my thoughts in bare

I survived the days when it felt impossible to breathe, the nights I cried myself to sleep, the anxiety attacks, and the random breakdowns when he was still here. I survived the funeral and kept myself busy taking care of everything that needed to be done. I survived the silence that came after all of that. But one thing I realized is that the version of me who was still waiting for her father’s validation, appreciation, and acceptance was left behind. The things I waited for so long never came. And up until now, I still find myself wondering if I was ever enough in his eyes.

I've been watching some video clips on social media about families who are battling with their loved ones who have Dementia. They seem to handle it so well, and it makes me wonder, how do they do it, and for how many years? My father started showing symptoms in October 2025, but he was only officially diagnosed with Dementia around January 2026. After that, his health started to decline so quickly. His symptoms got worse, and those seven months became the most depressing and lowest point of our lives. We tried our very best to understand his episodes and took care of him during the days when he could no longer take care of himself. Most days were filled with chaos, exhaustion, and tears. Lately, I've been thinking about whether we really did our best. I've been asking myself if we gave up too easily during the days when we had no choice but to tie him for his own safety, and during the time when we had to leave him in a mental health facility for two weeks. I even find myse...

When people ask me how our life is nowadays, it feels like such a difficult question to answer. I pause for a while, and eventually I say, “I’m fine” or “We’re okay.” But the truth is, I really don’t know. I’m not happy, I’m not sad, and I’m not depressed, but I think I feel nothing. Sometimes I find it hard to sleep. It feels like my mind is busy with something I can’t even identify, like there’s something happening subconsciously. I try to think of what it is, but my mind just feels blank. I think people should stop asking grieving people if they are okay, because deep down, we already know we’re not. They can still check on us and make us feel their concern, but maybe without asking the question whose answer is already obvious. I don’t know, but I think it just makes things harder.

I cried so much when he got sick and during the worst stages of his dementia—more than I did on the day he passed away. Most days, I'm okay. Sometimes, I even feel guilty for being okay after he died. Shouldn't I be crying? That's how people grieve, right? I don't know. God, forgive me if this is wrong, but somehow, I felt a little relieved afterward. A few months before he passed away, I even thought I had an undiagnosed mental disorder because I kept choosing to set aside my own health instead of getting myself properly checked. During one of his emergency room visits, a psychiatrist assessed me and said I might have Caregiver Depression Syndrome. All those sleepless nights, panic attacks, constantly being on alert, overthinking, days of nonstop crying, and the overwhelming mix of sadness, stress, exhaustion, and every emotion in between. There were times when it didn't even feel like I was dealing with the disease anymore, especially during his severe episodes of...

Every time someone tells me that you must be proud of me, I feel a little pain. I don't know what to feel. We had a lot of misunderstandings and argued a lot. I wasn't able to give you the life you dreamed of. All my life, I struggled to meet your expectations and earn your approval. I worked so hard, but it always seemed like it was never enough. Now that you're gone, I still find myself wondering if you were proud of me, of the person I became and of the things I've accomplished. During your final moments, Mama's friend told us to talk to you and say whatever we wanted to say because you might still be able to hear us. I stared blankly at your frail body and didn't know what to say. I watched my sister cry beside you as she hugged you for the last time, and my brother held your hand as he cried silently. I stood in the corner of our house, my mind completely blank. Life goes on after you've passed away. Most of the time, I tell myself I'm fine, but the...

It's been 10 days since you left, and I still can't believe you're gone. Every time I go downstairs in the middle of the night, my eyes still search for you, just like they always did when I was working the night shift. For a split second, my mind still expects to see you there. But now, all I see is Mama sleeping alone on the same bed where you took your last breath. What confuses me the most is that I still haven't cried the way I thought I would. Even on the day of your interment, the tears never really came. While everyone around me was grieving so openly, I felt like I was just moving through the motions—doing what needed to be done, making arrangements, taking care of things. And now that everything has quieted down, I find myself wondering if there's something wrong with me. Does the absence of tears mean I loved you less? Did I not care enough? Deep down, I know that's not true. Maybe I'm still in shock. Maybe my heart is carrying more than it knows ...

I shed a few tears the moment you stopped breathing. After that, I didn't know what I was feeling anymore. I just started doing everything that needed to be done for your funeral, going to St. Peter, buying your clothes, arranging food for the wake, and taking care of all the other details. I don't understand how some people are able to cry out loud when they lose someone they love. I don't even know if what I'm feeling is sadness, grief, depression, or something else entirely. When someone told us to talk to you, I just stared blankly at your casket, lost for words and emotionally numb.  But when night falls and the world grows quiet, that's when it hits me. My chest starts to tighten, and the weight of losing you becomes harder to ignore. 

We were in and out of clinics and hospitals since October last year because of your stroke and dementia. Last May 25, after your 74th birthday, Kuya called and asked how old you were. You answered, "Malapit na." 😥 We knew it. We knew that day was coming, but we kept pushing the thought aside. You had your ECG last Saturday, and you were supposed to have your follow-up checkup and other laboratory tests at NCMH on Friday, June 5. But these past few days, you've been a little more unresponsive and haven't been eating well. Deep down, I had a feeling this day would come and that you wouldn't make it to Friday. Still, we pushed through with your scheduled ECG last Saturday. For the past few weeks, you've been calling the names of your siblings, those who have already passed away and those who are still alive. You kept wondering where they were and why they hadn't come to see you since you got sick. We never had a perfect father-daughter relationship. You were...

Last April 13, around noon, we started going from one public hospital to another, hoping someone could finally help us, just to check my father’s sudden weakness and why he was becoming unresponsive. One after another, we were turned away. At one point, seeing the situation inside a provincial public hospital made us feel even more lost… like we didn’t know where else to go. Out of desperation, we went to a private hospital just to have him checked, even if we had no clear plan on how we’d manage the expenses. After he was treated, we were told they no longer had a charity program. We had no choice but to have him discharged from the ER because we simply couldn’t afford to stay any longer. That night, we went back on the road again, hospital to hospital, hoping someone would finally admit him. It wasn’t until around 3 AM the next day, at the fourth public hospital we went to, that he was finally admitted. I can’t even fully describe the frustration and helplessness we felt that night, ...

Living with my father now feels like I’m constantly bracing myself for something I can’t control. His dementia and the way he gets agitated drains me in ways I didn’t even know were possible. It’s not just tiring, it’s consuming. Some days, it feels like I’m just surviving, moving through everything on edge, waiting for the next outburst, the next shift in his mood. Every little change in his tone, his reactions makes my chest tighten. I overthink, I worry, I prepare myself for the worst even when nothing has happened yet. And people say, “don’t take it personally, it’s the disease talking.” I try to hold on to that, I really do. But it’s hard, because sometimes, it doesn’t feel like the disease at all. It sounds like him. The same words, the same actions, things he used to do even before he got sick. And that’s the part that breaks me the most. Because I don’t know anymore where the illness ends and who he used to be begins. And honestly… that’s what makes it so exhausting.

Lately, I’ve been feeling this strong urge to isolate myself and just carry everything on my own. I don’t want to disturb anyone or drag them into whatever I’m going through. I keep telling myself they don’t deserve to feel the same stress and heaviness I’m feeling. They already have their own battles — I don’t want to add mine to the pile. But at the same time, there’s this quiet part of me that wishes someone would just be there. And that’s the confusing part — wanting support while also wanting to disappear. I don’t want to come off like everything is about me. I don’t want to look weak. So I stay quiet… even when I’m tired of being strong on my own.

Earlier today, we visited my father in the mental hospital. I thought I had prepared myself for what I might see but nothing could have prepared me for what was actually there. The image of him, in his current condition, is something I know will haunt me for a long time. Photos and videos aren’t allowed due to the hospital’s privacy policy. Because of his fragile medical state, they wouldn’t let him out during visiting hours. Instead, they allowed us to step inside the ward for a brief look. It felt like walking into a prison, metal grills lining the hallway as we made our way in. We weren’t allowed to go near him. We could only see him through those metal bars, his bed about twenty feet away from where we stood. He was lying there, arms and legs restrained for his safety and because of his behavior. His body looked so thin, so frail. So unlike the father I knew. I asked a few questions to the nursing attendant assigned to him, trying to steady my voice. Then it was time to leave. We h...

Watching your father slowly lose pieces of his mind is a different kind of heartbreak. You’re torn between holding on tightly to keep him safe and wanting to let him wander freely — even if it scares you — just to give him a sense of peace, or to momentarily silence the chaos in both of you. Some days, exhaustion whispers, what if I just let go and stop caring? What if I allow myself to feel nothing for once? What if I stop fighting so hard, stop worrying every minute, stop carrying the weight of what might happen? It feels like you’re constantly pulling a rope back and forth — duty on one end, helplessness on the other. You endure, you adjust, you try again. And in the quiet moments, you ask yourself how long this season will last… and how much more our heart can carry.

I hesitated before posting this. But sometimes you really just need to let things out—to rant a little, to breathe—so you can keep going. I guess this is my way of coping. The past few months, since October, have been spent going back and forth between clinics, hospitals, and diagnostic centers, searching for answers. Until now, we still don’t fully understand what’s happening to him. The doctors say it’s a rare condition. At first, they thought it was Dementia, then turned out it was not, then it was due to stroke but then it was not. Then multple possibilities keeps coming in and yet to be confirmed, might be a stroke, brain infection, brain parasite, or undefined disease.  Living in this kind of uncertainty has been a constant rollercoaster of mixed emotions—fear, exhaustion, hope, frustration, all tangled together. I’m not a perfect daughter. We’ve had many differences, and our father-and-daughter relationship has been toxic for as long as I can remember. Still, I stayed. Throu...

Life really has surprises.  Suddenly, the person who used to tell you your worthless, now can no longer recognize you and depends his daily life on you. Calls you different names "day, ne, mam", etc. Has difficulty to function on his own, uncontrolled emotions, sudden burst of anger, etc.  They say be patient, give a little compassion, take care of him, he's still your family, and so on. Behind these symptoms and bad behavior he's showing as part of his illness, I can't help but think this is just who he is. That until now, he's still giving the same emotional pain we endured for the longest time. And yes, he left us with no choice because it's just us he got to take care of him. Sometimes, I found myself thinking, what do I really want for him. Does it make me less as a daughter or a person if sometimes I'm not really sure if I want him to get better or not? Does it give me peace, if he can't recognize us? 😥

For the past couple of years, I harbored anger towards him for the way he treated us, especially mama. For the painful words he uttered most of the time, like we are worthless in his eyes despite of the efforts, sacrifices, for everything.. Anger turned to resentment. I learned to ignore him even if we are living in the same house. Coz maybe, that way I could give myself a little peace. I was full of anger, I let it consumed me that I almost forgot all his sacrifices for me to finish college and believed that I already paid off whatever dept of gratitude I have for him. Looking back, I know that we lack a lot of things while growing up, his earnings was not enough to provide the needs of 5 children, but I know he tried so hard just to be a good provider.  Then suddenly, no signs (or maybe we ignored the signs coz we were full of anger), it just happened. One day, he was restless, confused, disoriented, unable to function on his own and unable to recognize us. And here we are, takin...

In general, society expects you to act in a way what is acceptable to most of the people. No matter how hard you try to ignore the noise around you, sometimes it tends to find its way to affect how you think, you decide, you believe, and your overall values.  It's been a long time, it's like I'm fighting a battle of my own. I'm trying to fight between trying to stick with what's making me happy or just live a life where it's less complicated.  I'm in a phase where I'm trying to figure out what's best to do with my life. I really believe that I should not be living my life for the sake of other people. But, what if it means fighting for the rest of your life? All these dilemma that's running in my head for a while now leads me to think or do things I think is not right.  Recently, I've made a terrible mistake just because once again I'm on a battle of my own, that doing so this is more acceptable than what I am on. Because traditionally, i...

Some of us aren't lucky enough to have a glorious childhood or teenage days. Some of us have to dealt with terrible loneliness, crying their selves to sleep, sitting alone in the park, constant yelling at home, much worst seeing their parents hurt each other both verbally/emotionally and physically. As I grow up, my sense of insecurity also grew up rapidly whenever I saw some kid having bonding moment with their families or having a good laugh over something or just petty things. Asking myself every time, will it get better? But I know, things won't change in a snap of your finger or a tick of a magic wand just like in some fairy tales we've watched when we were a kid. I grew up believing, happiness will come to me if I work hard for myself, for them to provide whatever they need. Maybe, just maybe things will change.  Physical wounds heals easy, but emotional pains stays within you. It is forcefully stored inside, keeping it from others to see, it will either make you or b...

When I was in highschool, probably on my 2nd year, I remember our teacher made us do a journal, that we need to design with whatever we want to before putting something to write. I used a plain notepad I bought in national bookstore and designed it with dried rose petals on each page as a border. It was so cute that it looked like an old diary. By the way, I can't recall where did I got those rose petals or to whom are those because I'm sure it's not mine. I remember putting those in between the pages of my book weeks before that so it could dry the way I want it.  Anyway, the first task our teacher told us to do was to write something how do we see ourselves 10 years from now (that time). I was so young, and thought that life awaits for me is just that simple. I remember writing about me working as a typical office girl, with nothing on my mind or no idea at all what kind of job I would be working. By the age of 25, I remember writing that I see myself having my own family...

For the independent ones, who doesn't let their family know their worries because they don't like them to be worried about anything. For the breadwinners, who many times have nothing left on their pockets but still have to find way just to provide. For the strong ones, who choose to stand still because they know they don't have anyone as back-up but themselves. For those who choose to go on, because they know giving up is not option, because what will happen to everyone they care if it's just them who holds it together. For those who sets aside their happiness because there is more important than that. This is for YOU. Though many times, things happens not as much what you want or planned for, one day, time will come, everything will take its place accordingly. One day, you will no longer worry for tomorrow. One day, you no longer stare at your monthly expenses or your monthly bills, thinking where you will get it. One day, you will no longer feel guilty whenever you b...