I used to find some kind of solace by writing on this blog. I don’t see a therapist and I don’t like talking about how I feel to people I’m close to, so this offered some kind of therapeutic release for my depression and anxiety. Gave me a way to talk about it, think about it, reflect on it, and not worry about being judged or misdiagnosed or offered some kind of trivial advice that only someone who has never suffered through a mental illness could offer and think that it was worthwhile, like, “Have you ever tried, like, just not being depressed?”
Then I started writing in a physical journal. Entries were few and far between but it felt like a way to get out thoughts that I had only kept inside of my head for so long and it was such a relief to put them somewhere that was only ever meant for me.
But I lost that journal. Trying to find it – but it’s so not worth it to try and start another one and leave everything that was contained within the first one behind.
This is the third year that I’ve written a post like this. Basically, it’s my “State of the Brandon” address. And every year, I feel like I’m beating a dead horse. Every year, I feel like it stays the same.
Seasons change, but people don’t.
I’ll be twenty-two this year. It’s crazy – every year, my birthday seems so far off – and every year, it hits me so fast I nearly get whiplash.
I’ll be married by the end of the year. Getting married to the same girl that I started dating over two years ago that caused such a wave of change to my life.
I’m in yet another job that I want to enjoy but ends up taking a huge toll on my mental health – (or maybe it’s my mental health that’s making it seem so bad, who knows?) – and I’m doing my best to hold on for the future so maybe things will get better, but it just gets so hard sometimes. I feel like I try to smash through the ailments that impede my progress but it just stacks up and stacks up and I’ll move through one issue to get another one shoved in my face and it’s a never-ending maze of anxiety and strife that just seems to get worse day after day, month after month, year after year.
I try to sometimes sit back and realize that things aren’t bad. Every individual aspect of my life isn’t that bad at all – it’s actually pretty great, all things considered. Like I said in the years previous, if I sat down with my teenage self and discussed my problems, he’d probably laugh at me for thinking I have it bad. Teenage me was also kind of a dick, but teenage me would be right.
I try to change myself every so often. I went into this year with hope for my recovery – I stopped taking my medication because I felt like it wasn’t helping, but I took the first steps to try and get help through a counselor and with different medication – because my anxiety is kicking my ass hardcore – and had the typical renewal of hope that comes with a new year that it would once again be a new year, new me.
But it isn’t. I can change my attitude for a day or cut my hair or change my music or the way I talk and no matter what, it doesn’t change a thing about what’s killing me on the inside. I constantly think back to ‘when I was happy’, but then I’ll look at something I posted on here way back when and I realize that I wasn’t ever happy. I’ve had blips of happiness in a constant wave of depression – but I’ve never just been happy.
And I think it hurts to realize that. The better times weren’t much better. The good times were usually a lot worse.
But I digress.
Here’s 2019. I’m walking into it pretty broken. I’m tired of worrying about death and overthinking every ache and pain and constantly thinking that everyone is talking bad about me and plotting my demise.
I’m trying. I’m taking baby steps. There is a lot to look forward to this year – my wedding, my honeymoon, tattoos and opportunities, new family and new friends, progressing through my life and developing the life of my own little family.
I don’t know where I’ll be this time next year. I have goals and resolutions and hopes for the future, and I’m working on trying to achieve it all – or at least a little bit.
I never know how things are going to work out, but I’ll maintain just a kernel of hope that after all this time, things will get better. Things will change.
And that’s all you can do.
– Brandon, 12:43 PM