Phantasm’s Wake

by Rodelin Ponce

Aren’t we all tired? For all I know, maybe everyone is screaming as they go through life, silently. There is an unbearable weight of what I feel in my bones that this world has failed to be a safe and nurturing space for humankind. People are hurting one another, and worse, people are hurting themselves, due to life’s barricades and major disruptions that engulf them in misery.

“Am I to blame?” - most nights in my room I whisper, asking my ghosts from years of experience and unconscious traumas. Because even if the universe tells me that bad things happen out of my control, with the knowledge that it most likely hit me for a reason, even then, my brain faults me. Well, maybe it’s just on my mind. It will be fleet. But oh! It never did, and it’s exactly the problem now. The agony did not ever leave. And I could feel its edges. I could still feel its burdencrawling, breaking, making its way to my breath. I see that in life, we’re battling a lot. We chase make-believe status, then we blow things out of proportion, get emotionally destroyed, and end up in shambles. It’s not just me, right? It sounds pretty normal to the human race. However, are sexual assault, anxiety, depression, existential crisis, self-harm, and suicide all acceptable? Guess people spilled facts when they told me I’m crazy for having these in the bag.

And with that judgment, my forest gets dark, the trees are sad, and all the butterflies have broken wings. I’m ragged, insurmountable pain and grief are consuming me, and I want to shoot my brains out. Why does living have to be this bad? How heartless of people to call me insane because I carry issues? Death is bliss, and I rush to bleed. Everyone has their limits, and they’re valid. That’s my last straw. I counted 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... someone unearthly pressed the time-out button. And I stood there, crumpled. A lady in her 20s, wrapped in her pink blazer and dark wide-leg trousers, beaming in mini hair clips, holding luggage and doughnut boxes in her right hand, and showing me certificates and awards in her left, is what’s in front of me. Softly she spoke, “You are the result of the love of thousands. You matter. The sun will rise amidst you being full of dead stars and broken debris. Don’t quit. You’re already in torment. You’re already hurt. Get a reward for it! Things have a miraculous way of working out. Trust that. “ And as my vision got blurry in tears, I could feel her slowly disappearing and leaving her bracelet off. Unbeknownst to me, I woke up from a dream after I passed out, lacerating my body.

There’s still time for us. I may not believe that time heals all wounds, but my optimism isn’t blind to this. No period of time, not even medication, could ever heal the indelible scars those horrible circumstances left me. I’ve come to learn that not every moon belongs in our sky. Moreover, we are capable of climbing mountains, and in the event that bombs fall again, we can stand up and build our turf every time to retread each of our own paths. But this success, after being demolished, is not linear.

It’s almost a year ago now, from that rock bottom. A month clean. It’s been a week since my last relapse. I cannot possibly understand what I’ve been doing these days; the places I’ve gone to, the social interactions I’ve pulled off. But I came across some photos this morning as I walked down memory lane in my mobile phone’s gallery. And I threw up seeing fragments of that dream in different portraits. Pink blazer, dark trousers, hair clips, luggage, doughnut boxes, certificates, and awards — I was there! That’s the 2022 version of myself. The lady in my dream was me. So I burst into tears, in the realization that my a-yearago self was proud of what she’d become, happy that “that” lady hindered her suicide attempt, and astounded how dreams do come true-a vision from a collapse literally dressed in real-life. Oh lord! It is so amazing, just like what I can recall the lady in my dream incanted.

While it’s true that I cannot make head or tail of how my mental health is doing now, at times I can still smell the stench of profound sorrow and that I should be dead by now with all those tombstones in my heart, the graveyard in my mind, and the emptiness in my eyes; it’s also true that those are roadmaps to my soul. Life is both a blessing and a curse. There’s a heartening panorama around us that we could cherish; colossal humans that will love our reflection for years and years; the scent of books; the precious laughs of our parents; the life of music; the comfort of our fur babies’ paws; the taste of cold when we’re thirsty; the joy when our crush crushes us back; the soothe of the beach when we’re stressed, etc., which remind us that there’s more and beauty to life other than the world being a place to starve, over-burrowing our skin in heart-stopping waves of ache, bequeathing us in pivotal marks and survival patterns. With the liberty we have, we may choose to continue, even for a single reason and the slightest of hope. To survive, day by day, and not mind anything else, because we have the right to pick ourselves first. To move forward, because that step will be the start of us achieving the life we desire and deserve.

Finally, I found the paper bracelet under my bed. It comes with a scribble inked in, “An arrow can only be shot by pulling it backward. When life is dragging you back with difficulties, it means it’s going to launch you into something great. So just focus and keep aiming. “ This flashes me back to a November 2021 afternoon where I actually wrote that for myself and placed it on my wrist to remind myself of my sentiment every time I want to cut it. My long-lost wake-up call.