Trigger warning: Themes of depression and suicide. Please be advised.
March 25, 2019
Music: Nine Inch Nails’ “The Day the World Went Away”
I
I didn’t get enough sleep because I went home at 2am. Last night, I had the heaviest, most satisfying Mexican dinner ever, and then I walked around the city with Johnny Cash’s version of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” blaring from my earphones. Still, I tried to get out of bed, took a cold bath, and changed my clothes. I forced myself to grab a bite even though I was still full from last night.
After having breakfast, I went to my room, and I locked the door. I usually lock the door for privacy, but at that moment, I locked it to shut everyone out. I sat on my bed (the same bed I have been sleeping in for the past fifteen years), looked blankly at the floor, and then I saw my antidepressants. I usually take one after breakfast, as prescribed by Dr. Q.
That morning, I took more than four.
A few minutes after taking the pills, I said to myself:
The hardest part is over.
Believe me: I don’t want my blood dripping from me, I don’t want to physically hurt myself with something sharp, and my depression is not anyone’s fault. It’s just my mind has been so noisy and filled with heavy thoughts, and I just want to fade away from all of that mental anguish. I thought that taking more than four pills would bring me to the peace that I have been seeking for so long, and now, fading away was not a matter of if but when.
One more time, I reminisce about all the important moments in my life, from the birthday parties when I was a child to meeting a new seatmate in high school (who would turn into my first crush), to seeing my family being proud as I graduate from college, and all the Media Noche dinners to kick off the new year. I remember all the people who love and have loved me. I remember my family who have given me a comfortable life. I remember my friends with whom I shared hysterical laughs. I quietly said goodbye to everything and everyone I had ever met, and they would never know my last words.
As I feel like I’m fading away and my body is feeling a bit colder, I stop paying attention to everything. For the first time, I was not thinking at all. My mind was on autopilot, and that felt like the first phase of eternal peace.
The only things that I remembered after my quiet goodbye were the following: the loudest knocking and opening of a door I have ever heard, the tightest hug my Mother has ever given me, her warm tears on my left shoulder, my Father scrambling to get my belongings, and the car engine starting.
II
The moment my mind paid full attention to everything again was when I was in a hospital bed. Later, I learned that my parents couldn’t contact Dr. Q, so a relative (who also happened to be a doctor) told them to bring me to the hospital where she works, and they did.
While I lay in that moderately soft, white bed with softer, white pillows, my body was at its most relaxed, even though there was an IV in my left arm. The last time I was hospitalized was when I was below five years old, so the IV felt really sharply painful.
Meanwhile, my mind kept asking:
Why didn’t I die? Why didn’t I die? Why didn’t I die?
After feeling disappointed, when I remembered my Mother and Father bringing me to the hospital, there lies the answer to my question:
Because they saved me. My Mother and Father saved me.
I was prepared for my world to go away, but they saved it for me. I didn’t want them to, but they did it without hesitation, and their efforts to bring me back from the brink brought a glimpse of hope that I didn’t know I needed.
Later that night, I met Dr. M, the hospital’s best therapist (according to my aunt). The moment she spoke to me for the first time, I heard her soft, comforting voice and felt a gentle soothing in my soul. My new therapist and I started talking about what happened, the events before, and we took it from there, night by night, while I was in that hospital room. I also read many messages from co-workers to friends, and the messages’ themes range from understandably mad (“What the hell were you thinking?”) to simply compassionate (“I’m always here for you.”). All of their messages made me feel seen (even the mad ones), and they gave me light on a very dark day.
March 25, 2026
Music: Foo Fighters’ “Walk”
It’s been seven years since the day the world almost went away, and more things have happened since, for better and for worse. The worst day itself and the rough parts of the road to my recovery were the reasons it took me seven years to finish this piece, but the best parts gave me the right words for this entry and made it more complete and hopeful.
In 2022, March 25 became the saddest day for all Foo Fighters fans because Taylor Hawkins, the backbone of my favorite band and one of the greatest drummers of all time, suddenly passed away. When Vestra (one of my best friends) told me the news, I felt my chest tighten, and my heart fall. Now, I always look back at March 25 as the day I almost died and the day Mr. Hawkins died, and that breaks my heart. His passing also made my first Foo Fighters show (at the Singapore National Stadium in 2017) more precious, for that was the first and last time I saw his ferocity and brilliance on the drums and his infectious energy live.
After all this time, my family has been incredibly supportive, even though I still rarely ask for help. (Asking people for help is not my strong suit.) I think that whenever they see or feel even the slightest sadness from me, they do their best to cheer me up. Recently, I felt really down, and then my Mother bought my favorite burrito without me asking. Simple gestures like that make me feel seen and loved.
Aside from my family, I’m still in touch with Dr. M, but our sessions have become less frequent. (I believe that’s a good thing.) But still, her professional advice always does wonders for my mental health. We talked about my personal issues, and then she gave me several practical, science-backed tips for easing my anxiety and dealing with my depression. Therapy works, and I recommend it to anyone who’s been struggling silently.
The hobbies I’ve maintained for many years also give me great joy (e.g., listening to my favorite music, writing), and my day job gives me purpose and the means to earn money. It also helps that years after the day almost went away, I started The Diary in February 2023, and now I’ve been maintaining the blog for three years and counting. As a blogger since 2007 and someone who once liked restarting blogs after months of inconsistency, I’m very proud of The Diary.
Fortunately, in recent years, I have experienced many happy moments that have become my anchors in time. Last year, I went to the Singapore Grand Prix to see my favorite band, Foo Fighters, for the second time, and it was the best Foos show I’ve ever been to yet. I also experienced the happiest overseas trips yet in both Tokyo and Seoul, for many good reasons. Whenever I feel melancholic, I can look back at those anchors in time and glimpses of hope and say, “Life is worth living, and I’d like to make more of those joyful memories.”
When it comes to friendships, some of my friends walked away, and many stayed. The latter have proven that we’re truly together through thick and thin. Plus, even as I got older, I met several new friends, even though that seemed impossible. Notably, I met a new friend from Seoul, and honestly, getting to know her makes me feel on cloud nine.
I also learned to accept that not every day will be a happy one, and sometimes, it’s okay not to be okay. If today’s mission is to just get through the day or dwell in the darkness for a while, then so be it. For some days when sadness is an absolute certainty, perhaps making just one reason to smile can be another anchor in time. And there are times that the universe will do the anchoring for you.
Today, seven years after the day the world almost went away, that heavy feeling resurfaced when I woke up this morning. Then I remembered a happy thought: it’s the Season 2 premiere of Daredevil: Born Again, and the rage-filled Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is one of my favorite Marvel characters. The new Marvel Television show is another anchor in my timeline, and even though it’s dark, heavy, and brutal, watching it this morning made today less heavy. In fact, after watching the premiere, I spent more time working and doing the things I love and less time remembering what happened. To quote an old Notes to Self entry:
Sometimes, it’s better to remember less. Not forget; remember less.
Seven years after the day my world almost went away, and more than three years after I started The Diary, I finally got to share this story. After experiencing the darkest of the dark, I’m still here, breathing, writing, and fighting. Now, not only do I acknowledge both the light and the darkness, I walk between them. And as long as I have a strong support system and my anchors in time, I can continue walking through the good times and the bad.
To quote an older Notes to Self entry (from the Eleventh Doctor):
The way I see it, life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things or make them unimportant.
The Eleventh Doctor, Doctor Who: Vincent and The Doctor (S05E10)
To my loved ones who stayed, thank you for always being there for me. When I create happy moments with you, I feel like I’m on top of the world, and whenever dark clouds hover above my head, you make me feel less alone.
To those who left me, I’m truly sorry, and I respect your decision. Thank you for being a part of my life, even if it’s for a short time.
To my heroes and my anchors in time, thank you for giving me the strength to continue. Like my family and friends, you are my glimpses of hope.
And to myself, thank you for staying after the day the world almost went away. Please keep walking, like you always have, since that very day.
To Those Who Are Struggling
If you are reading this and struggling silently, please know that you are not alone. And to those who know someone who is struggling inside, please lend a helping hand. We can fight the silent battle together.
If you’re looking for a crisis hotline/helpline in your area, visit findahelpline.com.
In the Philippines, you may call the National Center for Mental Health (NCMH) Crisis Hotline: 1553, 1800-1888-1553, or 0917-057-1553.
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