May is Mental Health Awareness Month. And this year, it hits differently.

The past couple of months were the darkest I’ve ever experienced. I shut down completely. For weeks, I did nothing. I slept. I woke up just to log in for work—I work from home—but even that felt like climbing a mountain. Days would pass and I wouldn’t even remember to eat.

I am clinically diagnosed with Bipolar 2 disorder. For those unfamiliar, Bipolar 2 includes episodes of hypomania and depression. Most of the time, I live on the hypomanic end—full of energy, ideas, and momentum. But recently, I found myself sinking into a depression so heavy and grey that I could barely function.

I stopped keeping track of the days. I stopped caring about everything. Even the smallest tasks felt impossible—like taking a bath, brushing my teeth, or replying to messages. It felt like a constant pressure was weighing on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Like I was drowning in plain sight. Some days, I prayed to God to just take me. Other days, I quietly thanked God for getting me through one more day.

Then came the day that broke me—the worst anxiety attack I’ve ever had. My body went numb and stiff. I couldn’t breathe. It happened three times in one day. I was rushed to the hospital.

That moment was my wake-up call.

I decided to take a step. I saw a psychiatrist. I started taking medication.

I won’t go into the details of what triggered everything. Some stories are too personal, too raw. But here’s what I want to say: that single step toward help saved me.

If you’re in a place like that—where everything feels like too much—I hope you find the courage to reach out. Seeing a psychiatrist doesn't mean you're crazy. Taking medication doesn't mean you're weak. It means you’re choosing to fight for your life.

Because here’s what many people don’t understand about depression: it distorts your mind. It hijacks your thoughts. When you're deep in it, you lose all logic and reasoning. You forget the love that surrounds you. You forget the dreams you had. You forget your why. Even thoughts you’d normally reject with clarity suddenly feel like the only way out. And that’s terrifying. That’s how powerful depression is.

People say, “Think of your kids, your family, the people who love you,” and while those things are true and important, in the thick of it, your brain can’t reach for those thoughts. It’s like a fog has taken over. And the worst part? You know you’re not thinking clearly, but you can’t stop it. And you feel ashamed for even feeling that way.

But I’m here now. I made it through.

Today marks one month since I started medication. I’m laughing again. I’m eating. I’m listening to music. I’m watching my favorite dramas. And just recently—I started exercising. Moving my body every day. Feeling the air, the rhythm, the strength coming back.

Two months ago, I believed happiness was gone forever. That I’d never smile again. But today? I’m here. I’m healing. I’m rising.

And to someone— who once saw my softness as weakness, my silence as something to take advantage of:

Maybe you thought I was easy to break. Maybe you thought no one would notice if I faded into the dark.

When a friend cried while I shared my story, I felt it. I am cherished. When another never stopped checking in just to know if I was okay, I knew I mattered. I am valued. People will mourn when I’m gone, yes—but more importantly, they love me while I’m still here. And that makes all the difference. I AM LOVED.

I am surrounded by people who see me—who value me not just for what I can give, but for simply existing.

And that kind of love? That kind of loyalty? You don’t fake that. You don’t earn that unless you are worth something.

So here I am.

Lighter, yes. But stronger, too.

Still standing. Still healing. And more loved than ever.

I thank God every single day—for breath, for peace, for strength. For friends who love me without judgment. For the quiet mornings. For the second chances. Now I know: it makes me human.

I’m not ashamed of my story.

To anyone who’s struggling: You are not alone. You are not broken. Depression is real, and so is healing. So is hope. So is joy.

Please, hold on. Take the first step. You can find the light again.

To my people, THANK YOU! Ara Casas-Tumuran, Tricia Lim, Gree Anne Lim, Katrin Su, Aljane Libot-Ligutom

To my sisters Princess and Precious, to Papa, my kids Lucas and Olivia... I LOVE YOU!

And to my other half, Jan—I know I may have failed you a million times.

But thank you.

Thank you for all the chances, for choosing me every single day, and for staying through all of this.

Thank you for loving me through the worst parts. Love you.

#MentalHealthMatters #HealingJourney #BipolarDisorder #YouAreLoved #DavaoCreators

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