A Mentally Ill Activist’s Guilt
By: Reena Dela Cruz
Tags: Activism, Philippines, Mental Health

In a December 1, 2016 Facebook status, I posted the following in response to the Burial of Dictator Ferdinand Marcos at the Heroes’ Cemetery:

“Bakit ka ba nagagalit? ‘Di ka naman nabuhay noong Martial Law ah.” Swerte. Yun ang tawag ko sa sarili ko. Isa ako sa mga sinwerteng anak ng mga biktima ng diktadurya ng Martial Law. Swerte ako dahil hindi namatay ang aking mga magulang noong pinaglalaban nila ang demokrasyang ninakaw sa kanila ng mga Marcos. Maswerte ako na sa siyam na buwang nawala ang tatay ko noong siya ay dinukot ng militar, tinorture, at kinwestyon ay hindi siya naitulad sa iba pang mga kasama niyang studyanteng nasawi sa pakikibaka, na nakabalik siya nang buhay at hindi nalimot bilang alaalang tulad ng mga deseparecidos. Paanong hindi ako magagalit? Paanong hindi ako magagalit na swerte lang ang pagitan ng kapalaran ko at ang kapalaran ng mga naunang Lorena sa akin? Paanong hindi ako magagalit na ang kalayaan at hustisyang kay tagal ipinaglaban ng mga henerasyong nauna sa atin ay pilit na ninanakaw ng isang pamilyang lubos ang ganid para sa kapangyarihan? Paanong hindi ako magagalit na ibinabaon kasama ng bangkay ni Marcos ang mga paghihirap na dinanas ng mga kababayan natin sa kanyang termino? Sabihin mo sa akin, paanong hindi ako magagalit? (“What are you getting angry for when you weren’t even alive during the Martial Law era”? Lucky. That’s what I consider myself to be. I’m one of the few lucky ones whose parents survived the Martial Law dictatorship. I’m lucky because my parents were not killed amidst fighting for the democracy that the Marcoses have taken away from them. I’m lucky that after the nine months that my father spent in the hands of the military being tortured and questioned that he did not meet the same fate as his other fellow student activists, and that he was able to come back alive and avoid being reduced to a memory like the deseparecidos. How can I not be angry? How can I stay placid when the only thing separating me from the less fortunate Lorena who came before me is sheer luck? How can I not be outraged when the freedom and justice that the generations before us worked so hard to fight for is still being trampled on today by the same family driven by their insurmountable greed for power? How can I not angry that the suffering that our fellow countrymen experienced under Marcos’ term is being buried with his body in a Heroes’ Cemetery? Tell me, how can I not be angry?)

It’s been over 2 years and a half since then, and Bongbong Marcos very nearly won the Vice Presidential race, Imee Marcos now occupies a seat in the senate, Imelda still has not been arrested and just recently celebrated her 90th birthday by poisoning over 260 attendees with their catering, and the Supreme Court Second Division has cleared the Marcoses and their cronies of a 102 billion peso graft charge. Suffice it to say it has not been a good two years for the Philippines, especially on the front of keeping the Marcoses out of power.

As hard as it’s been to cope with the current political climate of our country, it’s even worse when you’re dealing with personal issues like familial tensions and a deteriorating mental health. Shortly after the Marcos Burial was announced, my performance in university started slipping and to sum: I had to go AWOL to preserve my mental health.

Without school, my political presence also dwindled. I would enter month-long depressive episodes that would render me vegetative and limit my interaction with people to online conversations. I knew I did not have the emotional capacity to engage in sociopolitical activities, and yet guilt would constantly weed its way into my thoughts, reminding me that I’m taking my luck for granted by taking the time to take care of myself. After all, I’m a torchbearer. My dad had given up much of his activism to be a provider for our family. I at least owe it to the country to pay fill the gap he’s left behind.

This guilt was not eased by online discourse, especially with the premium placed on physical presence in mobilizations in activist circles, an ongoing narrative that demands a more participatory political commitment from people who have not integrated themselves with the masses or those who do not do so on a regular basis. And while there’s no discounting of the importance of participation beyond online circles, it was difficult to push myself to be a headstrong activist in the streets when I could not even find the strength to untangle myself from my bed sheets.

It’s been nearly a year since then. I’ve been more active in mobilizations and various political circles. There is still so much left to work on and I am still very much mentally ill and there are worse days than others where I really cannot bear the emotional burden of political work. Every now and then I have to remind myself that I’m allowed to take care of myself and that I need to take care of myself so I can better serve others, as one of my Community Development professors once told our class. The guilt is still there, telling me I’m not doing enough, but there is also that belief that I’m taking care of myself not just for me, but for the people who will better benefit from a healthier me.