, for some personal reasons, that's still not something I can do at the moment.

Flee

Walk away from the stressor.

Again...

Not an option for me right now.

The good news is that they didn't increase my dosage.

They said the medication is working well, which honestly made me really happy.

Even better, they prescribed enough medication for a whole month, so I don't have to keep going back and forth to the hospital as often.

Recovery is still a long journey.

One day, hopefully, we'll start tapering the medication.

If this is the path I have to walk, then I need to learn to accept it.

For now...

I'm just grateful that I have the help I need.

One little thing at a time.

One day.

One wake-up.

Day 4.

I didn't plan for this, but somehow these posts have turned into a chronological story of everything that's happened since April.

So...

What happened after the psychiatric ward?

I realized that...

I can't do this alone.

Even if I wanted to.

Even if I thought I used to.

All the chaos I created in my own head happened because I didn't tell anyone what I was going through.

I felt like I didn't want to pour more water into someone else's already nearly full glass.

And honestly?

I was ashamed.

Ashamed to admit that I wasn't okay.

So for years, I pretended everything was fine.

Until I collapsed.

While I was admitted to the psychiatric ward, my closest friends visited me almost every day.

That was the first time I told them what had actually happened.

They cried.

They hugged me.

And they all asked me the same question.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

At that time, I was heavily medicated.

I couldn't really feel anything.

Not happiness.

Not sadness.

I just remember answering,

"I didn't want to add more water to your glass. It was already almost full."

Looking back, I realize how unfair I was being.

Not to them.

To myself.

From that moment on, they became my people.

Every change in my condition.

Every bad day.

Every tiny victory.

I told them.

I honestly don't know what would've happened if they hadn't been there.

Even the person who once promised to take care of me wasn't there when I needed them most.

But these people were.

They showed up.

They sat beside me.

They made sure I woke up every morning.

As time went by, I slowly trusted more people to become part of my support system.

I stopped feeling ashamed of my diagnosis.

I realized that telling the people I trust isn't a burden.

It's part of healing.

Learning to trust again is part of healing.

The more people I opened up to, the more I realized how loved I actually was.

Not by one person who promised me the world...

But by so many people I am lucky enough to call my friends.

They never hesitate to ask how I'm doing.

They check on me.

They remind me that I'm not facing this alone.

So...

This post is for all of you.

If you ever stumble across this post, thank you.

Thank you for becoming my support system without ever being asked.

I love you all.

Day 3.

Yesterday, I wrote about what an episode or relapse feels like.

Now, thanks to the medication my psychiatrist prescribed, I can at least keep my brain from completely shutting down.

But what was I like before that?

I vividly remember the day everything collapsed.

I was with a friend whom I consider family. He picked me up after I sent him a goodbye text because I wanted to hurt myself. Instead of leaving me alone, he took me along while he did his daily errands.

He later told me that I was robotic the entire day.

I looked completely out of place. I barely spoke. I couldn't function properly.

I wasn't myself.

By the end of the day, he somehow managed to convince me to see a psychiatrist.

That was my first major relapse.

I cried.

And cried.

The psychiatrist asked me one question I'll never forget:

"If we let you go home today, what do you think will happen?"

I answered,

"I won't wake up tomorrow."

That was enough.

They decided I needed to be admitted to a psychiatric ward.

My friend took me to the emergency department of a government hospital that had a psychiatric unit, and I was admitted that same night.

I spent five nights there.

No phone.

No laptop.

Not even a watch.

I completely lost my sense of time.

The ward was secured behind locked doors. You couldn't leave without permission, and visitors couldn't simply walk in either. There were security guards outside.

It felt... kind of like an asylum.

Hence the title.

But honestly?

It wasn't anything like the movies.

I arrived in my room at around 4:00 AM.

They gave me my first dose of benzodiazepines.

That night, I slept like I had never slept before.

The next day wasn't as easy.

They hadn't found the right dosage yet, and I spent almost the entire day crying because I couldn't calm my mind.

Eventually, they adjusted my medication.

The last three days were... peaceful.

Quiet.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like nothing could hurt me inside those walls.

The people I met there changed my perspective.

I always thought a psychiatric ward would be frightening. Movies make them look like places full of screaming people and chaos.

It wasn't like that at all.

I met some of the most genuine people I've ever known.

They weren't "crazy."

They were people whose brains needed help, just like mine did.

One of my roommates was a 14-year-old girl living with schizophrenia.

She was one of the sweetest people I've ever met.

She told me she heard voices that urged her to hurt herself.

I still think about her sometimes, and I hope she's doing well.

When I was discharged, I continued my treatment.

Lately, my episodes have become more frequent, so I'm still taking medication and seeing my psychiatrist regularly.

But despite everything...

I'm still here.

And I'm still trying.

So yeah.

Spending five days in a psychiatric ward was never part of my life plan.

Day 2.

After yesterday's short introduction, you already know that I live with mental health issues.

Today is Sunday, 2 August 2026. My plan was simple: sleep in, watch movies, and play games. Just another quiet Sunday.

But nope.

My brain decided today was a great day to have an episode.

So here I am, awake since 6:00 AM, overthinking everything and unable to fall back asleep.

For people whose brains don't work like mine, it's probably difficult to imagine what this feels like.

I've been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and severe depression. There was a time when I came dangerously close to taking my own life.

People often ask me, "Why?"

My life looks... normal.

I laugh. I work. I go out. From the outside, there are no obvious signs that anything is wrong.

Inside my head, though?

It's chaos.

It feels like every part of me hurts. Waking up in the morning feels like carrying a weight I never asked for. Something as simple as getting out of bed becomes a fight.

People say the little things matter.

They're right.

Sometimes, getting out of bed is the little thing.

Sometimes, brushing my teeth is the little thing.

Sometimes, staying alive is the little thing.

What does an episode feel like?

My heart aches. My body refuses to cooperate, no matter how much I tell it to move. There's nausea, vomiting, crying for reasons I can't explain, and thoughts that convince me hurting myself would somehow bring relief.

It feels like there isn't any light.

These days, I've stopped making long-term plans.

Instead, I make small ones.

One day.

One appointment.

One meal.

One movie.

One more tomorrow.

People also ask what the trigger is.

Sometimes there is one.

Sometimes there isn't.

Sometimes I feel exhausted, angry, disappointed, and heartbroken all at once.

Sometimes I keep asking myself, "I don't deserve this."

And sometimes the loudest thought of all is simply that I'll never be enough.

So...

Welcome to the chaotic mind of someone living with mental illness.

Hi, it's me again.

It's been a while since the last time I joined #31HariMenulis. I checked my old posts and realized the last one was back in 2020. Six years already.

Back in college, this challenge was part of a project in my Communication program. We were encouraged to write something, anything, for 31 days straight. This time, though, I'm doing it on my own.

I know this isn't the official #31HariMenulis period, and out of respect for the people who started it, I hope they don't mind me borrowing the idea and doing it solo.

This time, I'm also ditching the prompts. No guidelines, no themes. I'll simply write about whatever floats down from the clouds or pops into my head that day.

For this first post, I just want to share why I'm doing this challenge. It's not like I don't already have a hundred things to do, so adding "write something every day" to the list probably sounds ridiculous.

Lately, I've been journaling because of my mental health. Hold that thought, though. We'll talk about it in the next post, I promise. But journaling only scratches the surface. There are things that don't quite fit between the pages of my journal, things that deserve a little more space. So I thought, maybe it's time to write again. And if I'm going to write, why not turn it into a habit? Hence, this journey.

There's another reason, too.

I just want a reason to wake up tomorrow.

Having something to finish, no matter how small, gives me a purpose on days when all I want to do is stay in bed. Completing these 31 posts feels like a promise I'm making to myself.

The thing I'm most afraid of is oversharing. But then again, who reads Tumblr anymore? 😂 I have, what, 12 followers? So maybe I'll be a little blunt, maybe a little careful. Either way, these next 31 days will probably be the most honest I've been in a long time.

The Little Prince!

Buku Pangeran Cilik adalah buku yang akan kubaca berulang-ulang! Salah satu buku tipis yang kutandai dengan warna-warni di kalimat-kalimat favorit.

Aku dan pangeran kecil bertemu di buku itu. Satu hari, aku dan pangeran kecil bertemu dan bicara soal sebuah benda. Aku bilang benda itu topi tapi pangeran kecil bilang itu ular yang sedang makan gajah. Aku sudah terlalu dewasa membayangkan ular boa yang sedang makan gajah.

Pangeran kecil meminta aku menggambar seekor domba, tapi ternyata bukan domba yang terlalu tua dan sakit-sakitan melainkan sebuah kotak kosong. Semuanya terserah bagaimana pangeran kecil melihatnya.

Kata pangeran kecil, orang dewasa lebih suka angka-angka. Mereka lebih suka menanyakan,

"Jadinya, tanggal berapa?"

"Usiamu sekarang berapa?"

"Berapa jumlah tuntutannya? 18 tahuuuuuuuun!"

Aku butuh pertanyaan-pertanyaan lalu jawaban-jawaban dari pangeran kecil. Seperti

"Apakah nanti disana banyak kupu-kupu?"

"Apa makanan kesukaanmu?

atau

"Apakah nanti ia tetap bisa menikmati hangat matahari?"

Wah, lonjakan asam lambung membuatku menulis hari keempat di hari keenam!

Di hari dimana aku hanya menghabiskan waktu di tempat tidur, aku merindukan seseorang. Beliau adalah nenek yang biasa kupanggil Meme.

Dulu hari-hari sepulang sekolah, beliau yang selalu ada di rumah. Dengan rutinitas ala anak sekolah beliaulah yang memastikan cucu-cucunya pulang dengan tepat waktu, makan dan tidur siang setelah berganti pakaian lalu bangun untuk mandi dan membuka buku pelajaran.

Bermain hanya boleh selelah mungkin pada hari Minggu. Tapi jangan sampai pulang tak tepat waktu atau bikin ulah yang terlalu, bisa-bisa terkena sapu. Itu dulu namun membentuk aku.

Mungkin kalau Meme masih ada, beliau sudah viral dengan headline "Nenek Aniaya Cucu" dengan latar belakang gambar nenek-nenek seram memegang sapu, matanya melotot dengan rambut putih acakadut dengan daster motif bendera partai hasil olahan AI.

Untungnya beliau sudah bahagia, melihat cucu-cucunya tinggal di negeri dengan berita dan kisah seram hampir setiap hari.

Disneyland!

Tak butuh waktu lama untuk menyebutkan tempat ini tapi (sepertinya) butuh waktu lama sampai suatu saat nanti bisa melihat Mickey Mouse sebesar orang dewasa🥹

Bertumbuh dengan menonton banyak seri Donald Duck, Mickey-Minnie Mouse, lalu memilih-milih peralatan sekolah dengan tokoh-tokoh Disney sudah cukup jadi alasan kuat mengapa Disneyland. Bahkan sampai saat ini dialog Woody kepada Buzz masih melekat di ingatan, "You are a TOY!".

Woody, aku ga sepenuhnya setuju kalau kalian sekadar mainan, kalian lebih dari itu!

Disneyland akan selalu ada 5 cm di depan mata -terlihat dekat tapi jauh untuk saat ini. Soal tempat-tempat yang mustahil terjangkau ini, aku yakin pasti ada caranya. Aaah ya...termasuk ajakan ke Pulau Sumba yang tiba-tiba! Mungkin ada hal tidak terduga nantinya yang akan membawa mbak-mbak Kabupaten Malang ini ke Disneyland.

Semoga, kesempatan itu datang bersama yang tersayang sehingga aku bisa nyanyi kencang-kencang mirip Elsa,