When the mind speaks, listen

There was a time during my mid-20s when I had a migraine almost every day. Along with the migraine came a series of acid attacks. No medicine seemed to help. I just had to sleep it off and hope that by the next day, it would be gone. It got to a point where every morning, I’d wake up asking myself, Will I have a migraine today?

I was terrified of seeing a doctor. With a history of cancer in my family, I feared the results—what if they found a cyst in my brain or something serious that I’d have to battle for a long time?

For months, I couldn’t sleep. At night, my mind felt like a busy street in Quiapo—loud, chaotic, and overwhelming. I usually went to work on just three hours of sleep, hoping I could function and make it through the day. I wasn’t in a good place, and I knew it.

I kept debating whether or not to see a psychiatrist. Deep down, I knew something was wrong with my mental health. But I hesitated. What if the diagnosis was worse than I expected? And SSRIs? They’re so expensive. I wasn’t sure I could afford long-term treatment.

But thanks to my HMO, I finally found the courage to book an appointment with a psychiatrist at Maxicare Cubao. It was probably sometime in the second quarter of 2024. I remember feeling nervous, sitting on the sofa outside the consultation room.

Eventually, my name popped up on the screen beside the door, my cue to go in. The female doctor sat about two meters across from the chair I was supposed to sit in.

She greeted me. I greeted back. She asked how I was doing. I replied, “I’m not okay.”

She asked what was bothering me. I told her I couldn’t sleep at night because I had too much on my mind, and I was always getting migraines. She asked what I usually thought about at night. I told her: A lot. My parents. My siblings. My friend who was recently diagnosed with cancer. The future. What could happen to them, to me. Just everything. I remember breaking down and crying, and I remember her quietly putting a box of tissues beside me.

I don’t remember everything I said during that session, but I do remember that she asked the right questions. She helped me open up, and I ended up telling her everything that was weighing me down. We talked for almost an hour.

At the end of the consultation, she told me I had mild anxiety. She prescribed me antidepressants and sleeping pills and advised me to see a psychologist as well. She also gave me a referral for blood work and imaging tests, including an X-ray and ultrasound.

A lot has changed since that first appointment. I took the medicines religiously, I managed my caffeine intake for a while, and I started prioritizing my sleep more seriously. Though I didn’t see a psychologist, I did focus on self-care and practiced techniques to manage my anxiety. Over time, I noticed small but significant improvements. Slowly, my mental health became more manageable, and my physical symptoms, like the migraines, lessened. It wasn’t an immediate transformation, but each step felt like progress.

Now, almost a year later, I’m still seeing her for follow-up checkups. I’m still taking the medication and occasionally, I still use a sleeping pill.

If you ask me now if I am okay, I can confidently tell you I am in a better place now than I was a year ago. I don’t overthink at night anymore. I’m no longer scared. My mind is quieter now. The migraines no longer haunt me daily. My emotions aren’t all over the place. My mood is steady, neutral.

During one of our sessions, I asked her if it was normal not to feel anything. I mean, I am not sad, I am not happy either, just blank. She said it was a good sign, I was feeling neutral, and feeling neutral meant stability. She added that if ever I felt sad, I should just let it out and cry if necessary. That I should not bottle it up.

I remember that was the first time I learned about having neutral emotions.

Last April, I went to see her again. She asked, like she always does, how I was doing. I told her, “I’m okay. I just have colds.” Then she asked about my mood. I said, “Neutral.”

Looking back, I am amazed at how complex the brain is. This one organ is quietly working behind everything we feel and think, controlling our emotions, our responses, and even our energy. And yet, we often neglect it, it’s the one part of us we often ignore when something feels off. We’re quick to treat fevers, colds, and coughs, but when our minds are struggling, we tend to push through and hope it’ll pass.

I’ve learned the hard way that when your mind is tired, hurting, or too loud to bear, it’s okay to pause. To ask for help. To admit that something doesn’t feel right. You don’t need to have a dramatic reason or wait until you hit rock bottom. If it feels wrong, that’s already reason enough. Acknowledging it doesn’t mean you’re weak, it just means you’re brave enough to take care of yourself. And if you’re like me, someone who used to wake up dreading each day, wondering if it’s going to be another hard one, I just want you to know that things can get better. Slowly, gently, one step at a time.

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Jemimah Keren A. Carag, 27, grew up in Aparri, Cagayan. She is currently employed as an editorial specialist at an educational book publishing company.