Celebrating Another Year
I didn’t think that seasonal depression would ever be a thing for me, as I was so used to the constant ache of a depression that never waned even in the glow of the summer sun. In some ways, I wish I hadn’t had such a heightened emotional breakdown in my early twenties. Hitting rock bottom at 23 has led to constant comparisons for the past five years. I have belittled my feelings, invalidated myself at every hardship because I can’t help but realize that I don’t have it “that bad,” not even by my own standards.
November has been the hardest month for me in a long time. I took a break off social media thinking that I was going to be more productive, and instead, I literally slept all month. I left my house a handful of times, only twice to socialize and the other few times because I was needed. I wished that I was needed more often, wished that people thought of me more often but I did nothing to reach out.
Today, I am 28, and I have officially survived the 27 club. I wish that just continually living counted as an achievement for me, but I have always been goal oriented, and instead of thoughts of relief telling me that I made it through November, I am hating myself for not accomplishing a single thing on my to do list. In a whole month. That’s a new record for me. I hate that these are the kinds of records I’m setting for myself.
I set other records, too. For example, I won my first grant, (I’ll be able to announce more on that in January) but depression robbed me of all celebration. “Oh, I won a grant,” I told a few friends in passing while catching up on FaceTime. They exploded into praise and congratulations, but I couldn’t feel their excitement. I’m still working towards it.
At 28, now 5 years of ~still being alive,~ I feel like I am not in any way closer towards achieving anything I want in life, and I am starting to struggle with the lack of results as the years speed by. Chasing your dreams is so damn hard, even when you’re doing exactly what it is you want to do. I am very much a starving, tortured artist as I contemplate how long it will take to achieve my goals.
November saw me lose all excitement for my birthday–I canceled the many plans I had originally made to celebrate. I didn’t feel very much like celebrating. I didn’t feel very much like there was anything to celebrate. I wrote in my journal that I felt like a giant ball of wasted potential, not worthy of all the sacrifices that people have made to keep me alive, clothe me, feed me, financially support me. I felt like a waste of an investment.
In that moment I had to remember as a novice investor that the market always goes up and down. That is to be expected. You don’t invest in something because you expect an immediate reward, but rather because you believe it will pay off in the end. And I am trying to tell myself that the biggest payoff to the investors in my life is to continue on in the ups and the downs, and just hold on. I have to remind myself that I am worthy of their love and investments.
I had a post saved in my instagram drafts for weeks that was a cry for help, for people to share encouraging words and messages and I never posted it. Regardless, God remains faithful. I was sent a package from a past teacher that had a sticker in it saying, “Note to self; YOU GOT THIS!” I was sent two encouraging cards in my P.O. Box with well wishes for the new year, expressing hopes that my book will be published. I was told that my online presence is appreciated and my words are inspirational. I was sent an ornament in the mail that read: “Remember child of God, you are more than your mental health tings.” I took that to mean that not only am I more than the feelings of failure I have in my low moments, but I am also more than a blogger. I don’t have to (and indeed should not) continue producing simply for the sake of producing, but am allowed to take the time when I’m not feeling my best and wait until the words I have to share will be meaningful. I didn’t realize I was needing to be granted that permission, but I’m glad I found it anyway.
Last week, I had an annual behavioral assessment. The 1 ½ hour long session covered all the ways in which I am coping, not coping, updating my safety plan, determining what services I wanted to receive from the clinic I frequent, and updating my life goals for the following year. My goals from the past year were: finish my book and start querying, save a certain figure in the bank, and monetize my blog. I was shocked when my evaluator told me what past me had said and I felt the pride rush into my chest that present day me had actually accomplished everything on my list. I’m doing better than I thought I was. Chances are, if you’re hard on yourself, you’re doing better than you think you are as well. My goals have changed as I have progressed past the original goals, but before I get frustrated about where I’m not and form new goals and standards, I have to celebrate the fact that I have actually reached my original goals. I was skipping that step and causing myself misery.
So, here is our reminder that we are always worth celebrating, in our good times and our bad times. Whether we have achieved our goals or we are simply celebrating the fact that we have ridden through the hard times and survived, even if we didn’t do so as gracefully as we may have hoped. I’m taking stock of my 28 years and choosing to highlight the ways in which I have been resilient, the beauty in what I have come to make when plans A, B, C, D, E, F, G, and H have all redirected me and caused me to pivot. Above all else, I’ve found a purpose and reason for living, and that alone is worth the biggest celebration.
S/O to Anna Hall for editing this post.
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