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[queerpieceofmind-blog]

Being Thankful for the Worst

I’ll be honest: I’ve been on a (public) writing hiatus. It’s been almost two years since I’ve done...well, much of anything significant creatively. In that time I’ve been hospitalized twice for suicidal thoughts and talked through a LOT of therapy. I am in no way “cured” or in “remission” if that’s even considered a possibility when it comes to depression and anxiety. 

I’ve learned to accept that no great shaman or therapist or “higher power” is going to give me directions in a world of GPS. Only I can steer the driver’s wheel of my life and end up somewhere. So far, refusing to go anywhere until I can figure out exactly where I’m going hasn’t been working out so well.

Insanity is doing the same thing (or nothing) and expecting different results. It’s exhausting, numbing, and can be fatal--spiritually, physically, mentally, and especially romantically (ha!)

So here’s my first attempt to turn such insanity on its head: radical thanks for all that is keeping me from moving forward. Full disclosure: there were originally over ten points to this list but I whittled them down to the three big ones.

What I’m thankful for:

My depression

Living with depression is a constant mind fuck. I still have people in my life who try to get me to explain it. The best way I can describe depression? It’s like a constant argument in your head about whether staying alive is worth it. The coping skills I’ve gained from therapy are immensely powerful. Without my diagnosis I would have never found the type of therapy that really benefits me. While I still have that other side of my brain occasionally teasing me with “it’d be easier if you just didn’t exist,” the voice I give more power to is the one that says, “Whatever, I have things I gotta do.” I shrug off that mean bully in my head because that’s what it is. A bully. And bullies are full of bullshit.

Moving back home

I swore when I left my parents’ house at eighteen that I’d never live in Florida again. I’ve even found notes in my old journals that are so pretentious in nature that I actually made fun of future-me because I never imagined a scenario where I’d be back in my high school bedroom. If I hadn’t moved back home though, I’d probably be dead. That might be a blunt truth, but it’s mine to own. I needed somewhere safe, even if it was immensely uncomfortable. It turns out my family needed me as much as I needed them. I changed my driver’s license on Election Day 2016, and as depressing as that night and subsequent day (and months, and years...) were, the rest of 2016 brought the toughest months I’d ever experienced and I GOT THROUGH IT. My stepdad was a wreck which meant my mom was a wreck, and as much of a wreck as I was on my own, I was able to channel what was left of my energy into making sure we were all getting the help we needed. I didn’t think about it like that at all at the time. In retrospect, my family was holding onto one another, struggling to stay afloat. We held tight, and the storm passed.

Avoiding writing

Counterproductive? Absolutely. Yet, I found my way back into reading books for pleasure instead of lurking the internet for articles that would tell me how to live correctly/happily/decently. Not writing was torturous. Not reading was where I found true despair. At a young age I found myself terrified of forgetting who I was and what I felt. I wrote angsty poetry and kept track of those important moments so I’d have something to look back at. When my depression was at its worst, I wanted nothing to do with remembering what that felt like. Wanted no one to know what twisted dark thoughts were swirling around in my head. I thought I’d thrown my life away and there was no way to go about getting that back. I anticipated dying or at the very least not existing for much longer. I didn’t want anyone to find the ramblings of a sad, apathetic me. Letting that reality go took a long time, but it made me realize how much I missed the things that matter the most. I’ve got a lot to catch up on. Thankfully, I’m confident enough now not to let that creative side of me go to the wayside. I’ve grown and will continue to water this seed of understanding to form a bigger, better picture.