Hard Truth

I’ve had depression for as long as I can remember. I’ve had eating disorders for as long as I can remember. No matter how much I convince myself that I “used to be happier,” I never was. This is the happiest I’ve ever been. But sometimes I feel guilty about how I’ve managed to achieve being able to make that proclamation. The hard truth is that I’ve not attained happiness by overcoming my problems. I have to a certain degree. But the key to finding relative satisfaction is learning to cope with, manage, and ignore what previously sent me into a spiral.

The world is a harsh place. While I’ve had a fantastic year in aggregate, overall, it’s been a struggle just to maintain my mental state. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my Lexapro prescription as well as constant therapy to manage my crippling anxiety. Following my posts, you’ll recall my return from LA after a short relocation. This was caused by multiple daily episodes of anxiety that genuinely made me believe I was declining medically, as well as hitting a psychotic break. Am I “over” these issues? Nope. I’m on the edge every single day. But I’ve come to the reality that this is my regular. I must learn to stand up against intrusive thoughts and focus on what matters.

Keeping myself sane is my main objective every day. I have adopted a routine that allows me to avoid unnecessary stress. I have the luxury of doing this because I’m self-employed, well-trained in my therapeutic practices, and know exactly what my triggers are. I have to wake up and see the good in everything. I’ve always ironically been a “glass half full” type of person. Even in manic lows, I can recognize that bad things will pass. But at the moment, it feels so desperate sometimes that you have to wonder if you’re even living in the same reality as everyone else. My anxiety would pique so heavily that I wondered how I’d return from the episode.

In my anxiety attacks, it’s impossible to convince me that I’m not dying. That my heart is not about to implode in my chest or an aneurysm about to burst in my temple. My depression gets so desperate that the sun seems like it’s mocking me. I describe it as being buried in a hole just past your reach of being able to escape. It’s dark, but you can see the light above the rim. It’s there, but it’s not there for you. You aren’t worthy of it. So, what do I do to manage these things? When I feel fat or low or anxious? As cliche as it sounds, I look at the positive.

When my anxiety hits, it overrides my reasonable thinking. I go fight or flight. But now I have the experience to realize rationally that I’m not in danger. I push through and feel the symptoms. I recognize the cues and pains and tell myself these are the same symptoms every single time: “What goes up must come down.” Also, what would my anxiety do to help in an emergency situation? Would my desperate hyperventilating somehow save me from a fatal accident? No.
In the same way, I have to realize my flight anxiety is fucking useless. My health anxiety is futile. If it’s my time, then it’s my time.

All of this said. What’s my point? My point is that you probably see my social media or experience me in person and assume I’m always happy. I am. But I’m so glad all of the time because I don’t have time to focus on anxiety, depression, and body image issues. I deal with those things in therapy and control the de-escalation in my head. But I’m happy because I’ve forced myself to be slightly naive.

The world and life are, overall, painful and scary. Watching the veil be pulled back more and more regarding the evils of world politics, the horrors of genocide, environmental collapse, and homelessness has made me numb. That’s where my guilt comes into play. My happiness is a luxury. My satisfaction is a privilege. The only way that I can maintain is to ignore these things. That in and of itself is so eerie and depressing that I wonder if I’m doing it right. But I think the only thing I can do is try to be kind to myself first and foremost. Then, I focus on trying to bring light to those around me. As I become comfortable with myself, I only want to ensure I don’t make life harder for anyone else. I want to provide for those I love and bring some sort of relief from pain to those around me. Even if that’s just by telling them how great they are.

I’m not aiming to change the world. This could be easily misconstrued as “my mission is to bring light.” That’s not it at all. I’m not delusional. The hard truth is that I’ve gotten here by realizing my purpose is to survive and overcome things that make life difficult by managing them. Then, I will pass my positivity through loving those around me. That’s all I can do. I literally only have control of myself and how I treat others. Everything else remains the same. My issues don’t “go away”; they just become more manageable. That realization is kind of depressing. But I’m here and making the best of it.

I’ve seen a lot. I’ve been through drug addiction, I’ve “died” twice, and I’ve single-handedly ruined my life on several occasions. So, I guess in my head, the issues I have now pale compared to those I had in my “previous lives.” I’ve found my purpose and my peace, and who knows? Maybe it won’t always be there. Perhaps it will be chaotic again. But for now, I’m cherishing every second. All of this to say…it’s depressing to know that I’ve come to these conclusions with the agreement that life is pain and privilege, and dumb luck and ignorance are keys to my success.

I’ve grown up in a place where I’m surrounded by loved ones. I have ruthlessly supportive parents who were there to help me when I fell and saw promise in me far before I saw it in myself. I’m financially stable and do a job that I chose; I’m in a marriage with a partner who I feel is my soulmate, and I live in a place that supports my life. I have a routine. I do things I love daily; I am healthy and “fit” and have a gym membership. Also, I was an alcoholic… full-blown…now I can drink and go, “I just want one,” and genuinely mean it. Not through recovery or rehab, just because I got bored of it and realized the risk-to-reward ratio. That’s all luck. That’s not me.
So, in closing, I guess I just hope you can find peace in whatever you have. Don’t ever ask me for advice on how to succeed/be happy/recover. I have no idea, and my life is charmed. I’m just lucky enough to be able to have the experience to know it could be worse, I guess? I’ve been gifted these opportunities, and now I am just making sure that I work really fucking hard to do great things with them. But who knows. At the end of the day, I’m just baking cookies.