It's Okay to Not be Okay

I felt a huge resistance happening inside of me while I was contemplating about writing this. It’s that part of me that always refuses to show vulnerability. It’s that part of me that is always so proud about dealing with everything myself. It’s that part of me that got me into the mess I’m about to share with you. It’s that part of me that’s oh so stubborn and would rather fall into the abyss than admit to myself and the world that I am not okay.

But to feel not okay is a part of human nature. None of us came into this world with a manual book. None of us really know what we’re doing and even if we think we do, we never really know for sure. None of us ever lived a smooth sailing life without ever once fell off-board.

Now after that has been said, let me tell you what’s been going on with me these past few weeks. I need to remind you that everything I’m about to disclose is not a matter of walking in the park. It’s heavy and dark.

These past few weeks, my mental health was deteriorating. I felt like everything was going wrong, I felt alone, I felt like my life has no meaning. I could feel like I was falling into a depressive state. I didn’t feel like I was myself.

I didn’t have the motivation to do anything. I ate not because I felt hunger, but merely because I had to eat. I guess there was still a tiny part of me that wanted to survive and thrive.

I just wanted to sleep all the time. But whenever I did, I would beat myself up for not doing anything. I worried about my income and whether or not I could afford next month’s rent and everything else, but at the same time, I had no desire to do any work.

I was trapped in a loop. An evil toxic loop.

Everything affected me emotionally. Everything made me cry, most of the time, I didn’t even know why I was crying. I was easily triggered by the most minute random thing. It was so exhausting. I withdrew myself from everyone I know and the only person I allowed to be around, I would always try to pick a fight with just to make me feel better. But I didn’t feel better. If anything, it made me feel even worse.

Old wounds were coming up, past traumas were haunting me. The guilt, the feeling of unworthiness, and beating myself up were my day-to-day torture these past few weeks.

The thoughts in my head were saying vicious mean things and they were loud. Louder than ever before. I was defeated by them. I lost the control to make them go away and evaporate into thin air. Instead, I entertained them and the more I did, the stronger they got.

My ego was stubborn. It did not want me to speak or announce my situation to anyone. It told me to hide my emotions and hold them in. My ego was so stubborn that I couldn’t even admit to myself that I was not okay, even though the bright red siren lamp had gone off within me reminding me of danger.

Oh how your ego can be so cruel to you.

Funny how even as I’m writing this, my ego was screaming at me to stop. “YOU’RE MAKING A BIG DEAL OUT OF NOTHING. YOU ARE OKAY. YOU BETTER NOT PUBLISH THIS!”.

You see, the fear of being judged by others for not being okay stopped me from saying my truth. I was ashamed to admit that I was going crazy. The pride of being seen as someone who is strong and independent made my ego arrogant to the point where it thinks receiving help from others would only make me look weak.

I am my biggest critic. But half of the time the critics that I gave to myself did not do anything but made me crumble. Saying “I’m okay” when I’m not was the biggest, most tormenting lie I have ever told myself and it did not lead me to anything but doom.

It wasn’t until this week that I finally had the courage and strength to admit to myself I was not okay. It was with the last bit of my sanity that I finally did that. Immediately after that, I broke down and admitted to my Disappointment Panda that I was not okay and that I felt like I was at rock bottom. What came after that was a sense of relief. Still far from resolving whatever it was, that was going on with me, but I took the first step. And it felt good.

I am currently recovering from the mess I got myself into as a result of my arrogance. Giving myself a lot of forgiveness for letting my thoughts got the best of me and dealing with what happened the way I did, thanking myself for still having the desire to thrive despite the hardship, showing myself compassion for all my past mistakes and the guilt that I carried because of it, and accepting myself for who I am.

I’m detangling and resolving the core issue that started my mental deterioration these past few weeks. I started opening up to some of my close friends. Telling them that I need help and support. Word vomiting what I had been going through and how I felt about it. Admitting to them that I was not mentally okay.

The truth is, admitting to myself and others that I’m going through something does not make me weak. Showing vulnerability to others does not make me less independent. Asking for help does not make others judge me. They only make me human. Because that’s what I am. A human being who at times feels tired in surviving the tumultuous, never-ending, wave crashing sea of life and every now and then needs help from fellow survivors.

No one, I repeat, NO ONE - myself included - is always strong.

And that is okay.