300 Days

CHAPTER 1

"You have a major depressive disorder."

I stared at my doctor as he continued to speak up. That's the only statement I've heard, everything else vanished in the air before it could even reach my ears. Hindi na ko nagulat sa sinabi nya, after all, I only came here for medicine. Matagal ko nang alam that there's something wrong with me.

I suffered this unbelievably extreme weight of sadness for seven years, how the fuck would I not know?

"Here are your medications—"

"Thank you Doc." I said casually at kinuha 'yung reseta ng anti-depressants na nasa table nya.

"You seem so fine about it." Napatigil ako sa sinabi nya. "Aside from the medications you also have to go through series of counseling—"

"Okay na po Doc, thank you." I said and left the room.

Napasandal na lang ako sa pader ng elevator nang makapasok na ko dito para bumaba sa ground floor ng ospital. Pinikit ko ang mata ko pero nararamdaman ko ang pag init ng pisngi ko pati na ang hapdi sa lalamunan ko.

I already knew, but why the heck do I feel more hopeless than ever?

Naramdaman kong nagbukas 'yung elevator at may pumasok pero nanatiling nakapikit ang mga mata ko.

"Miss, okay ka lang?" I opened my eyes and looked at the guy who just spoke.

"Yeah, I'm okay." I said and forced a smile.

"You're crying." He smiled as he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his hospital gown and hand it to me. "You can lie about being okay with your lips, but don't forget that your eye speaks."

"Thank—"

"NYX! SAAN KA NA NAMAN BA NAGSUSUOT! KANINA KA PA NAMIN HINAHANAP NG PAPA MO!" I wasn't able to finish my sentence dahil biglang nagbukas ang elevator at may isang middle-aged woman na biglang sumigaw sa lalaking kasama ko sa elevator and she pulled him by the ear as she drag him out of the elevator.

"A-aray Ma! B-babye wag ka na umiyak ah?" He said to me while waving his hand as the elevator's door closes.

I stared at the handkerchief he handed me.

"Weird guy." I whispered as I wipe my tears with it. I'm gonna face my friends and family. I have to be okay.

"You're late. San ka galing?"

"Mom, sorry, I just finished some school work." I kissed my mom on her cheeks.

"That's nice, but don't overwork. Just tell yaya to prepare your food, okay?"

"No Mom, I'm fine. I'll just rest, medyo pagod po kasi ako." I said and smiled. Pagod mabuhay.

Umakyat na ko sa kwarto ko at ibinagsak ang katawan ko sa kama, I turned my speaker on and played some loud music. My room is sound proof so I'm sure it won't bother anyone, the purpose is just for me not to hear my own groan of pain as my tears started to fall down one after another.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Pagod na ko. Pagod na pagod na ko.

Pagod na kong mag-panggap na okay. Mababaliw na ko a lungkot. Ayoko na! 

My thoughts are eating me, hindi ko na alam ang gagawin ko. I have no one to run. Please, ayoko na. Make it stop.

How many more days do I have to wake up in the morning being so damn ungrateful that I'm still alive? How many more days do I have to suffer? How long would I have to deal with this? Pagod na pagod na ako. Ayoko na. I suddenly looked at the number written on my bed sheet.

300.

Three-hundred days.

I stopped crying, took one of my empty notebooks in my shelf and started writing.

I'm Joyce Anne A. Mendez, people call me Ja. I have a major depressive disorder and everyday I'm suffering from sadness no one ever knew. I whimper in pain by myself, I cry myself to sleep. I have a habit of putting on a mask, a mask of someone normal, when in fact, I'm not. I'm a liar and is a pretentious person. I lie when someone asks me if I'm okay when in fact I'm crippling in pain. I pretend to be someone happy and contented when in fact I just want to go and disappear. I pretend that everything is fine when someone hurt me when the truth is everything is not fine and unforgivable. I don't know the purpose why the hell I'm living. I'm tired of being a disappointment. I hate that I couldn't get to what I'm trying to reach. I hate that I am me. I hate my thoughts that keep on eating me; I hate my anxiety and the feeling that everyone never took a liking of me. I hate myself. I don't want to do this anymore so I have decided...

That in 300 days, I'm going to end this. I'm going to kill myself.

DISCLAIMER: The things that are written here aren't put on this page for you to do it on yourself. Your life is valuable. You are loved. You are important.

National Center for Mental Health Crisis Hotline can be reached through the following numbers:

0917-899-USAP (8727)
0917-989-8727

It's okay not to be okay. You are not alone.